Earned it

Chapter 3: this can’t be happening

I turned. He hadn’t moved from behind his desk.

His eyes hugged mine, dark and unreadable. “Tell me the truth. Are you afraid of me?”

I didn’t answer right away. The truth sat like iron on my tongue.

Then l said, with a quiet smile: “Only when you’re quiet.”

He laughed — not loud, but real. Warm and fleeting like sunlight through storm clouds.

It unsettled me more than anything he’d said all day.

And as l walked toward the elevator, my pulse still stuck in my throat, l realized something bone-deep and terrifying.

I wasn’t afraid of Louis Maddox because he was powerful.

I was afraid because, for the first time in years, someone saw all my cracks, my flaws…

And looked like he wanted to pour gasoline into them —
 Just to see what would happen when it finally ignited.

The elevator doors slid shut behind me, sealing in the faint scent of his cologne —vanilla , wood smoke, something expensive I couldn’t name.

I exhaled for the first time in what felt like hours, leaning back against the glass panel, eyes aligned.

The floor didn’t move.

Not even a hum this time.

I frowned, glancing at the elevator for some hidden button or sensor. Nothing. Just my own reflection staring back, paler now, hair damp from the rain. I still look like a mess.

Then — a soft click.

The lights inside the elevator dimmed, leaving me in the dark, it felt deliberate.

A pulse of static crackled overhead, like a radio struggling for signal, and a voice — not Louis’s — slipped through the air.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

It was low. Rough. A man’s voice, but different — urgent, not cold but concerned.

I froze, heart thrumming so hard I could hear it in my ears.

“What?” I stated.

The voice cut me off. “He’s not who you think he is. Don’t trust—”

A sharp hiss of white noise swallowed the rest.

The lights flickered back on. The elevator hummed to life, smooth as before, as if nothing had happened.

I stood frozen, not knowing what to do. My fingers gripping the thin strap of my bag so tight it practically bit into my palm.

When the doors opened onto the lobby, I half expected to see someone waiting — a messenger, a shadow, him.

But the place was just as empty as when I’d arrived.

Rain streaked the glass outside, foggy and cold.

I walked quickly across the marble, boots tapping sharp against the silence. My thoughts were louder than my footsteps.

Who was that?

Why warn me?

And why did they sound like they knew me?

I made it to the street before I noticed the envelope.

It was wedged between the flap of my coat and my bag strap, the paper damp from the rain but not too ruined. My name scrawled across it in hurried, slanted cursive handwriting.

Not Maddox’s specialty, l could tell.

Inside: a single photograph.

Me — standing outside Maddox Hall earlier that morning, head tilted, hair clinging to my cheek from the rain.

Taken from across the street.

No note.

But on the back, in the same messy handwriting:

He’s already chosen you.

6:47 PM

By the time I reached my apartment, my chest felt thick and heavy, like it was filled with smoke, suffocating me with its weight.

I dumped my bag, kicked off my soaked boots, and went straight to the window, pulling the curtain back.

Nothing to see. Just the wet blur of the streetlights.

Still, I snapped the lock into place, sealing myself in.

My phone buzzed on the counter, startled me.

A text.

Louis Maddox: Be at my office tomorrow. 8 a.m. sharp. Bring no one.

No explanation. No “goodnight.”

My pulse stuttered. He didn’t know about the voice. About the envelope.

Or maybe… he did.

For the first time since meeting him, I didn’t know if I didn’t want to see him again or if I wanted to see him more.