CHAPTER THREE
1371 Words
The dining room was set on the top floor of the facility’s east wing — more intimate than Ariana had expected. A two-top was set among minimalist chandelier accessories, the glass walls of which framed the city skyline like an art piece. Some quiet jazz music played softly in the background. No assistants. No staff.
Just her and Liam.
Liam pulled out her chair and Ariana stiffened. “I thought we owed ourselves a proper dinner,” he said with the kind of casual ease that couldn’t quite conceal his purpose.
She studied him as she sat. Dressed to perfection, unshakably composed. But there was something in his gaze tonight that seemed different. Gentler, but more intentional. Like the predator, they are playing house.
“What brought you to choose this space as a dining room?” she asked, her voice deliberate.
“Privacy,” he said, pouring both of them a glass of wine. “And silence. It’s easier for me to think without distractions.”
“Or witnesses,” Ariana said, half-joking.
He grinned but didn’t deny it. “Sometimes the truest conversations are the ones we never have.”
They started with small talk — her career trajectory, his early ventures, and the broader implications of the research. But as the courses came and the wine loosened their tongues, the conversation became deeper.
“You know what your biggest strength is? I asked, leaning forward, my elbows on the table.
Ariana blinked. “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“You don’t have to have anybody that believes in you. You already believe in yourself.”
She hesitated, surprised by the observation. It was... accurate.
“That’s not a compliment,” he said.” “It’s a warning. People like you burn brighter, but alone. That makes you vulnerable.”
The air thinned. Ariana picked at her food, suddenly too visible.
“And you?” she asked. “Are you vulnerable, Liam?”
His smile failed for just a second. “Only to people who look beyond the performance.”
The moment hovered between them, pregnant and unsaid. Then without warning, his hand crossed the table and grazed hers. Soft. Measured.
Her pulse jumped. She didn’t pull away.
The days went by, but the imprint of Liam’s touch remained like a fingerprint on glass. Ariana tried to shake it. She threw herself into data, team meetings, and late-night policy briefings. But nothing lessened how his fingers had curled against hers — confident, sure, intentional.
The facility was a marvel. Her team ran like a machine — productive, brilliant, a scary, machine obeying. If Ariana was their leader, she also felt like an outsider. It was an odd duality: she was essential, and yet obviously not entirely trusted.
And then there was Liam.
They started meeting regularly, sometimes to talk about protocol and metrics, other times to discuss the ethics of enhancement trials. The exchanges crept into flirtation territory.
“You’re running from this,” he told one late-night strategy session.
Ariana didn’t take her eyes off the tablet. “From what?”
“From the inevitable.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”
“That we’re attracted to each other.”
There was nothing haughty in his voice. Just truth laid bare.
Ariana set the tablet down. This facility needs limits,’’ the judge said. No distractions.”
“Boundaries keep safe, or they trap. Depends on the architect.”
His gaze pierced her. This was no longer just flirtation. It was a proposition.
She rose to leave. “Goodnight, Liam.”
But she limped away in uneven steps.
By the end of the week, Ariana received an invitation to a “gathering” in Liam’s private lounge, a curated room lurking behind the executive wing. It was sitting in style: leather upholstery, rare art on the walls, shelves of books in many languages. A handful of senior staff members hung around a bar.
Liam had a drink waiting for her when she arrived. “You came.”
“Curiosity,” she said, taking the glass.
They chatted with colleagues for a time, but it was apparent that folks bowed to Liam, even in casual conversation. He was the center of gravity.
Her led her to a corner, where they might converse privately.
“I know what you’re doing,” she said.
“Do you?”
“You create loyalty by making people feel seen and valued. But it’s still controlled. Wrapped in velvet.”
He didn’t deny it. “What would you prefer? Brutality?”
“Truth.”
Liam stepped closer. “I want you next to me. Not just at this facility. In everything.”
She stared at him, stunned. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough. Enough to recognize something I haven’t had in a long time.”
She wanted to fight it, to laugh it off, but the look in his eyes disarmed her. Vulnerable, even.
Ariana: I said, “I need time.”
He nodded. “Take all the time you want. I’ll be here.”
The next morning, Ariana was working in the observation lab looking over enhancement logs. She tracked a blip in Subject 7’s vitals — a fall-off in neural response that had raised an alert, then been resolved. But the graphs didn’t lie.
She compared it with earlier trials. Similar dips. Always labeled as anomalies. Always ignored.
She opened the interview notes for the subject. There were … redactions — whole sections blacked out.
“Why would there be any redactions on non-classified reports?” she muttered.
Someone knocked on her office door, interrupting her reverie.
It was Isla.
“We need to talk,” Isla said, quickly stepping in.
“What is it?”
Isla shut the door. “You’re so in over your head, you don’t even know. This is not only the cutting edge of research. Some of these subjects did not properly consent.”
Ariana’s blood chilled. “That’s a massive violation.”
“And it has happened on more than one occasion.” Isla took a flash drive out of her bag. “I copied what I could. But be careful. They have been moved for asking questions.”
Ariana got the drive, her fingers shaking.
That night, Ariana sat alone on her bed, looking at the drive. She wanted to seek out Liam, to demand answers. But part of her hesitated.
For, after all, she had started to care for him.”
She hated that truth. Loathed how quickly he invaded her thoughts.
Ariana connected the drive and opened the files. Video logs. Emails. Forms that had mismatched dates on them.
It was all real.
Her door buzzed.
She promptly snatched the drive out and shoved it beneath a folder.
It was Liam.
“May I come in?”
She answered the door, attempting to act normally.
He studied her face. “Rough day?”
“Something like that.”
He took her hand. “Come for a walk with me.”
They remained silent as they walked through the facility. He brought her out to the garden terrace — lush, artificial and strangely soothing.
“This place is here because people took risks,” he said. “I hope you realize that risk doesn’t always look like danger. “Sometimes it appears like opportunity.”
She met his eyes. “And what of opportunity masked as harm?”
He smiled softly. “Then we correct it. Together.”
She wanted to believe him. Wanted the guy who’d touched her hand that night at dinner to be real. But her instincts were shouting something different.
Back in her suite, Ariana was at the window, surveying the gentling wind tugging at fabricated trees below.
Her phone buzzed.
A blocked number.
She answered.
It’s warped: “Whatever you think he told you, it’s only half the truth. Don’t ignore what you found.”
Click.
Ariana stared at the screen.
She squeezed her hands into fists. The truth could no longer be optional. It was survival.
Tomorrow, she would face Liam.
But tonight, she would get things ready.
Because, she said, something told her she wasn’t the only one watching.
- Writer
