A Perfect Illusion

02

Layla adjusted the strap of her cleaning apron, her grip on the mop tightening as she surveyed the glossy expanse of the office floor. Her first day as a cleaning service worker in Dante’s company had begun, and she was already questioning her life choices. The floor seemed to stretch endlessly before her, gleaming under the bright fluorescent lights.

She dipped the mop into the bucket and wrung it out with practiced motions, focusing on the task at hand. One section at a time, she told herself. This isn’t the end of the world.

Yet as she worked, it quickly became apparent that the hustle and bustle of the corporate environment was not going to make her job easy. Employees rushed past her, heads buried in folders or glued to their phones. The constant chatter of phones ringing, rapid footsteps, and hurried conversations echoed through the corridor.

“Excuse me!” a man in a sharp suit barked as he darted past, his shoe narrowly avoiding the wet patch Layla had just mopped. She watched in silent horror as another employee’s heel splashed directly into the puddle, leaving muddy streaks across the pristine surface she had just cleaned.

Her grip on the mop tightened. Unbelievable. They don’t even look where they’re going, she thought bitterly. But she kept her mouth shut, unwilling to draw attention to herself.

She moved further down the hallway, carefully cleaning another section of the floor. A few minutes later, a loud exclamation caught her attention.

“Damn it! My coffee!”

Layla turned her head to see a young woman in a tight pencil skirt standing over a spilled cup of coffee. The liquid had spread across the tiles, soaking into a stack of papers the woman had dropped in her rush.

The woman groaned in frustration, glaring at the cup as if it had personally betrayed her. “I just bought this!” she snapped, more to herself than anyone else.

Layla sighed inwardly. Of course, it had to happen on the section she’d just finished mopping. Grabbing her supplies, she made her way over, forcing a neutral expression onto her face.

“Let me clean that up for you,” she said politely, bending down to mop up the mess.

The woman didn’t even glance at her. Instead, she muttered, “What a waste. This coffee cost a fortune. They should really make lids that actually stay on.”

Layla bit her tongue. Yes, clearly it’s the coffee lid’s fault and not the fact that you were running down the hallway like your life depended on it.

As Layla mopped, another employee nearly tripped over her bucket. “Watch where you put that thing!” he snapped, adjusting his tie before striding off without a backward glance.

Her jaw tightened. Maybe you should watch where you’re going, she thought, but the words stayed locked in her throat. She wasn’t about to cause a scene on her first day.

By the time she finished cleaning the spilled coffee and returned to her previous task, the hallway was even dirtier than before. Footprints, coffee drips, and a few stray pieces of paper littered the floor. Layla stared at the mess, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Why do I even bother?” she muttered under her breath, pushing the mop forward with a little more force than necessary.

As she continued working, snippets of conversations from passing employees drifted to her ears.

“The quarterly report needs to be on my desk by noon, no excuses.”

“Did you see the email from Mr. Moretti? He’s furious about the delay.”

“If I miss this deadline, I’m done for. Absolutely done for.”

Layla rolled her eyes. Big deadlines, big problems. Must be nice to have jobs that actually matter, she thought bitterly. Still, she kept her head down, determined to finish her shift without incident.

Just as she was beginning to find a rhythm, someone’s heel caught on the edge of her mop. The mop slipped from her hands, clattering to the floor, and the man—a tall, balding executive—stumbled forward, barely catching himself.

“What the hell?” he exclaimed, spinning around to glare at her. “Are you trying to trip me?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Layla said quickly, grabbing the mop and stepping back. “It won’t happen again.”

He muttered something under his breath and stormed off, leaving Layla feeling even smaller than before. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm. It’s just one day. You can survive one day.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of mopping, dodging hurried employees, and silently cursing under her breath every time someone ruined her freshly cleaned floor. By lunchtime, her arms ached, her back throbbed, and her patience was wearing dangerously thin.

As she leaned against her mop, catching her breath, she thought about the irony of her situation. She’d taken this job to get closer to Dante, to infiltrate his world and gather the information she needed. But so far, all she’d managed to do was clean up other people’s messes—literally.

“Just wait, Dante,” she muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowing. “You’ve made my life hell, and now I’m stuck cleaning up after your employees. But this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”

Despite her frustration, a small, determined smile crept onto her face. She might be stuck mopping floors for now, but she hadn’t forgotten her real mission. One way or another, she’d make Dante pay for what he’d done to her family.

Layla was in the middle of scrubbing a particularly stubborn coffee stain from the office floor when her supervisor, Mrs. Grant, called her name. The older woman’s sharp tone echoed across the cleaning supply closet.

