CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LILA
My chest still rises and falls like I just stepped out of a sauna. Because, apparently, I did. Only it wasn’t a sauna. It was an elevator. With him. The one I refuse to name. Because if I say it out loud, I might have an orgasm on the spot.
God, I don’t even know what just happened. It felt like a daydream. Or a trance. Or maybe I stumbled into the damn Twilight Zone.
Did he hypnotize me? Use some kind of pheromone-packed cologne?
That has to be it. It’s the only explanation that makes any sense.
Because what else could cause this kind of feral reaction from me?
Here I am, spiraling over what just happened in that elevator, while he’s probably already planning how to get me fired by the end of the week to avoid seeing my face.
But seriously, what did I ever do to him? I met him yesterday, and he’s acting like I murdered his dog or betrayed his family name. Like we’re sworn enemies from a past life. Like, I personally offended his entire existence just by breathing.
“Because you exist.” What does that even mean? The way he said it… like my presence alone is enough to piss him off. Did I unknowingly wrong him years ago? Is he some forgotten rival from high school that my brain just decided to delete? God, who knows.
Whatever. I’m over it. I have to get it together and focus. Clint is my team lead now, which means I’ve got to establish one thing… and fast. He does not get to run all over me . Not unless he wants to get tased again, and this time in the balls, because I’m not backing down to him or Kage.
I roll my shoulders back and let the soft fabric of my purple ruffle tea dress grounds me.
My cream Mary Jane heels click with confidence against the marble floors as I sway my hips and flip my half-up curls over my shoulder.
The bow in my hair bounces behind me, delicate but proud.
My pearl earrings catch the light just enough to whisper that yes, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere, so deal with it.
I may not have grown up with money, but Aster taught me how to dress like I did.
She always said the right outfit can build an entire illusion.
Even when you feel like shit on the inside, put on the right dress and it becomes armor.
A mask to cover every crack in your confidence.
And right now, I need every layer of it if I’m going to outlast these men mentally.
I walk through the lower-level hallway, and it’s just as extravagant as the upper floor where I interviewed. The lilacs are still floating from the ceiling like soft magic, suspended in time, defying gravity.
What is it with the lilacs? The gazebo in the maze. Beck’s office floor. And now here. Wherever they are, they’re breathtaking, and I get to see them every day. And honestly, I can’t say I hate it.
I bite back a giddy smile and do a tiny invisible happy dance in my head. This is everything I dreamed of.
Well… almost everything. Minus Clint. And the one who shall not be named.
A gold plaque catches my eye ahead. Cybersecurity and Intelligence Division.
Here we go .
I breathe in the lilacs, their sweet fragrance filling my lungs as I try to steady my pulse. My smartwatch vibrates at my wrist, flashing my elevated heart rate.
It’s okay. You’re okay, Lila. He chose you for this job, so you are enough.
I press a hand to my chest, exhale slowly, then grip the tall glass door handle and pull it open. And there he is. Clint. Perched like a smug little devil at the gates of hell. He leans back with frat boy body language and that same damn cocky grin.
“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t start with me, Clint. You know I can whoop your ass.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, sure. With a taser, maybe… which, if I remember correctly, is exactly how I ended up becoming your boss.”
I shrug, grinning. “Work smarter, not harder.”
Then I wink, to make sure he knows I’m not even a little sorry.
His smile stretches wider, but something behind his eyes flickers like he’s actually almost impressed. “I’d love to bicker all day, princess, but we’ve got work to do. We’re already behind.”
Princess? What the hell. Did I hear that right? The Red Mask calls me princess. And now that I think about it, Clint was the first one to call me that in the maze right before I tased him.
No. No way. But what if he is? What if this is just one big game to him? A twisted little mindfuck?
Play it cool, Lila. Breathe.
I nod casually, pretending I didn’t just short-circuit. He gestures for me to follow, and I fall into step behind him .
“So, this is my office,” he says, opening the glass door to a sleek corner space.
It’s basically a luxury fish tank overlooking the skyline.
A modern black desk sits at the center, equipped with three oversized monitors, a glowing mechanical keyboard, and a high-end mouse.
A tall black computer chair waits behind it, looking like a throne built for someone who thrives on control.
Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the far wall, framing a stunning view of New York City.
It isn’t as massive as Beck’s office, but it still radiates power and status.
The final detail, the one that makes the space feel truly intimidating, is the pair of leather chairs positioned across from his desk.
They are angled with just enough precision to resemble an interrogation setup, especially with the glass walls exposing everything to the entire floor.
Wow. What did he do to get this setup? Blow his “buddy” Kage under the boardroom table?
“And your desk is right across from mine,” he adds with a smirk. “If you need anything like paperclips, sarcasm, or ego bruising, you know where to find me.” He looks at me like I’m a problem he wouldn’t mind getting in trouble for.
“Hey, hey, hey, don’t make me get HR involved,” I say with a wicked grin, teasing him.
“Oh, please. They wouldn’t believe you over me. I’m the best employee at this company!”
I arch a brow and lean one elbow on the desk, chin in hand. “Well, Frat Boy… that was before I got here.”
The office floor is spacious and features an open-concept design, with eight desks separated by low walls. I stare at my sad little cubicle. Two monitors. A keyboard. A mouse. And a row of empty gray shelves that haven’t seen a hint of personality in years.
Ugh. It’s giving corporate prison .
“Can I decorate this depressing box that I’ll be trapped in for eight hours?” I ask.
