Silken lies

If someone had told me I'd be playing secretary to one of the most powerful men in London, I would have laughed my lungs free of air or decapitated them, depending on my mood. But here I am standing tall in front of the sky towering glass office building, heels polished enough to reflect light, blazers pressed to perfection not a wrinkle daring to exist, walking into Pearce-tech holding like I owned it. Entering the premises, it seemed like I had been pulled into another world. It was a glass fortress with all sharp edges and silent power. People like Pearce didn't build offices, they built empires so that they could sit at the top looking down. I wasn't here for the views I stepped through the revolving doors, security scanning faces, but nobody noticed me and that was exactly what I wanted. I made my way to the private elevator for only a select few of the high-ranking staff, company badge pinned pretty in my chest pocket, no missteps, no hesitation. I had been trained to blend in and did just exactly that. What they didn't know was that the person they were hiring wasn't just Evelyn Fox, an Oxford first class graduate with impeccable references. I was the bane of every FBI agent's existence after my three major hits in Japan, New York and Italy. I have been on the news, searching for history, wanted criminals, assassins and every other thing those bunch of annoying little gits who think knowing spreadsheets makes them untouchable have to say about me. And now? Now I'm here for Damian Pearce, to know him, watch him, earn his trust and put waste to him and everything he has ever worked for . The battle wasn't mine to fight, but one thing my foster dad always told me and my foster brother was “Loyalty isn’t a choice, it’s a debt. And debts don’t get erased, they get paid in blood.” He creates the mess and we do the clean-up. The doors chimed as I pushed them open, walking into the room with my head high, allowing my aura to speak for me and then that's when I saw the almighty Damian Pearce, CEO of Pearce tech holdings, one of the richest men in London. He sat there in his office talking to a staff member from across his desk. In all my years of being an assassin, one habit I have been forced to inculcate is that of eavesdropping and sharp hearing, so by the time I had walked up to them, two things were known for sure about the conversation they had ; the staff worked in the HR department and Damian was on his ass about some stuff I didn't finish making sense of before I already stood before him. Now I could see his features better. His jaw was all harsh lines and expensive stubble, like he didn’t have the time—or the interest—for softness. Dark hair, brushed back just enough to look effortless, and eyes like polished steel. Grey. Cold. Unreadable. The kind of stare that pinned you to the spot and made you feel like your soul had something to explain. There was something ruthless about him—quiet and coiled. Like a wolf in a room full of poodles, perfectly aware that one wrong glance from him could have everyone tripping over their designer shoes to apologize for existing. He looked like the kind of man who could ruin you with a single word—and still had the courtesy to open the door for you after. I stood there staring into his eyes until he disarmed his staff and spoke in my direction. “Glad you finally graced us with your presence, Miss Fox. “ “I'm late… you're alive, we'll both survive the shock”, I replied. He slanted his neck to look at me and that's when my brain reminded me that it wasn't Kieran I was speaking to, yes my foster little brother, it was Damian Pearce. That's when it suddenly hit me that the tune of my response was a little bit mocking. “Apologies. I forget that not everyone is fond of a sharp tongue first thing. ." He ignored my bloody apology and proceeded “Well miss Fox, you have quite a remarkable resume and that's why I decided to meet with you one on one to see my next executive secretary. “ “It's a pleasure” Mr Pearce said, stretching my hand out for a formal handshake, but he looked at me perplexed, as if I actually thought he'd exchange pleasantries with me. “For hell's sake” I whispered underneath my breath and withdrew my hands. “ I posed a smile, one that wouldn't show how frustrated I was or how this mission might ruin my mental health. Footsteps approaching, the man that owned them had a spitting resemblance to the one who rejected my handshake.I stared at him and then back to Damian, thinking I had made a mistake in my research about them. “Is that Callum Pearce? “ I questioned myself, Callum Pearce, the managing director of Pearce Tech holdings, closest to the CEO, his cousin and best friend, very quick-witted and remarkably smart. “Good morning Miss Fox, I see you've already found your way to the CEO's office”. I noticed his British accent was more polished than most. “Wasn't exactly the easiest thing, but I did my homework “ I replied. “ Okay then, I suppose you already know who I am and how I influence the role you play in this company “ he asked taking a step closer. I posed a gummy smile and nodded my head positively. He glanced at Damian softly and led me to my work space . It was minimal, sharp just like me. Pearce Tech holdings didn't do clutter and neither did I. My desk sat right outside Damian's glass-walled office. A brushed steel name plate , E. Fox gleamed against the dark walnut finish . The whole place smelled of leather and old money, a place where mistakes weren't tolerated nor accepted. I took a deep breath , reminded myself of my actual purpose here and sat like a pretty little doll , going through the files that found its way to the desk before I could. And just as the day had begun, it came to an end. Damian clocked out and proceeded to god knows where , I packed up and that's when my burner phone buzzed. “TARGET CODE: Raven-413 STATUS: Active AUTHORIZATION: Approved by "The Father" DELIVERY METHOD: Clean. Silent. No public exposure. FULL NAME: Conrad Ellis AGE: 52 GENDER: Male NATIONALITY: British OCCUPATION: Financial Auditor (HMRC Contractor) KNOWN ALIASES: None CURRENT RESIDENCE: Flat 3B, Clapham Common North Side, London USUAL ROUTES: Tesco Express, Clapham High Street (Evenings, 19:00–19:30) Tube: Northern Line to Tottenham Court Road (Weekdays, departs 08:05) Local Gym: Wrexham Fitness, Tues/Thurs, 21:00 Someone's soul was going to leave his body that night and that thought alone excited me. I pushed through the exit doors of the building the same way I came in, found my way to the parking lot and sat comfortably in my Audi 3 navy blue car and made my way out. Driving as fast as I can with adrenaline pumping through all parts of my body . Maybe the thought of ending a man's life excited me, or maybe I was taught it was supposed to excite me. My mind went back to when I was little, how Lucien, my foster dad, would whisper to us in our sleep, in our waking states “Mercy’s not in silence, it’s in certainty. You want to end their suffering? You don’t talk them down, love you put ‘em down. Quick, clean, no fuss. That’s real kindness.” I step into the flat like a shadow , no noise, no mistake. Silent , calculated, calm . No need for panic as I made my way towards the target. Late jazz hummed from a radio in the kitchen . He sat with his chair turned to the other side , his right hand holding a glass of red wine …how ironic . I didn't care who he was or what he had to do with my dad Lucien. I only carried out instructions . My glove fingers drew the syringe from the inside of my coat– slim, clinical , precise . I moved towards him like a whisper through smoke one step, two . A hand on his shoulder, the last touch he's going to feel before he meets his maker The needle goes behind his ears- the softest spot . A press long to drain out all the poison into his system. He had never turned around, maybe it was best that way No trace, no noise , no panic. “Misery ends,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “You’re welcome.” And just like that, I slip back into my car, secretary shoes in the boot, and disappear into the night.