"Layla! Come here for a moment!"

Startled, Layla dropped her mop into the bucket with a splash and quickly wiped her hands on her uniform. She hurried over, her mind racing with possibilities. Had she done something wrong? Was she about to get scolded again?

Mrs. Grant stood near the time clock, clipboard in hand and glasses perched precariously on the tip of her nose. She didn’t look particularly angry—more impatient than anything else.

"Yes, ma'am?" Layla asked, trying to sound composed despite her nervousness.

Mrs. Grant adjusted her glasses and gave her a quick once-over. "One of your coworkers called in sick today. So, starting immediately, you’re assigned to clean the executive floor after hours. That includes the CEO’s office."

Layla’s breath hitched. Her mind screamed at her to play it cool. This was it—the opportunity she hadn’t dared hope for, served to her on a silver platter. But she kept her face neutral, nodding like it was just another mundane task.

"Understood, ma'am," she said, though her heart thudded wildly in her chest.

Mrs. Grant squinted at her. "You’ll be working outside regular hours, so the offices should be mostly empty. But I expect the floors to shine and not a single smudge left on any glass surface. Got it?"

"Got it," Layla repeated, trying not to sound too eager.

"Good. You can start at 6 PM, and don’t forget to sign out afterward." With that, Mrs. Grant dismissed her with a curt nod before returning to her clipboard.

Layla exhaled slowly. Cleaning the executive floor. And Dante’s office, no less. She clenched her fists, barely containing a triumphant grin. The universe might have thrown her a bone after all.

...

As 6 PM approached, Layla finished her regular duties and grabbed the supplies she’d need for the executive floor. Balancing a mop, a bucket, and a cleaning caddy, she made her way to the elevators. Her arms ached, but her determination outweighed any discomfort.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing a group of well-dressed employees chatting animatedly. They barely glanced at Layla before one of them, a tall woman with sleek hair and a sharp blazer, stepped forward and blocked her way.

"Oh, sorry," the woman said, her voice dripping with condescension. "This elevator’s full."

Layla glanced at the empty space behind them, confusion flickering across her face. "I think there’s—"

"Use the stairs," another man interrupted, adjusting his tie. His smile was polite but insincere. "The elevator’s not really meant for, you know, cleaning staff."

Layla’s cheeks burned. She wanted to snap back, to tell them she had every right to use the elevator, but her words caught in her throat. Instead, she gripped the handle of her mop tighter and nodded stiffly.

"Of course," she muttered, forcing a tight smile.

As the elevator doors closed, the group’s laughter faded away, leaving Layla alone in the hallway. She let out a frustrated huff, muttering under her breath.

"Not meant for cleaning staff, huh? Guess I’ll just walk up twenty-four damn flights of stairs. No problem."

Balancing her supplies, she made her way to the stairwell. The dimly lit, concrete space felt endless as she began her ascent. Each step seemed to stretch on forever, and the weight of the mop bucket only made it worse.

By the time she reached the 10th floor, her legs were burning. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she had to pause to catch her breath.

"Seriously?" she muttered to herself. "They couldn’t just let me take the stupid elevator? I hope their overpriced lattes spill all over their suits."

As she climbed higher, her irritation grew. She thought about how far she’d come, how much she’d endured just to be in this position, and now she was literally being made to climb for it. But the image of Dante’s face flashed in her mind, and her resolve hardened. She wasn’t going to let anything—not even smug office workers—stop her.

By the time she reached the 24th floor, her legs felt like jelly. She leaned against the stairwell door, gulping in air before pushing it open. The hallway beyond was eerily quiet, the soft hum of fluorescent lights the only sound.

Layla adjusted her grip on her supplies and squared her shoulders. "Let’s do this," she whispered to herself before stepping into the pristine world of the executive floor.

...

Layla adjusted the strap of her cleaning supplies bag as she trudged up the final steps to the executive floor. Her legs burned from the climb, and she was still fuming over the snide remarks from her coworkers earlier. “Stupid lift-snob employees,” she muttered under her breath. “What’s next? They’ll tell me I’m not allowed to breathe the same air?”

As she reached the hallway, a hushed conversation caught her attention. Two men in IT uniforms stood near the corner, one holding a laptop, the other gesturing animatedly.

“The system’s gonna be down for at least another hour,” one of them said. “That’s what happens when you’re forced to do a full security update during office hours.”

“Tell me about it,” the other replied with a sigh. “The CCTV feeds are a mess right now. If anything happens, we’re flying blind.”

