Chapter 6: Silver Edge and the Morning Sanctum
1270 Words
The next morning, the atmosphere within the Valkyrie Design Department was as taut as a drawn longbow.
The moment Astrid stepped into the workspace, dozens of gazes—a volatile mix of mockery, scrutiny, and sheer hostility—pinned her where she stood. The air was thick with the scent of cheap coffee and the acrid tang of sweat born from collective over-excitement.
"Astrid, a thief broke into the territory last night," Claire whispered, leaning in close. "That stack of original manuscripts for the year-end 'Bloodlight' competition—the ones locked in Caspian’s office—somehow materialized on your desk this morning."
Astrid’s eyelids lowered slightly. This crude attempt at framing was a cliché in this fashion empire that masqueraded as an elite meritocracy.
The year-end competition was the passport to the upper echelons of the hierarchy. Any leak or accusation of plagiarism effectively meant the death of a designer's career.
Astrid didn't show a flicker of panic. Instead, she swept a frigid gaze across the room. Those hoping to catch a glimpse of terror in her eyes quickly looked away, unable to withstand her crystalline, unbothered stare. The raucous office plummeted into an eerie silence.
With a derisive curl of her lip, she didn't even set down her bag before walking to her station. Sure enough, a stack of documents lay arrogantly in the dead center of her desk.
Using a finger adorned with a silver ring, she pinched a corner of the top sheet with visible loathing. "It seems everyone’s masterpieces grew legs last night," she said, her voice projecting clearly. "They were so eager to come home with me."
The silence shattered. Accusations surged like a flood:
"Astrid, even if you are a prodigy, you didn't need to resort to theft to secure first place!" "No wonder you posted that fake 'working late' story—just a cover to study our confidential drafts and bribe the judges’ tastes?" "Once a work is seen, it loses its purity. You are desecrating the art!"
Facing these mediocrities who lacked the courage to even meet her eyes, Astrid felt nothing but cold indifference.
"If I wanted to plagiarize you, I’d use a retinal scanner and deconstruct your work in the comfort of my home," she sneered, releasing the paper and letting it flutter back onto the pile. "I wouldn't be stupid enough to leave the evidence sitting here for you to find. Or better yet, I’d feed them to the shredder and eliminate the competition entirely. Do you really think I’m that clumsy?"
The shouting wavered, but the jealousy in the senior designers' eyes remained. They were starving for a reason to see this high-flying, "low-born" genius fall from grace.
Astrid ignored them, sweeping the stack onto the lid of the communal printer. For some reason, her awakening bloodline was making her increasingly impatient with humble workplace theatrics.
"Is this how we begin the morning? With a primitive clan skirmish?"
The voice was low, chilling, and cut through the room like a blade. Director Caspian entered, followed by a figure clad in black—Killian Valerius, descending like a Sovereign of the Night.
The room held its breath. The Lord’s presence in the Design Department was a rare, almost unprecedented event.
Astrid looked up instinctively, her eyes colliding with Killian’s deep amber gaze. The primal shiver of being locked in by a predator forced her to look away.
"My Lord, Miss Astrid was found in illegal possession of the year-end confidential manuscripts..." someone ventured boldly.
"I was not," Astrid stated firmly.
She could feel Killian’s weight on her. Under the crushing pressure of his Alpha aura, her back remained ramrod straight, fueled by a strange, defiant agitation.
"I did work late last night, but that doesn't mean I have any interest in these mediocre offerings," Astrid took a deep breath, deciding to go for the throat. "To be blunt, nothing in this room holds any reference value for me. I am certain that even if I looked at them a hundred times, they still wouldn't stop me from taking first place."
A roar of indignation erupted. They called her arrogant; they called her insane.
But Killian, hearing this, slightly lowered his head, his thin lips curling into an almost imperceptible, hidden arc.
"Check the surveillance," Caspian suggested with a frown.
"Security reports the system was down for an upgrade during those exact hours," Claire added weakly from the side.
The farce seemed to hit a dead end. Then, a voice of unshakeable authority resonated through the hall.
"Astrid."
The clamor ceased instantly.
"Follow me," Killian commanded. Without a word of explanation, he turned toward the executive elevator.
The office erupted in whispers, gazes of pity following Astrid as if she were being led to the guillotine. Astrid, however, remained composed, following him with her head held high.
Inside the elevator, the familiar scent of silver fir and expensive leather instantly soothed her restless spirit.
Upon entering the 30th-floor sanctum, Sebastian discreetly withdrew and locked the doors.
"Sit down. Eat your breakfast," Killian said, gesturing toward an elegant spread of European morning supplements and steaming coffee.
"...What?" Astrid was utterly floored.
This narrative twist was outside all her calculations. But before she could protest, her stomach betrayed her with a faint, rebellious growl.
Killian sat opposite her, elegantly pushing forward a plate of waffles with double cream.
Astrid couldn't resist the allure of high-energy fuel, especially on the cusp of a bloodline awakening. She sat and began to eat—her movements restrained yet determined. She had dressed in loose grey wide-leg trousers today, her hair tossed into a messy bun with stray wisps dancing at the nape of her neck, exuding a fragile beauty that was irresistible to a hunter.
Killian slowed his own pace, his amber gaze occasionally drifting over her.
"Finished?" he asked once she set down her utensils.
"Yes." Astrid wiped a trace of cream from her lip. It was, truthfully, the most peaceful breakfast she had enjoyed in a year.
"Go back to work," he said, beginning to clear the table.
Astrid hurried to help, her fingertips accidentally brushing against his warm, broad palm. The contact felt like an electric shock; she recoiled instantly, hiding her hands behind her back.
"I’ll be going then, Mr. Valerius."
"Mhm," he responded, not looking up.
Astrid reached the door, paused, and turned back to look at him seriously. "Mr. Valerius."
"Speak," he said, tossing a carton into the bin as his piercing eyes met hers.
"Regarding our... private interactions. Please, do not let a third party know."
"To which incident are you referring?"
Which one?
"All of them."
"As you wish," he replied, turning back toward the desk that symbolized his power.
Astrid let out a heavy breath as she stepped out of the "Forbidden Zone." She couldn't decipher the logic of this overbearing Lord, but he seemed to be protecting her in his own peculiar, possessive way.
Back at her desk, Claire pounced immediately. "Did the Lord tear you apart with his eyes?"
"No."
"Then what were you doing up there for fifteen minutes?"
"Discussing... professional issues regarding 'sources of contamination'."
Astrid guiltily cut the conversation short, her fingers flying across her drawing tablet. Moments later, Sebastian reappeared and summoned a somber-looking Director Caspian upstairs.
The rumors of Astrid’s impending termination began to take a sharp, silent turn.
"He liked it, Astrid!" Claire shrieked, staring at her phone. "The Lord’s private account—he liked your post about being trapped in the dark!"
The hand holding Astrid’s stylus trembled. This man was, without a doubt, a total lunatic.
- Writer
