When the Devil Learned to Love

Episode 3: The Golden Cage

“DON’T TOUCH THAT! STEP AWAY FROM THE DESK! NOW!”

The cardboard box hit the floor with a loud thud, spilling my pens and notepads everywhere.

I jumped back, my heart hammering in my throat. I had just arrived at my desk on the analyst floor, ready to start my second day. I had my coffee in one hand and my bag in the other.

Two security guards were standing there. They were huge, blocked out the light, and they weren't smiling.

"Ms. Kael," the lead guard barked. He didn't ask. He announced. "You are coming with us."

The entire office went dead silent. Phones stopped ringing. Typing stopped. Forty heads turned to look at me. I saw pity in their eyes. They thought I was being fired. They thought I was being taken to the "quiet room" where people went before they disappeared.

"I... I don't understand," I stammered, clutching my coffee cup so hard the cardboard sleeve was tearing. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Mr. Voss gave the order," the guard said. He reached out and grabbed my bag from my shoulder.

"Hey!" I protested. "That's personal property!"

"Not anymore," he said coldly. "Standard protocol for Level 80 clearance. No outside devices. We will search it and return what is permitted."

He grabbed my arm. His grip was firm, not painful, but it told me one thing clearly: You have no choice.

I looked around the room. Nobody moved to help me. In Voss Industries, you didn't help the wounded. You just hoped you weren't next.

"Walk," the guard commanded.

I walked.

The elevator ride to Level 80 was the longest of my life. The numbers ticked up slowly.

Level 20... Level 40... Level 60...

My ears popped. My stomach twisted. I thought about the USB drive hidden in the lining of my bag. Would they find it? If they found it, would they know what it was? If they decrypted it, they would see the research I had done on Aarav. They would see the photos of my dead family.

I would be dead before lunch.

Ding.

The doors opened.

I expected another busy office. I expected noise.

But Level 80 was silent.

It was terrifyingly quiet. The carpet was so thick it swallowed the sound of our footsteps. The walls were lined with strange, dark art—paintings of storms and angry oceans. The air smelled different here. It didn't smell like coffee and sweat. It smelled like cedar, ice, and money.

"This is your station," the guard said.

He pointed to a desk.

It wasn't a cubicle. It was a sleek, glass table that looked more like a sculpture than a desk. And it was positioned directly in front of a set of massive double doors.

Aarav’s office.

I sat down. The chair was leather, soft and expensive. But I didn't feel comfortable. I felt exposed. There were no walls to hide behind. If Aarav opened his door, he would see me. If he looked through the glass panels, he would see me.

"Wait here," the guard said. Then he left.

I was alone.

I sat there for twenty minutes. The silence was heavy. It pressed against my ears. I was afraid to touch anything. I was afraid to even breathe too loud.

Then, the double doors clicked.

They swung open.

Aarav stood there.

He wasn't wearing his suit jacket. He was in a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His tie was loose, hanging undone around his neck. He looked... casual. Human.

It was more terrifying than the suit.

He held a towel in one hand. His hair was slightly damp, as if he had just washed his face.

"You're late," he said.

"The guards..." I started. "They took my bag."

"I know," he said. He turned and walked back into his office. "Come in."

It wasn't a request.

I stood up, my legs trembling, and followed him into the lion's den.

His office was vast. The morning sun poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, blindingly bright.

Aarav walked to a small bar in the corner and poured a glass of water. He drank it in one long swallow. He didn't look at me. He acted like I was a piece of furniture.

"Sit," he said, pointing to a chair in front of his desk.

I sat. I folded my hands in my lap to hide the shaking.

He walked over to his desk and picked up a stack of thick, creamy paper. Letters. He tossed them onto the desk in front of me. They slid across the polished wood and stopped near my hand.

"Read them," he ordered.

I picked up the first one. It was handwritten. The handwriting was shaky.

Dear Mr. Voss, please. We need more time. The loan payment is impossible this month. My wife is sick. If you take the factory, the whole town loses their jobs. Have mercy.

I felt a lump in my throat. It was desperate. Sad.

I picked up the next one. It was angry. A threat from a competitor.

"What do you want me to do with these?" I asked.

Aarav leaned back in his chair. He watched me with those cold, gray eyes.

"I receive hundred of threats and pleas every week," he said. "I don't have time to read emotions. I need you to translate them."

"Translate them?"

"Tell me which ones are dangerous," he said. "Tell me which of these men is weak and will give up, and which one is desperate enough to come here with a gun."

He pointed to the letter about the sick wife. "That one. What do you see?"

I looked at the paper again. "He's sad. He's scared. He loves his wife."

"Wrong," Aarav said sharply.

He stood up and walked around the desk. He came to stand behind my chair. I stiffened. I could feel his body heat. I could smell the soap on his skin.

"Look at the pen pressure," he whispered. "Look at the way the letters slant. He isn't sad, Mira. He is furious. He writes 'please', but he presses the pen so hard it almost rips the paper. That man isn't begging. He is warning me."

He reached over my shoulder and tapped the paper. His arm brushed against my arm. A jolt of electricity shot through me. I held my breath.

"He is dangerous," Aarav said. "Flag him for security. Have them watch his house."

"You... you want me to spy on a man because he wrote a sad letter?" I asked.

"I want you to protect this company," Aarav said. He moved back to his seat. "Do the rest. You have an hour."

The hour passed in silence. The only sound was the rustling of paper and the scratching of Aarav’s pen.

I worked. I hated it, but I was good at it. I sorted the letters. The angry ones, the sad ones, the liars. I put them into piles.

