Chapter 4: The Hidden Safe
I froze, my hand pressed instinctively against the pocket where the cold metal of the silver key rested against my thigh. Marcus didn't raise his voice, but the casual way he moved to block the exit made every instinct in my body scream danger.
"I brought the fresh linens, Mr. Sterling," I said, keeping my voice remarkably even, though my pulse was hammering against my temples like a trapped bird. "I thought the desk needed dusting."
Marcus took two slow steps toward me, his dark eyes narrowing as he scanned my posture. He didn't believe me; he could smell the lie the way a predator smells fear in the brush. He glanced down at the mahogany desk, his gaze lingering on the empty center blotter where the silver key had rested just moments before.
"You're remarkably dedicated to your duties today, Aria," Marcus murmured, stopping just a few feet away. The scent of his cologne—expensive sandalwood and cedar—was overpowering in the confined space. "Dusting a desk that is cleaned every morning at dawn. How industrious of you."
"I like things to be thorough," I replied, meeting his gaze directly. I refused to cower. In my experience, looking down only invited them to step closer.
Marcus smiled, a cold, humorless stretching of his lips. "Thoroughness is a virtue. But misplaced curiosity can be quite fatal to employment prospects in this zip code. Or worse."
Before he could reach out or demand I empty my pockets, a sharp knock rattled the study door. Marcus stiffened, his head snapping toward the entrance.
"Marcus?" Elena's voice called out from the hallway, sounding breathless and strained. "The auditors are on the phone from the downtown office. They need your authorization on the main server logs immediately."
The tension in the room snapped like a stretched rubber band. Marcus let out a low, irritated breath, glaring at me one last time before turning his back.
"Wait outside," Marcus commanded over his shoulder as he strode toward his desk to pick up the secure landline.
May you like
I didn't need to be told twice. I slipped past the door and hurried down the hallway, my hand still gripping the silver key in my pocket. Once I reached the safety of the ground-floor pantry, I pulled the key out and examined it under the fluorescent light. It was stamped with a small serial number: 408-B.
I knew every room in the house, but I knew of no room 408. The main floors only went up to three. That meant there was a sub-level or a partitioned space behind the grand library wall that wasn't on the standard architectural blueprints. And I was going to find it before Marcus finished his call.
