Possessively Mine

The Black File

Tavien’s office stood like an isolated citadel, a fortress of solitude nestled at the pinnacle of the city’s highest skyscraper. It was a place deliberately removed from the chaos below, a sanctuary that very few were allowed to enter—only Tavien himself and the one assistant his friend Adrian he trusted beyond all others. The space was an extension of his meticulously cultivated image, a physical manifestation of power, control, and calculated prestige. It exuded a cool, modern elegance, every element placed with purpose: sharp lines, gleaming surfaces, and a silence that seemed to hum with tension.

The room was defined by sharp, clean lines and a restrained color palette that spoke of quiet authority—deep grays, polished blacks, and muted silvers. The walls were a soft, almost imperceptible charcoal, giving the space a sense of depth and shadow, yet never feeling oppressive. Every surface seemed deliberately chosen for its perfection: the floor was made of dark, glossy stone, reflecting the light in smooth, subtle ripples.

The room was dominated by expensive floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the skyline, casting long stretches of natural light that contrasted with the otherwise moody atmosphere of the space. The city below was a mere backdrop—distant, inconsequential, a world Tavien observed from above, untouched.

In the center of the room stood a massive, polished mahogany desk, its smooth, dark surface nearly bare except for a single black file.

That file consumed him.

No matter how many meetings he attended, how many deals he negotiated, or how many orders he gave, his mind always circled back to the girl inside that file. The girl who had dared to interfere.

It had happened a week ago, on a cold, quiet night just past 10 PM. Tavien had been sitting in the back of his armored car, watching from a distance as his men moved in to kill a target, a man who had become a liability to his empire. The operation was supposed to be quick, silent.

But then she appeared.

Out of nowhere, a young woman had burst onto the scene, shouting at the top of her lungs. Her voice cutting through the night like a blade. "Hey! What are you doing? Stop!" drawing the attention of bystanders. His men, trained to avoid unnecessary witnesses, hesitated. And in that moment of hesitation, she did the unthinkable—she ran toward the wounded man, pushing past Tavien’s enforcers as if they were nothing.

He had watched, stunned, as she dropped to her knees beside the bleeding target, checking his pulse with steady hands before calling for an ambulance. The sheer audacity of it—the stupidity—should have enraged him. And it did. But more than that, it intrigued him.

Who was she?

She wasn’t part of the plan. She wasn’t supposed to be there. And yet, she had acted without fear, without hesitation. Was she a rival’s pawn? A vigilante? Or just some reckless civilian who had no idea what she had stumbled into?

Tavien’s fingers tapped against the black file. Because no ordinary girl could have disrupted his work so effortlessly. And if she was connected to his enemies… then she was far more dangerous than she appeared.

He thought to find her details, and now here was her full file in his hand.