Layla froze in place, her heart skipping a beat. Did she just hear that right? No CCTV? For an entire hour? Her fingers gripped the cleaning cart tighter as an idea began to form in her mind. She’d spent the last few days mentally strategizing her next move, but nothing had seemed feasible… until now.

“This is it,” she whispered to herself. “The perfect opportunity.”

But then reality smacked her right back in the face. Dante was probably in his office, and even if the cameras were down, there was no way she could snoop around without getting caught. She shook her head, trying to push away the idea.

“Not worth the risk,” she muttered under her breath, pushing her cart forward. “Not unless…”

She’d barely turned the corner when her gaze fell on Dante’s office door. It was slightly ajar. Layla’s heart thudded against her ribs. Her mind raced with possibilities.

Taking a cautious step closer, she glanced around the hallway. It was eerily quiet. No sign of Dante’s secretary, no other employees milling about. Just the muffled sound of voices echoing from the meeting room down the hall. Her pulse quickened.

She peered into the gap of the door and saw it—Dante’s office, empty. His desk was pristine, a stark contrast to the chaos she’d expected.

Layla hesitated, her hand hovering over the door. “You’re insane,” she told herself. “Absolutely insane. What if he comes back? What if someone sees you?”

But the thought of walking away without at least trying made her stomach churn. She’d waited years for a moment like this. Letting it slip through her fingers wasn’t an option.

She stepped inside, shutting the door behind her as quietly as possible. The soft click of the latch sent a shiver down her spine. Now that she was here, her nerves kicked into overdrive. She scanned the room, her eyes darting to the bookshelves, the filing cabinet, the desk drawers. Where would he hide anything important?

Layla’s heart raced as she stood in Dante’s office, the door barely ajar behind her. The faint hum of air conditioning was the only sound accompanying her rapid breathing. She glanced at the pristine desk, its dark surface reflecting the sunlight streaming through the large windows.

Her eyes locked onto a file lying at the center of the desk, the words "Expansion Project: Confidential Stakeholders" stamped in bold across its cover. Her curiosity spiked. This was the kind of lead she’d been waiting for. Could this be connected to her father?

Layla crept closer, her sneakers barely making a sound on the polished floor. She opened the file with trembling hands. Inside were charts, contracts, and photographs. Her breath hitched when she recognized one of the photos.

The area in the picture looked eerily similar to the factory her father once worked at.

She flipped to the next page, her mind racing. A flowchart caught her attention, detailing a network of companies. At the center of the diagram was Dante’s family’s company name, and branching from it were arrows pointing to several others, some marked with checkmarks, others with question marks. One of the names was her father’s old employer.

Layla’s pulse quickened. The connections felt too significant to ignore. What was Dante’s family doing with these companies?

Next, she turned to a whiteboard that hung on the wall behind Dante’s desk. Scribbled across it were notes and diagrams. Her eyes skimmed over a list of names—many of them unrecognizable—until one stood out.

Her family name.

Layla’s jaw clenched. The name was part of a list under a heading marked "Potential Stakeholders". A red arrow pointed to her family’s name, leading to a circle with the words "Pending Action" scrawled inside.

Panic mixed with determination. What does 'pending action' mean?

Layla reached into her pocket, fumbling with her phone. She snapped pictures of the file, the whiteboard, and anything else that seemed important. Her hands shook as she hurried to document everything, her mind racing with questions she couldn’t yet answer.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps echoing down the hallway. Her stomach lurched. She glanced toward the door, which was still ajar, but it wouldn’t take much for someone to notice it had been tampered with.

Keep calm, Layla. Focus.

She carefully closed the file and returned it to its original position on the desk. The chair behind the desk was slightly askew, so she nudged it back into place. Every detail mattered. One mistake and she’d blow her cover.

The footsteps grew louder. Someone was coming.

Layla darted toward the door, peeking out cautiously. The hallway was still empty, but she knew she only had seconds to spare. She slipped out, shutting the door behind her as quietly as possible. Her heart thundered in her chest as she made her way down the corridor, forcing herself not to break into a run.

When she reached the stairwell, she leaned against the wall, taking a moment to catch her breath. Her hands were still trembling, but she couldn’t afford to stop now. She glanced at her phone, scrolling through the pictures she’d taken. Each image felt like a puzzle piece, part of a larger mystery she was determined to solve.

As she descended the stairs, Layla’s thoughts were a whirlwind. This wasn’t just about revenge anymore. This was bigger. Much bigger.

