HIDDEN FREQUENCIES

THE WRONG QUESTION

ETHAN POV

I stood inside my office for longer than necessary.

The glass door had closed behind me.

The finance call was waiting.

The Grimwald.co reports were still open on my desk.

The XI files remained untouched beside my laptop.

But my mind was somewhere else entirely.

Ariana Parker.

Her wrist had felt too small beneath my hand.

That was the first thought I hated.

The second was worse.

She had told me to let go.

And I had.

Immediately.

But the fact that I had grabbed her at all stayed in my mind like a mistake I couldn’t erase.

I dragged a hand down my face and exhaled slowly.

Brilliant.

Absolutely brilliant.

After eight years of silence, I had managed to make her hate me more in less than two days.

My phone buzzed.

Finance division.

I stared at the screen.

Then ignored it.

A second later, my office phone rang.

Ariana’s voice came through the speaker.

“Mr. Blake, your finance call is waiting.”

Professional.

Calm.

As if nothing had happened.

As if I hadn’t pulled her close enough to feel her breath.

As if her eyes hadn’t betrayed her for one dangerous second.

I pressed the button.

“Cancel it.”

There was a pause.

“Cancel it?”

“Yes.”

“You moved it once already.”

“Then move it again.”

Another pause.

I could almost imagine her expression through the glass.

Annoyed.

Controlled.

Disapproving.

“Reason?”

“I’m busy.”

“With what?”

I looked at her through the glass wall.

She was standing at her desk now, phone in hand, eyes fixed on mine.

“With thinking.”

Her face did not change.

“That is not usually considered a valid scheduling reason.”

Despite everything, my mouth almost curved.

Almost.

“Make it one.”

She held my gaze for another second.

Then looked away.

“Of course, Mr. Blake.”

The line went dead.

I leaned back in my chair.

There it was again.

Mr. Blake.

Every time she said it, she placed another brick in that wall between us.

And somehow, I kept wanting to break through it.

That was dangerous.

Ariana had always been dangerous in quiet ways.

Even when we were teenagers, she had never needed to raise her voice to win an argument. She could destroy someone with one calm sentence and then return to her book like nothing had happened.

I used to find it funny.

Now I was on the receiving end.

It was much less enjoyable.

My phone buzzed again.

This time, the name on the screen made my jaw tighten.

ARES GRIMWALD.

I answered.

“You left quickly.”

Ares gave a dry laugh.

“Good morning to you too.”

“What do you know?”

Silence.

Not long.

But enough.

Then Ares said, “That didn’t take long.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“You rarely are these days.”

“Ares.”

His voice lost its humor.

“You should be careful.”

“With what?”

“With her.”

My fingers tightened around the phone.

“That sounds like a warning.”

“It is.”

“Against Ariana?”

“No,” he said quietly. “Against yourself.”

I stood and walked toward the glass wall.

Across the hall, Ariana was seated again, focused on her laptop. She looked untouchable from here.

Calm.

Distant.

Completely unaware that my entire morning had somehow started revolving around her.

“What happened eight years ago?” I asked.

“You were there.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is the only one I can give you.”

My jaw tightened.

“You know something.”

“Yes.”

“Then say it.”

“No.”

I went still.

“No?”

“No,” Ares repeated. “Not like this.”

I turned away from the glass.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means if Ariana wanted you to know, she would have told you.”

“She won’t even talk to me.”

“Can you blame her?”

The words hit harder than expected.

I said nothing.

Ares exhaled.

“You really don’t know.”

His voice was quieter now.

Less accusing.

Almost disbelieving.

I hated it.

I hated that he sounded like I was missing something obvious.

Something everyone else understood.

Something Ariana had been carrying for eight years while I stood on the wrong side of the truth.

“I know she left,” I said. “I know she blocked me. I know her father wouldn’t tell me where she went. I know one day she was there, and the next she was gone.”

“And you never asked yourself why?”

“I did.”

“Not enough.”

My grip tightened.

“Ares.”

“You asked why she left,” he said. “Wrong question.”

I froze.

The words settled into the room.

Wrong question.

“What question should I be asking?”

Ares was silent for a moment.

Then he said, “Ask what she heard before she left.”

My body went still.

“What?”

But the line ended.

I stared at the phone.

Ask what she heard before she left.

The sentence replayed itself once.

Twice.

Then again.

A memory pulled itself from the back of my mind.

