Dark Desires

Chapter Two

The air in the conference room was different that day.

Not suffocating. Not tense.

Just too quiet.

The kind of silence one only notices when they know something is coming—but not where from.

Elara stood by the wall, not taking her seat at the table, even though she was officially the CEO's personal assistant.

But today... she didn't want to sit.

She wanted to keep the door in her line of sight.

And somehow, standing felt better—like the tension pulsing through her muscles could only be eased through motion.

The mid-level managers, project leads, and legal advisors trickled in slowly, hushed conversations murmuring through the room as people tried to guess what this was about.

No one knew anything.

But everyone sensed something.

In the corner, the digital clock blinked: 09:59.

Then Miles Ferrow entered.

The CEO, whose presence was usually calm and commanding—moved more stiffly today.

His face seemed paler, his gaze avoiding direct contact.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," he began, clearly trying to keep control of the room.

"I've called this emergency meeting because an important change takes effect as of today. The ownership structure of Virexon Technologies is undergoing a transition, and the majority stake of the company has changed hands."

A few confused murmurs broke the silence.

Some people glanced at each other, but no one interrupted.

"From this point forward, the company will be overseen by Darethor Nyxar—as strategic decision-maker and owner."

The name dropped into the room like a foreign rhythm no one quite recognized.

Elara didn't move.

Every nerve inside her tightened—but her face remained still.

The name wasn't familiar.

And yet... something in her stomach shifted.

A strange, cold prickle crawled up the back of her neck—one she couldn't shake.

And then the door opened.

Darethor stepped inside.

Without a word.

Without a single unnecessary movement.

He wore a black suit—of almost matte fabric—and a gray tie that made him look as if he'd walked out of a black-and-white film.

He was tall.

His features were sharp, but not friendly.

His gaze flashed gray—not warmly.

There was no charm in his expression. No arrogance either.

Only something... deep. Indefinable.

As if his presence was too much for a single room to hold.

As if he required more space than the walls could offer.

He didn't speak.

Didn't introduce himself.

Didn't offer a hand. Miles tried to continue:

"The transition will be seamless. All contracts remain in effect. We will continue to count on the leadership's support in all key positions. Mr. Nyxar... has been granted full access to all operational processes."

Elara still stood motionless.

Her eyes met Dareth's.

Just for a moment.

But that one moment... was too much.

Not because he was frightening.

Not even because he was attractive.

But because... something didn't feel right.

His movement was too quiet.

His presence too cold.

Something in her instincts whispered that this man didn't just bring power—he brought something that should never have arrived.

And then Dareth moved.

But not toward the head of the table.

Toward her.

Slowly. Deliberately.

Not threateningly.

But... with purpose.

Elara squared her shoulders.

She didn't step back.

She didn't blink.

The man stopped in front of her.

An arm's length away.

"I see you're the only one here not trying to please," he said softly. His voice was smooth—but disturbingly heavy.

"That's not my job," Elara replied, each word crisp with ice and resolve. "My job is to make the system run. Regardless of who's sitting on top of it."

Dareth tilted his head slightly.

A small, nearly imperceptible smile touched his lips—more condescending than appreciative.

"I wonder how long you'll stay that composed."

His words weren't threatening.

And yet... something beneath Elara's skin tensed.

He hadn't said anything explicit.

And still... he'd said too much.

The man turned away and walked out of the room without another word.

The executives slowly came back to life.

The whispering resumed.

Questions. Speculations.

But Elara didn't hear them.

Only one thought pounded in her head:

This man isn't just a new owner. He's something else.

Something... for which there is no word.

⸻

In the cafeteria, the office buzzed with life.

Metal cutlery clinked against porcelain trays, the scent of coffee mingled with the steam of microwaved soups, soft conversations, chuckles, and mechanical complaints filled the air.

Everything looked like an ordinary weekday at noon—except nothing was ordinary anymore.

Since Miles had announced the new owner's name, whispering hadn't ceased in the hallways, and everyone tried to act like they weren't trying at all.

Most of the company was still speculating.

But Elara already knew that "Darethor Nyxar" wasn't just a name.

And even if she hadn't known—that look yesterday would've been enough.

The kind of look that makes a person instinctively forget how to breathe.

Today, though, Elara was trying to stay invisible.

She sat quietly in the corner, with a salad and a strictly decaf coffee—though even she didn't understand why she'd chosen it.

