Behind The King

Chapter 2 - The Morning of Adrian King

"04:44 a.m.,” Dani’s bedside clock glowed in its red, bold font, numbers carved sharp into the dark. She stared at it like the digits themselves were mocking her. Sleep hadn’t just eluded her, it had abandoned her entirely.

She’d spent the night tossing and turning, kicking at her sheets, trying to quiet the loop in her head: What if I can’t do this? What if they set me up to fail?

Dani groaned loudly and dragged the covers over her head, pressing her palms hard into her eyes until bursts of light bloomed behind them. It didn’t help. Nothing did.

She could still hear Paula’s voice from last week, crisp as if she were standing in the room: I believe in you.

Someone believed in her. Paula believed in her. Paula. The thought was both anchor and weight. Dani couldn’t let her down—not when Paula had stuck her neck out to pitch Dani’s name in that meeting. But belief wasn’t enough. Could she actually deliver?

Her eyes drifted to the ceiling, to the faint shadow of the ceiling fan spinning lazily, mocking her sleeplessness. The room smelled faintly of detergent, of the ginger candles she never lit anymore. Everything felt still, suspended, as though the universe was waiting to see what she would do.

With a groan, Dani rolled over and grabbed her phone from the nightstand. Notifications flooded the screen—missed deadlines, group chats pinging, half-written drafts she hadn’t sent. All of it felt like clutter, noise. Except for one email.

She opened it again.

Ms. Evans, R.E: Special Assignment…

She knew the words by heart now. Every line carved into her memory, from five-day exclusive to Confirm your availability. She could almost recite them without looking.

She sighed, dropping her phone face-down on the sheets. When she glanced at the clock again, it read “4:50 a.m.”

Fine. She was done pretending she might sleep.

Her bare feet hit the cold floor as she swung out of bed. The air in her apartment clung to her skin, heavy with early-morning silence.

Her phone buzzed again.

U up yet?

Of course it was Paula. Always watching, always pushing.

Barely slept, Dani typed back.

The reply came fast: Good. Neither did I. Means you’re ready.

Dani rolled her eyes and scoffed, tossing her phone onto the counter. Paula’s brand of encouragement always sounded like a threat wrapped in affection. Still, Dani brewed a cup of her favorite ginger tea, hands wrapped tight around the mug as though warmth could quiet the storm in her chest.

By 5:30, the sun had begun to bleed through the thin curtains of her apartment, painting the walls in a pale orange glow. Dani stood in front of the mirror, staring at her own reflection like it was a stranger.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’m really doing this.”

Shower. Pressed white shirt. Black blazer that made her look an inch taller and a little richer than she was. Hair pulled back into a low bun, sharp and neat. She checked herself one last time. Full armor.

The drive to the meeting felt unreal. The city was yawning awake, streetlights flickering off as traffic lights blinked lazily at half-empty roads. Dani’s thoughts raced faster than the car: What if I say the wrong thing? What if he walks out? What if I’m just Desk 404, pretending to be someone else?

By the time she arrived, her throat was dry and her stomach twisted itself into knots.

The building loomed above her, all glass and steel and confidence. Inside, the lobby was sleek, cold, and reeked faintly of polish and hard cash—the kind of place that ate people like her alive.

“Dani Evans?” The receptionist asked without looking up from her tablet, her tone polite but detached.

“That’s me,” Dani said, her voice smaller than she intended.

“You’re expected on the second floor. Elevator to the left.”

“Th-thank you,” Dani stuttered.

Her palms were already sweaty; she wiped them on her skirt before stepping into the elevator. The ride up was silent, but each second stretched unbearably long, her heartbeat thudding louder than the hum of the machinery.

And then—the doors slid open.

The conference room hit her like a scene from a film. Wide glass windows lined the wall, spilling daylight across the table. The city stretched endlessly beyond, gleaming like it belonged to them, not her.

And at the head of the table sat Adrian King.

Or rather, the idea of him.

Her breath caught, and she froze in the doorway.

He looked exactly like the man the world had crafted from headlines and glossy magazine covers. The impossibly sharp suit, the slicked-back hair, the perfect smile calculated to disarm and impress. Charismatic. Untouchable. Larger than life.

Dani’s thoughts scattered, her stomach flipping violently. This wasn’t just a man—it was a performance.

“Are you going to come in,” Adrian’s voice rolled smooth, dipped in smug charm, “or would you rather conduct the interview from over there?”

Heat rushed to Dani’s cheeks. She hurried forward, nearly tripping over the edge of the carpet as she slid into the nearest seat.

“Dani Evans. Nice to meet you,” she said, forcing a small smile through the embarrassment.

“Yes, Ms. Evans.” Adrian’s smile sharpened. Rehearsed. Perfect. “I heard you’ll be handling this little project for us.”

“That’s me,” Dani replied, lips stretched into a polite curve. Her hand tightened on her pen, desperate to ground herself.

She laid out her notes, though her mind raced and her heart thundered. This was Adrian King—the Adrian King the world knew, the Adrian King she wasn’t supposed to see past.

And yet—her gut twisted. Something about his eyes, something behind the perfect delivery, told her it wasn’t real.

“Well then,” Dani said, clicking her pen open with a shaky breath. “Shall we begin?”