Graduation night.

Music.

Laughter.

A crowded house.

Richard saying something stupid.

Aiden laughing too loudly.

Ares standing near the doorway, looking tense.

Me, careless.

Eighteen.

Stupid.

Ariana had been there that night.

I remembered that.

She had looked beautiful.

Not in the way girls at partihes tried to look beautiful.

She had been quiet.

Soft.

Nervous.

Wearing a pale blue dress and holding a glass she never actually drank from.

I had wanted to talk to her.

I remembered that too.

Then something happened.

A conversation.

A dare.

My stomach tightened.

No.

No, that wasn’t possible.

She couldn’t have heard that.

Could she?

The office suddenly felt too small.

I turned back toward the glass wall.

Ariana was still working.

But now she looked different.

Not because she had changed.

Because maybe I was finally seeing the edges of something I should have seen years ago.

My phone rang again.

This time, I answered without looking.

“What?”

Richard’s voice came through.

“Bad time?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then this will be quick. Research division wants your approval before they run another XI simulation.”

I closed my eyes.

Of course.

The world didn’t pause because my past had decided to return.

“What simulation?”

“Updated synchronization interface model.”

My eyes opened.

Synchronization interface.

Ariana’s words from earlier returned immediately.

The disruption began from the synchronization interface.

I straightened.

“Who updated it?”

“Dr. Mehta’s team. Apparently someone flagged inconsistency in the previous report.”

Someone.

Ariana.

Of course.

“When?”

“This morning.”

“Send it to me.”

“Already did.”

The call ended.

I opened my laptop and pulled up the new research report.

There it was.

Highlighted in yellow.

Failure-origin assumption revised.

Possible synchronization-interface instability.

My researchers had spent weeks chasing external energy failure.

Ariana had seen the inconsistency in minutes.

Minutes.

I looked through the glass again.

She was typing.

Calmly.

Like she hadn’t just corrected one of the most expensive research teams in the country.

Like she hadn’t noticed something none of them had.

Like she was exactly what her job title claimed.

Executive assistant.

Nothing more.

I didn’t believe that for a second.

I pressed the intercom.

“Ms. Parker.”

“Yes, Mr. Blake?”

“Come in.”

A short pause.

Then, “Of course.”

A few seconds later, she entered my office with a tablet in hand.

Professional mask in place.

Perfect.

Infuriating.

“You called?”

I gestured toward the chair.

“Sit.”

She looked at the chair.

Then at me.

“I have pending work.”

“It can wait.”

“Can it?”

“Yes.”

She sat, but only because arguing would have wasted more time.

I turned my laptop toward her.

“The research division updated the XI simulation.”

Her expression did not change.

Not even slightly.

That made me more suspicious.

“I see.”

“You were right.”

She looked at the screen.

“About?”

“The synchronization interface.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

That was all.

Not surprise.

Not pride.

Not curiosity.

Just oh.

I leaned back.

“That doesn’t impress you?”

“Should it?”

“My research team missed it for weeks.”

“I’m sure they were looking at broader variables.”

“That sounds generous.”

“It is professional.”

I watched her carefully.

“Where did you learn to read neural system reports?”

Her fingers stilled on the tablet.

Only for a second.

“I told you. I read.”

“And I told you that isn’t an answer.”

Her eyes lifted to mine.

“Then stop asking questions you already know I won’t answer.”

“Are all your answers going to be walls?”

“If you keep trying to enter places you’re not welcome, yes.”

Silence.

She was good.

Too good.

Every time I got close to something real, she redirected. Every time I pushed, she became colder.

But today, I had something I didn’t have yesterday.

Ares’s warning.

Ask what she heard before she left.

I studied her.

“Graduation night.”

The effect was instant.

Small.

Almost invisible.

But it was there.

Her shoulders went still.

Her eyes didn’t move.

Her breathing changed.

Just once.

Then the mask returned.

“What about it?”

My pulse slowed.

There it was.

The c***k.

“What happened that night?”

She looked at me.

For a moment, the office disappeared.

No CEO.

No assistant.

No Novaris.

Just Ethan and Ariana.

Eight years too late.

“You tell me,” she said.

My throat tightened.

“I don’t know.”

A bitter smile touched her lips.

“I know.”

The words were soft.

But they cut clean.

I leaned forward.

“Ariana.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“I do.”

“You don’t.”

