His Boss, My Revenge

The Man in the Glass Office

The Man in the Glass Office

Aria didn’t sleep that night.

She lay on her narrow bed, the hum of the city outside her window fading into the background as her mind spiraled. The faint ticking of the wall clock above her dresser felt louder with each second, like a countdown to war. Her fingers gripped the edge of the bedsheet, knuckles tight, chest rising and falling with the weight of what she’d discovered.

Lucas was in the building.

Two damn floors above her.

And worse—he knew she was there.

He’d seen her, spoken to her. Left her with words that slithered beneath her skin.

“Ward’s not as predictable as you think.”

What did he mean by that? Was it just his usual smugness, or did it mean something more? Did he know about her plan?

Aria pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. This wasn’t part of the original blueprint. She had imagined herself infiltrating this place unnoticed, charming her way into Alexander Ward’s trust and influence, all while staying a ghost to Lucas. But now? Now the enemy had eyes on her.

Still—she didn’t feel defeated.

She felt alive.

This wasn’t a setback.

It was a plot twist.

And God, she lived for those.

By dawn, she was on her feet. Coffee black. Eyes sharper than blades. She slipped into her favorite wine-red lipstick—the one that made her feel untouchable—and styled her hair into a sleek ponytail. Her blazer fit like armor. Her heels clicked like gunfire on the pavement.

If Lucas wanted to play mind games, she’d flip the board.

Today, she’d meet Alexander Ward in person.

Today, the game would shift.

⸻

It was just after lunch when his assistant called.

“Mr. Ward would like a word,” the woman said, her tone clipped, polished, like every syllable had been approved by legal.

Aria’s pulse kicked up a notch, but she kept her expression neutral. “Of course.”

She followed the assistant down a corridor that could’ve belonged to a private art gallery—clean glass panels on either side, marble floors that didn’t echo, and soft lights that made everything look just a little surreal. Everything about the 12th floor screamed elite. The kind of space reserved for people who made billion-dollar decisions over black coffee and signed contracts that could change industries.

At the far end stood the door.

Frosted. Matte. Borderless.

The assistant knocked once, then opened it.

And there he was.

Alexander Ward.

Not on a screen. Not through hushed whispers in the intern break room. In the flesh.

He stood with his back to the door, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked half the city. Sunlight poured in, casting sharp lines across the floor. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms dusted with ink from scribbled notes. His tailored dark slacks hugged lean muscle like they were made for him. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to hint at the edge of a scar—faint, old, near the collarbone.

When he turned, Aria almost faltered.

Those eyes.

Cool gray. Calculating. The kind that made you feel like he could see through you.

“You must be Miss Matthews,” he said, voice low and steady, smooth like fine whiskey but not the kind you sip slowly—the kind that burns on the way down.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, standing a little straighter.

He nodded to the chair across from his sleek black desk. “Relax. This isn’t an interrogation.”

Yet the atmosphere said otherwise.

As she sat, the chair whispering against the floor, his gaze never dropped. He didn’t look at her like a boss reviewing an intern. He looked at her like a chess player considering an unexpected move—curious, but also cautious.

“I’ve been reviewing the numbers from last week,” he said, tapping at a slim tablet on his desk. “You cleaned up that financial brief for the Hartman project—flawlessly.”

Her pulse quickened. “I caught some inconsistencies with their previous quarter’s performance. It didn’t match the supplier data.”

“Most interns wouldn’t have noticed,” he replied, folding his hands. “Or cared to look deeper.”

“I have a habit of being… thorough.”

“Good,” he said, eyes still locked on her. “I like people who don’t miss the fine print.”

There was silence.

Not awkward—weighty.

She could feel him studying her—not her resumé, not her credentials, but her. Her composure. Her presence. Like he was peeling away layers without asking a single question.

Then he tilted his head slightly. “What made you apply here?”

Aria hesitated—just a breath. The truth was too jagged to hand over raw.

“I wanted to be in the room where real decisions are made,” she said finally, steady. “Not just watching from outside the glass.”

Alexander’s lips tugged slightly at the corner. A ghost of a smirk. Approval, perhaps. Or curiosity.

“And if that room’s full of fire?”

“Then I learn how not to burn.”

He leaned back, fingers steepled, and the air between them shifted.

Not flirtation.

Fascination.

“Interesting answer,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You remind me of someone I used to know.”

Before she could ask who, he stood.

“We’ll be keeping an eye on you, Miss Matthews.”

Aria rose, nodded politely, and turned to leave. But just before the door closed behind her, she caught his voice again.

“And Miss Matthews?”

She turned back.