My stomach rumbled. It was loud.

I blushed. I hadn't eaten breakfast.

Aarav didn't look up. "Hungry?"

"I can wait until lunch break," I said quickly.

"There is no lunch break on this floor," he said. "We eat when the work is done."

He pressed a button on his phone. "Send in the food."

Two minutes later, a cart was wheeled in. It smelled amazing. Roasted chicken, fresh bread, salads.

"Eat," he said.

He stood up and walked to the small table by the window. He sat down and gestured for me to join him.

This felt wrong. Bosses didn't eat with their assistants. Especially not billionaires.

I sat opposite him. I picked at a piece of bread.

"Tell me about your father," he said suddenly.

I froze. "My father?"

"The history professor," Aarav said. He was cutting his chicken with surgical precision. "The one who taught you Phoenician."

It was a test. I knew it. He was checking my lie.

"He... he was quiet," I said, inventing a story on the spot. "He loved old books more than people. He used to read to me in ancient Greek before bed."

"Sounds lonely," Aarav said.

"It was," I said. And that part was true. My life was lonely.

Aarav looked at me. He stopped eating. His gaze dropped to my mouth, then back to my eyes.

"You have a crumb," he said.

He reached across the table.

I panicked. I leaned back. "I... I can get it."

But he was faster. His thumb brushed the corner of my lip. His skin was rough, warm. The touch was so gentle it was terrifying.

He held his thumb there for a second too long. The air between us became thick. Heavy. I couldn't look away. My heart was beating so fast I thought he could see it moving under my blouse.

"You are trembling," he murmured. "Are you afraid of me, Mira?"

"Everyone is afraid of you," I whispered.

A corner of his mouth lifted. A almost-smile. "Good. Fear keeps you alive."

He pulled his hand back and wiped his thumb on a napkin. The moment broke.

"Finish your food," he said, his voice cold again. "We have work to do."

At 3:00 PM, Aarav’s phone rang. He answered it, his face turning hard.

"I need ten minutes," he said to me. "Don't touch anything."

He walked into a small side room—a soundproof booth used for classified calls. He shut the heavy door.

I was alone in the office.

I looked at his desk.

His tablet was there. The screen was black, but... was it locked?

I knew I shouldn't. I knew there were cameras. But the text message from last night burned in my mind. Project Lazarus. Sector 7.

I stood up. I pretended to stretch. I walked casually toward his desk, acting like I was looking for a pen.

I reached out and tapped the tablet screen.

It lit up.

ENTER PASSCODE.

Damn it. Of course it was locked.

I looked at the keypad. Four digits.

I thought about Aarav. I thought about the way his mind worked. He wouldn't use a birthday. He wouldn't use "1234". He was arrogant. He would use something that meant something only to him.

I looked around the room. There was a painting on the wall behind his desk. It was dark, chaotic. In the corner of the painting, there was a date: 1998.

The year he started the company? No, that was 2010.

1998... That was the year his parents died in the crash. The event that made him an orphan. The event that made him the Devil.

My fingers hovered over the glass.

1... 9... 9... 8...

The screen flashed green. UNLOCKED.

My heart stopped. I was in.

I frantically tapped the search bar. I typed LAZARUS.

A file popped up.

PROJECT LAZARUS: PHASE 1 STATUS: ACTIVE LOCATION: SECTOR 7 WAREHOUSE CARGO: BIOLOGICAL AGENT - UNSTABLE

Biological agent? Was he making weapons? Was he making a virus?

I heard the click of the soundproof door handle.

I gasped. I tapped the power button on the tablet, turning the screen black. I spun around, grabbing a stapler from the desk just as Aarav walked out.

He stopped.

He looked at me. He looked at the tablet. He looked at the stapler in my hand.

"I... I needed a stapler," I said. My voice was high and squeaky. "For the... letters."

Aarav stood there. He was silent for a long, agonizing moment. He was analyzing the scene. He was calculating the distance between me and his device.

Slowly, he walked toward me.

He took the stapler from my hand. He set it down on the desk.

"The letters don't need to be stapled, Mira," he said softly. "They go in the shredder."

He knew. He had to know.

But he didn't call security. He didn't yell.

He walked around the desk and picked up the tablet. He tapped the screen. He looked at it for a second.

Then he looked at me.

"You are very curious," he said. "Curiosity killed the cat."

"But satisfaction brought it back," I countered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Aarav’s eyes widened slightly. He looked surprised. Then, he laughed.

It was a short, dry sound. Like a bark. But it was a laugh.

"Pack up," he said. "It's 6:00 PM. Go home."

He opened a drawer and pulled out a sleek, black box. He slid it across the desk to me.

"Take this."

"What is it?" I asked.

"A phone," he said. "Your old one is... compromised. This one is secure. Use it for all communication. Do not use any other device."

I picked up the box. It felt heavy.

"Thank you," I said.

"Don't thank me," Aarav said. He turned his back to the window, looking out at the city sunset. "I like to know where my assets are. At all times."

I felt a chill run down my spine.

It wasn't a gift. It was a tracking device. He was tagging me like a wild animal.

"Goodnight, Mr. Voss," I said.

"Goodnight, Mira," he replied without turning around.

I walked to the elevator. My legs were shaking.

I had found the secret. Biological Agent.

But as the elevator doors closed, I realized something else.

When he touched my lip... when he laughed... I didn't hate him.

For a split second, I wanted him to look at me again.

I clutched the black box to my chest. I was in deep. The water was rising, and I didn't know if I could swim anymore.

I was falling for the monster. And he was watching my every move.