She stood.

“I should prepare the investor documents.”

I stood too.

“Don’t walk away.”

She turned to face me fully.

“I’ve done it before.”

The sentence hit like a door slamming shut.

I stepped back without meaning to.

She noticed.

Good.

Maybe she wanted me to.

“You said some things aren’t easy to explain,” I said quietly.

Her expression changed.

Not anger.

Not this time.

Something sadder.

Something older.

“They aren’t.”

“Then let me try to understand.”

Her eyes held mine.

For one second, I thought she would say it.

I thought she would finally give me one piece of the truth.

Instead, she picked up her tablet.

“The simulation report is correct now. But if they run it without adjusting cognitive load limits, it will fail again.”

My mind shifted despite myself.

“What?”

She looked toward the laptop.

“The interface may be the origin point, but the overload won’t stabilize unless the model accounts for human cognitive limits. The chair cannot respond to force alone. It responds to synchronization. If the brain rejects the load, the system collapses.”

Silence.

I stared at her.

She had said too much.

She realized it at the same time I did.

Her face closed immediately.

“I mean, that is one possible interpretation from the report.”

“No,” I said slowly. “That is not from the report.”

She didn’t answer.

I stepped closer.

Not too close.

Not like before.

This time, I stopped with distance between us.

Enough distance to show I remembered.

Enough distance to show I wouldn’t touch her again.

“Who are you, Ariana?”

Her grip tightened around the tablet.

For the first time since she had walked back into my life, she looked almost trapped.

Not afraid.

Never afraid.

But caught between two versions of herself.

The woman who wanted peace.

And the woman who knew too much.

“I’m your assistant,” she said.

“No,” I said quietly. “You’re not.”

Her eyes flashed.

“Then maybe you should replace me.”

The thought landed badly.

Too badly.

“No.”

The answer came too fast.

She noticed.

Of course she noticed.

Something tense passed between us.

“You can’t keep me here just because you want answers,” she said.

“I’m not keeping you here.”

“Then what are you doing?”

I didn’t know how to answer that.

Not honestly.

Because the truth was ugly.

I wanted answers.

I wanted the past.

I wanted to know why Ares looked at her like he was carrying guilt.

I wanted to know why Ariana could read XI reports better than scientists.

I wanted to know why she left.

But underneath all of that, beneath the suspicion and confusion and anger, there was something more dangerous.

I wanted her to stay.

Even if she hated me.

Even if every word from her came wrapped in ice.

Even if she looked at me like I was a wound that never healed right.

“I don’t want you to disappear again,” I said.

The words left before I could stop them.

Ariana went completely still.

For once, she had no immediate reply.

The silence between us changed.

It softened.

Only slightly.

But enough.

Her eyes searched mine, and for a second, I saw the girl I remembered.

Not the hurt.

Not the anger.

The girl who used to look at me like I was safe.

Then she blinked.

And she was gone.

“That isn’t my problem anymore.”

The words were quiet.

Almost gentle.

Somehow, that made them worse.

She turned and walked toward the door.

This time, I didn’t stop her.

At the doorway, she paused.

Without looking back, she said, “Don’t run the simulation today.”

My eyes narrowed.

“Why?”

“Because it will fail.”

“Are you guessing?”

“No.”

One word.

Cold.

Certain.

Impossible to ignore.

Then she left.

The door closed behind her.

I stood there, staring at the space she had occupied.

Graduation night.

Ares’s warning.

XI.

Synchronization.

Cognitive load limits.

Ariana Parker had walked into Novaris asking for an ordinary life.

But ordinary people didn’t speak like that.

Ordinary people didn’t look at the world’s greatest technological mystery and know exactly where it would break.

I sat down slowly and opened the simulation report again.

For the first time in two years, the XI project no longer felt like a dead end.

It felt like a door.

And somehow, Ariana was standing on the other side of it.

My phone buzzed with a message from the research division.

SIMULATION READY FOR APPROVAL.

I stared at the screen.

Then at the glass wall.

Ariana was back at her desk, typing calmly, pretending she hadn’t just changed everything.

I picked up the phone.

“Cancel the simulation,” I said.

Richard groaned on the other end.

“What? Why?”

My eyes stayed on Ariana.

“Because she said it will fail.”

Richard paused.

“She?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I was already asking myself the same question.

Who was she?

And why did it feel like every answer led back to XI:N?