Her black blouse fit flawlessly, her skirt stopped just above the knee, and her heels still clicked with every step—but today, she wasn't watching who looked.

She didn't feel like smiling. Or talking. Or being.

A few coworkers waved politely.

But no one dared sit with her.

Not because they didn't like her—

But because... everyone sensed something had changed around her.

At exactly 12:47, she stood, gathered her tray, and headed toward the clearing line.

She was nearly at the tray return when someone bumped into her.

Not lightly.

And it didn't feel like an accident.

The tray wobbled in her hands, the cup tipped with a clatter—and only her reflexes saved her from spilling everything onto herself.

"Maybe watch where you're going," said a deep, dry voice behind her.

Elara turned.

And of course—it was him.

Darethor stood before her like a villain out of a movie, the kind whose very air felt expensive.

He didn't look around.

He didn't apologize.

He didn't even glance back—as if he were the one who'd been interrupted.

"Apologies," Elara said, her voice dry but composed, "I didn't realize the whole cafeteria belonged to you."

Something like a smile appeared on Dareth's lips—not joyful, not playful—more like a cut you don't feel until it's already bleeding.

"That usually doesn't stop the others from avoiding me," he replied coldly. "Funny how you're the only one who keeps getting in my way."

"Maybe because I'm the only one not afraid of you," Elara shot back, not caring anymore about the hushed silence spreading around them.

Dareth leaned in slightly.

He didn't touch her.

He didn't raise his voice.

But his nearness... was too much.

The cool scent from his skin, that stare, the moment's tension—

like when two predators size each other up, and neither's willing to back down.

"Then it's not bravery.

It's stupidity," he said quietly.

Elara's eyes narrowed.

"And you? How many employees have you lost to that arrogance before you learned how to talk to people?"

"I didn't come here to talk.

I came to decide," Dareth replied flatly, then turned away, as if the entire exchange hadn't mattered at all.

"If you want to work undisturbed—

learn your place."

His words were raw.

Spoken without emphasis—

and that made them cut even deeper.

Elara just watched him walk away.

She didn't respond.

Didn't call after him.

But something inside her—

something old, something long buried—

began to stir.

⸻

The early afternoon ticked away as Elara returned to her office and sat behind her desk.

It should've been a day like any other.

But something had shifted—

not visibly, but insidiously.

Like stepping into a familiar room only to find the chairs moved by millimeters.

Unnoticeable—

but unsettling.

Since Darethor Nyxar had entered their lives, nothing had been the same.

He hadn't said much—

and yet everyone was talking about him.

People whispered by the coffee machine, exchanged quick glances at the executive elevator, and every sentence held a silent, pulsing question:

Who is this man?

Elara didn't like unanswered questions.

She opened the corporate database.

Logged into the internal access system used only by executive assistants.

It wasn't an official investigation—

but it was thorough.

She typed in the name: Darethor Nyxar.

The profile was sparse.

A newly created account. Minimal information: name, status, access credentials.

No date of birth.

No previous employers.

No registered company affiliations.

Elara's brow furrowed.

This wasn't normal.

A takeover of this scale should have come with extensive documentation:

background checks, equity structure analysis, financial audits.

But here... there was almost nothing.

Just the name—

as if that alone had been enough.

She dug deeper.

Searched company emails for mentions of prior meetings, legal consultations.

Still nothing.

One law firm's name appeared in an attachment—

but it was the most discreet kind.

The official paperwork was perfect.

Too perfect.

No errors.

Nothing suspicious.

No trace of mystery.

Elara leaned back, fingers laced before her lips.

She didn't feel afraid.

More like... unsettled.

The systems always spoke to her.

They always left traces.

But Dareth—

it was like he'd left nothing of himself behind.

The screen blinked in front of her:

"No results."

She closed the search—

but the thought wouldn't leave.

Maybe it was just her ego, bruised.

Maybe she was simply irritated that someone so arrogant gave nothing away—

and still, everyone bent around him.

Still... something lingered.

One sentence.

"Learn your place."

Elara's gaze slid to the window,

where the city beyond the glass was already dimming.

Lights flickered on in the buildings.

The offices slowly emptied.

The elevators chimed less frequently.

But she didn't move.

She shut down her computer—

but the feeling...

that didn't go away.

That instinctual, inner warning that whispered:

This man isn't just a new boss.

He's a problem.