...

Layla was busy mopping the executive floor corridor, her hands moving in steady strokes as she tried to calm her racing heart. The weight of what she had just done in Dante’s office hung heavy in her chest. She forced herself to focus on the task, pretending as though nothing was amiss. If anyone noticed her, they’d only see a diligent cleaner doing her job—not someone who had just rifled through confidential documents.

She was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice someone approaching her from behind. A firm hand suddenly gripped her shoulder.

Layla gasped, spinning around on instinct and swinging the mop handle forward. The wooden pole connected squarely with a face, and she froze in horror as the man stumbled back, clutching his nose. Blood trickled between his fingers, and Layla’s heart nearly stopped.

“Oh my God,” she stammered, dropping the mop with a loud clatter. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Her words died in her throat when she realized who she had just struck. Dante stood before her, glaring, his nose bleeding and his expression a mix of shock and annoyance.

“You hit me,” he said flatly, his voice low and tense.

Layla’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “I… I didn’t know it was you! You startled me!”

Before Dante could respond, Victor appeared from around the corner, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. “What the hell happened?” he demanded, his gaze shifting between Dante’s bleeding nose and Layla’s pale, panicked face.

“She hit me,” Dante repeated, his tone still eerily calm.

Victor’s eyes widened, and he stepped closer, grabbing Layla’s wrist firmly. “Are you insane?” he barked. “Do you even realize who you just assaulted? Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you’re in now?”

“I… I didn’t mean to!” Layla blurted out, her voice shaking. “It was an accident, I swear!”

Victor looked ready to unleash another round of scolding, but Dante raised a hand, cutting him off. “Enough,” he said, his voice firm. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against his nose, dabbing at the blood. “This is between me and her.”

“But—” Victor started to protest, only for Dante to shoot him a sharp look.

“I said, enough.” Dante’s tone left no room for argument. “Go handle your other tasks, Victor. I’ll deal with this.”

Victor hesitated, his grip on Layla’s wrist tightening momentarily before he let go. He gave her a warning glare. “You’re lucky he’s this calm,” he muttered before walking off.

Layla’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it might burst out of her chest. Her eyes darted to Dante, who was now watching her intently, the blood from his nose no longer flowing but leaving a faint stain on the handkerchief.

“Follow me,” he said simply, turning on his heel and heading toward his office.

Layla’s stomach dropped. “Wait, where are we going?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

Dante didn’t stop or look back. “To my office,” he said. “We need to talk.”

Layla’s feet felt like lead as she followed him, her mind racing with a thousand possibilities. Did he know what she had done earlier? Had he somehow caught on? Was this the end for her?

When they reached his office, Dante pushed the door open and gestured for her to enter. Layla hesitated, standing frozen in the doorway.

“Inside,” he said, his tone brooking no argument.

Swallowing hard, Layla stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind her, and the room felt suddenly smaller, the air heavy with tension.

Dante walked around his desk and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest. His piercing gaze pinned her in place. “Explain.”

Layla blinked, her mouth dry. “Explain what?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dante’s brow arched. “Let’s start with why you felt the need to attack me in the hallway,” he said, his tone laced with sarcasm.

“I didn’t attack you!” Layla protested, her voice rising slightly. “You startled me, and I reacted! It was an accident.”

Dante studied her for a moment before nodding slowly. “Fine. Accidents happen.” He uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on the desk, leaning forward slightly. “But there’s something else, isn’t there?”

Layla’s breath caught in her throat. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

Dante’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “You’re a terrible liar,” he said. “And I don’t have the patience for games. So, let me ask you again: Is there something you need to tell me?”

Layla’s mind raced. She could feel the walls closing in around her, but she couldn’t let him see her panic. She forced herself to take a deep breath and shake her head. “No. There’s nothing,” she said firmly.

Dante stared at her for what felt like an eternity, his sharp eyes searching hers. Finally, he straightened up and crossed his arms again. “All right,” he said, his tone neutral. “You can go. For now.”

Layla blinked, stunned. “That’s it?” she asked, unable to hide her surprise.

“That’s it,” Dante said, though his expression made it clear that he wasn’t done with her. “But I’ll be watching you, Layla. Don’t give me a reason to question my instincts.”

Layla nodded quickly and all but bolted from the room, her heart hammering in her chest. She didn’t stop moving until she was back in the safety of the janitor’s closet, where she finally allowed herself to breathe. Her hands trembled as she leaned against the door, her mind replaying every second of the encounter.

She had gotten away with it. For now.