“Sure, but only if you put up a shrine to me. Black and white photos work best. Really brings out my jawline.”
I shoot him a flat look. “Are you always this arrogant?”
“Only with you.” He smirks like it’s a compliment.
I rub my brow, already exhausted. “I can’t believe Kage stuck me with you.”
Clint grins, full of himself. “Damn right he did. Bro always has my back.”
I huff under my breath. “Probably because he knows you get off to his picture.”
“What was that?”
“Oh, nothing.” I smile sweetly.
I narrow my eyes, amused. “So, what are you teaching me today? Besides, how not to flirt?” I laugh at the witty remark.
“You wish, princess.” My heart skips a beat at that word.
Not this again. Why is he calling me that?
He literally called me a phony princess in the maze.
Is he taunting me? Mocking me? Trying to get a reaction?
Or is he the Red Mask, and it’s not really Beck?
Maybe this is exactly what he wanted. For me to overthink.
To spiral. And unfortunately, it’s working.
Because now I can’t stop wondering if it’s just a nickname.
Or if it’s his favorite way of being an asshole.
He leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “We have a lot going on right now with different undercover operations and rescues, but this week, you and I will be focused on planning the annual masquerade ball. It’s a pretty big deal around here.
Think royal ball-level fancy. Full black tie, designer gowns, champagne, music…
the whole nine ya rds. Beck Heartford never holds back when it comes to spoiling his people. ”
My stomach flips.
A masquerade ball? Socializing? I don’t even have a gown… I’m not ready for this.
“When is it?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.
“Three weeks away from Saturday,” he repeats. “So, make sure you’ve got a dress and some killer dance moves. Want me to be your date?”
“Hell no. I’d rather go alone.”
“Suits yourself,” he says, patting his chest. “But I’m a catch, Lila.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I mutter, smoothing the front of my dress and adjusting my hair. “Where is everyone?”
“In the conference room,” he replies. “Wanna meet the team?”
“Please.” I exhale, low and steady.
“You look great, by the way,” he says. “They’re going to love you. Just be yourself.”
That throws me for a loop.
Why is he being nice to me? In the maze, he was cold. Pissed at me for lying, for being poor, and for surviving the game my own way. Did something change? Because I haven’t.
I follow him down the hallway that branches off from our main office space.
My heart pounds in my ears. My skin feels warm and flushed, but I am not panicking.
Strangely, I feel okay. Safe even. Like I might actually belong here.
Like maybe I have a real shot at making this something stable. Something good. Something mine.
Clint pushes open a door, and inside, seven employees sit around a large, modern conference table.
Every one of them looks like they belong on the cover of a fashion magazine.
Sleek. Polished. Expensive. Just like Jasmine, the receptionist from upstairs.
And at the head of the table, dressed to perfection, is Beck.
Wow.
He’s naturally stunning. The four men and three women seated at the table should look dull next to him. But they don’t. Each one is sharp, poised, and intimidating in their own way. They don’t just fit in. They own the space as if they were born to be there.
“Hey, guys,” Clint says, casually confident. “This is Lila. It’s her first day in our department, so please say hello and make her feel welcome.”
I give a small smile and an awkward wave. It feels out of place, but I do it anyway.
“Welcome, Lila,” Beck says smoothly. “Please, have a seat. We’re in the middle of reviewing one of our biggest cases.” His voice is calm and formal. All business.
Sir, your dick has been pressed against me. Let’s not pretend we’re strangers.
“Of course,” I say sweetly, sliding into the empty chair and pulling out my notepad.
Beck rises from his seat. “We need to figure out how he’s still running his ring from inside prison and who his top men are.”
Everyone nods like they’ve been chasing this answer for months. “Any updates?” he asks.
A woman with ginger curls and oversized glasses adjusts her laptop.
“I contacted officials in the United Kingdom, and we traced a phone line coming from inside the prison. It’s registered to a gas station company based in London.
” She’s giving full Daphne energy with the brains of Velma.
She’s the complete package. Beauty. Brains. Badass and I’m totally here for it .
“Good. Keep going.”
Another team member chimes in. “SWAT rescued a sixteen-year-old last night. Her testimony confirms she was set to be trafficked by boat, headed for Europe.”
I don’t understand most of what they’re saying, but I keep writing. Listening. Learning. Then Beck flips the whiteboard. My lungs lock. My vision tilts. Because there, pinned at the center of a chaotic web of newspaper clippings, mugshots, and blood-red thread, is a face I know too well.
Zev Volkov. The Wolf. That’s what the media call him.
The man who took me. His photo is old and grainy, but unmistakable.
He sits like a king on a throne, a cigarette hanging from his lips, one leg crossed, chin tilted in arrogant control.
A long scar slices under his left eye like a threat carved into skin.
His eyes are lifeless. Cold. Black. Empty of anything human.
His face pulls me back into the nightmare.
The board is in chaos. Red thread crisscrosses over maps, scribbled notes, shipping routes, and blurry surveillance stills. But it’s him who locks me in place. My hands begin to tremble. Not from nerves. From memory.
I keep taking notes. Pretending. Breathing.
But inside, I am unraveling. Because the last time I saw the Wolf, I wasn’t sure I would ever escape.
And now, I can’t help but wonder if his men are still searching for me.
Lurking. Prowling. Waiting for the right moment to take me back. To traffic me to Europe or worse…
Volkov keeps me for himself.