“Welcome to the fire”

Back at her desk, Aria exhaled slowly, trying to steady her breath. The adrenaline was still buzzing through her veins, a sharp, electric hum that wouldn’t dissipate. It was the same feeling she’d get before stepping on stage to deliver a perfectly timed monologue. There was something about the rush of control—the power to manipulate the narrative—that sent her heart into overdrive.

Alexander Ward had that same energy. The way he commanded a room without even trying. His presence was magnetic, unsettling. Every word from him had felt like a subtle invitation to play a game she had no intention of losing.

She leaned back in her chair, running her fingers over the edges of the glossy documents in front of her, as if the physical touch could ground her thoughts. But it wasn’t working. All she could think about was the look in his eyes—the way he’d observed her with that clinical intensity, as if he was cataloging her, scrutinizing her every move.

He knows.

The thought hit her like a wave. It wasn’t a guess. It was more of an undeniable instinct. There was no way he hadn’t noticed the way she watched him, the way her every response was calculated to remain in control. This wasn’t just a professional evaluation anymore. It was something more.

Something raw.

Something… dangerous.

She shook her head, trying to banish the thoughts. Focus, Aria. Stay on course.

Her phone buzzed on the desk, a sharp sound in the otherwise silent office. She glanced at the screen, recognizing the number even before she saw the message.

Unknown number.

Of course.

The message popped up.

Funny seeing you up there. Climbing the tower fast, aren’t you?

It wasn’t a question. It was a challenge. A mockery.

Aria’s lip curled into a tight smile as she stared at the message. It wasn’t hard to guess who it was. Lucas. The man who thought he had the upper hand, even though he couldn’t even see the chessboard anymore. He was an ant under her boot, and he didn’t know it yet.

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard as she crafted a reply. She needed to keep her cool—show no vulnerability. She’d played this game before. The trick was to act like you had nothing to hide, even when every fiber of your being screamed otherwise.

I’m not climbing. I’m already inside. And I don’t look down.

She didn’t need to add anything else. The message was sharp, final. The kind that cut off any further banter. She hit send and put the phone down. She could almost hear his chuckle through the screen.

A few moments passed, and then the next message came through.

Just don’t forget who’s two floors above you, Aria.

Aria’s fingers curled into a fist around the edge of her desk, the sharp angle of her nails digging into her palm. She knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to provoke her, drag her into a game of ego. He was used to being the one who held the power, the one who controlled the narrative.

But not anymore.

Some towers crumble from the top.

She hit send, feeling the weight of her words. Her blood was boiling, but there was a coldness to it now. It wasn’t fear. It was determination. He had underestimated her before, but he wouldn’t make that mistake again. She wasn’t the same woman he’d known.

She wasn’t the one he could manipulate anymore.

But even as she felt the rush of confidence flood her veins, a strange knot twisted in her stomach. What if she was wrong?

Her eyes flicked to the screen again, the glowing text a constant reminder of how thin the line was between winning and losing. The message she’d just sent felt like a declaration of war, but had she really thought it through? Was she really ready to risk everything? What if Lucas didn’t care about the games anymore? What if he had a bigger plan?

No. He’s just trying to rattle me.

Aria bit her lip, staring down at the phone in front of her. But just as she was about to shove those doubts aside, a new message appeared. This one was different. Not from Lucas.

It was from Alexander Ward.

I’ll need your report on the Hartman figures by tomorrow morning, Miss Matthews. Your focus is impressive, but let’s make sure it matches the delivery, shall we?

Her fingers froze on the screen, her breath caught in her throat.

What?

He hadn’t mentioned any report when they’d spoken in person. The meeting had been about her general performance, not a specific task. He had been vague, testing her, feeling her out. And yet, somehow, he had already anticipated the next step in her work—before she even knew what it was.

She blinked, trying to digest what this meant. Had he already decided her role? Had he been watching her from the beginning, always steps ahead?

She leaned back in her chair again, feeling the weight of it all press down on her chest. She had been so focused on Lucas, so sure of the direction she was going, that she hadn’t accounted for the possibility of Alexander becoming a threat. He was a man who didn’t just control his company; he controlled the people around him with ease. He moved like a shadow, knowing how to make people feel like they were in control while he pulled the strings.

This just got a lot more complicated.

Her phone buzzed again. Another message.

This time from Lucas. But it wasn’t his usual smug comment. It was something far more unsettling.

You don’t know everything about him. But you’re about to.

Aria’s stomach twisted. Her fingers hovered over the screen, but for the first time, she wasn’t sure what to think.

What was Lucas trying to tell her?

She stood up, pacing the office. Every step felt heavier than the last. It wasn’t just about her and Lucas anymore.