Trial by Fire
647 Words
The Kensington files weighed a ton.
Sophia stared at the mountain of binders stacked on her tiny intern desk, each one thicker than her business law textbook. Someone—probably Damien—had left them there with a single yellow sticky note:
"Due Friday. -DK"
She flipped open the top binder. Financial reports. Contracts. Emails. All marked *CONFIDENTIAL* in angry red stamps. The sheer volume was overwhelming, but one thing became immediately clear—whoever leaked Kensington's data had done it deliberately. The breach was too precise, too damaging to be accidental.
Her phone buzzed. A text from her roommate:
Lena: So? Did you meet Ice King Damien?
Sophia snorted. She snapped a photo of the binder avalanche and replied:
Me: Oh we met. Now he's trying to bury me alive.
"Miss Carter?"
Sophia nearly dropped her phone. The CFO, Robert Langley, stood over her desk—early 60s, salt-and-pepper hair, the only person in the building who smiled.
"Mr. Langley," she straightened up. "Thank you for—"
"Don't thank me yet." He lowered his voice. "Damien only agreed to keep you because I lied."
Sophia blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You're not technically* the top analytics student at Columbia." Robert's eyes twinkled. "You're tied with Ethan Cho. But I may have implied you were better."
Her stomach dropped. "You what?"
"Relax." He tapped the binders. "I've read your work. If anyone can fix this, it's you." He started walking away, then paused. "Oh, and Damien hates being called 'sir.' Thinks it makes him sound old."
Sophia groaned.
---
Midnight.
The office was eerily quiet, just the hum of the AC and the occasional ping from Sophia's laptop. She'd been at it for twelve hours straight, cross-referencing financials until her vision blurred.
The pattern emerged around 1:00 AM.
"Got you," she whispered, circling a series of transactions. The leaks all traced back to one department—External Acquisitions. Specifically, transactions authorized by...
Her blood ran cold.
*Daniel Vaughn.* Damien's second-in-command.
The elevator dinged.
Sophia nearly jumped out of her skin as Damien stepped out, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms. A silver flask glinted in his hand.
"You're still here."
His voice was different—less ice, more rough velvet. Probably the whiskey she could smell from six feet away.
Sophia instinctively covered her notes. "You wanted this done by Friday."
Damien arched a brow. "It's Tuesday."
"And you're drinking at work." The words slipped out before she could stop them.
A beat. Then he took a deliberate sip. "Observant." He moved closer, eyes dropping to her scribbled notes. "What did you find?"
Sophia hesitated. Accusing Vaughn without proof was career suicide. But Damien's sharp gaze missed nothing—he snatched the paper before she could react.
His expression darkened as he read.
"This is a serious accusation."
"I can prove it." Sophia pulled up a spreadsheet. "Vaughn authorized all these transfers right before each leak. The amounts match Kensington's reported losses to the dollar."
Damien studied the screen, so close she could see the faint scar above his eyebrow. His cologne mixed with whiskey, creating an intoxicating blend that made her head spin.
"Why?" he murmured, more to himself than her.
Sophia swallowed. "Maybe he wanted your job."
Their eyes locked. Something electric passed between them—not attraction, not yet, but the first spark of mutual respect.
Damien straightened abruptly. "Send me everything. Don't breathe a word of this." He started walking away, then stopped. "And Carter?"
"Yeah?"
A ghost of a smirk. "Good work."
The elevator doors closed behind him. Sophia exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to her racing heart.
Then her phone buzzed—a calendar alert:
KENSINGTON MEETING - 9AM TOMORROW
She groaned. Four hours to sleep, and she still had to figure out how to present this without getting fired—or worse, getting Vaughn arrested in the boardroom.
- Writer
