THE DEADLINE
765 Words
The boardroom on the forty-second floor smelled of fresh leather and old ambition. Ethan Voss sat at the head of the long glass table, sleeves rolled to the elbows, watching the numbers on the screen flicker like they were mocking him.
Victoria Voss leaned back in her chair across the table, legs crossed, one red-soled heel tapping the air. She looked exactly like the woman who had married his father six months after the funeral and then spent the next decade rewriting the family story.
"The clause is clear, Ethan." Her voice was smooth, almost kind. "Thirty. Married. Or the controlling shares go to the board. And we both know who the board listens to these days."
He didn't answer right away. He let the silence stretch until one of the directors shifted uncomfortably.
"Grandmother's will was written in 2008," he said finally. "She was sentimental. People change their minds."
Victoria smiled, thin and sharp. "Not when they're dead."
The room stayed quiet after that. Ethan tapped his pen once against the glass. The sound was small but it carried.
He stood. "Meeting adjourned."
No one argued.
He took the private elevator down to his office. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Lagos—traffic crawling like ants, the lagoon glinting under late-afternoon sun. He closed the door. Locked it.
His phone buzzed on the desk. Assistant. Marcus.
Board minutes uploaded. Victoria already forwarded them to the family group chat. Subtle.
Ethan exhaled through his nose. He opened his laptop, pulled up the discreet ad he'd drafted three weeks ago. The one he'd posted on encrypted freelance boards and private networks where people with money bought solutions instead of asking questions.
One year.
Strict terms.
High compensation.
Discretion mandatory.
He scrolled through the replies. Twenty-three so far. Most were predictable: models with clean backgrounds, influencers who thought this was a shortcut to relevance, a few lawyers who smelled opportunity.
Then number seventeen.
Aria Kane.
26.
Cybersecurity specialist.
Profile photo: rooftop, city lights behind her, no smile. Just steady eyes looking straight at the camera.
Her resume was sparse on purpose. No social media footprint. No family listed. A few freelance gigs under aliases that traced back to clean money trails.
Logical. Detached. No drama.
He clicked her photo again. Zoomed in on the background—same building he'd seen in old security footage years ago. The one near the garage fire.
He remembered the scar on her palm. Thin white line. Same one he'd seen when he pulled a twelve-year-old girl out of smoke and sparks because his father's security team had decided the place needed to burn.
He hadn't known her name then. Just that she was small, coughing, terrified.
He hadn't told anyone he'd been there.
Ethan leaned back in his chair. The leather creaked.
He opened a separate window. Pulled up the Voss family archive—old employee files, sealed after the acquisition. Her father's name was still there. Lead developer. Patent disputes. Quiet exit with a nondisclosure payout that barely covered rent.
Victoria's signature on the termination letter.
He closed the tab.
His thumb hovered over the reply button.
He typed.
Interview scheduled.
Tomorrow, 2 p.m.
Location attached.
Come alone.
He hit send.
Then he opened the drawer of his desk. Pulled out the small black box he'd kept since he was nineteen. Inside: a single photograph. Faded. Him at sixteen, standing in front of the garage with a girl he didn't know yet. Both of them smiling like the world hadn't tried to burn them yet.
He looked at it for a long time.
Then he put it back.
He hated emotions because they made people weak. Because they made you trust. Because the last woman he'd let close had sold his private project specs to a competitor for a seven-figure check and a weekend in Dubai.
He'd learned.
Feelings were liabilities.
Contracts were clean.
But this one... this one felt different.
He wasn't choosing Aria because she was safe.
He was choosing her because she was dangerous.
And because somewhere, buried under layers of logic and revenge, he wanted to see what happened when two people who had every reason to destroy each other decided not to.
His phone lit up again. Marcus.
Victoria just asked for your schedule next week. Says it's for "family planning."
Ethan typed back one word.
Stall.
He stood. Walked to the window. Pressed his palm against the cool glass.
Somewhere below, Aria Kane was probably already planning her next move.
He almost smiled.
Three days until the wedding.
And the clock was ticking louder than ever.
- Writer
