Sinveer POV
I stand in my room's balcony shirtless with only a trouser on, and a half filled whiskey glass in my hand. Cold sipping into my skin as the early morning air glides through gently.
I can't seem to sleep not when the thoughts of my assistant keeps invading my head.
I haven't spoken much to her since the Gala. But I've been observing her. No. I've been studying her. Every of her slightest movement: the way she breathes, her walks, the very smallest details, even to her frequent habits. I know them all, now.
I do all of this to make sure she's who I think she is.
Butterfly.
I can't lose her again. Not this time. And if she turns out not to be her. It's okay. This is why I haven't dragged her out to torture her. I don't want to do that and find out she is innocent later. If I did, I'm not different from...ah whatever.
The following week I start pushing her harder, to see her slip.
Giving her more tasks, revealing some top tier information.Most times occupying her space, and long hours at work.
I tell myself it's surveillance. Strategy. That I needed a reason to lock her in.
But the truth?
I just want to watch her move more.
To find ways I can break her wide open. And leave are vulnerable.
***
Three nights after, I accidentally ran into her in the hallway after work hours.
I remember she left earlier day, why is she back?
She's in leggings and a hoodie, hair in a bun, holding a folder.
And she's in a casual dress? If she was going to come back, she shouldn't have left in the first place.
"Still working? Even not in working hours?" I ask.
She nods. "You said the shipment manifests were urgent."
"But why are you here? You can work on that at your residence instead of coming back here, Ms. Liach?" I say in a plat tone.
"Yes, I was at home when you called, Sir. But some of the files that you need the shipment review were at the office, since you said it's urgent I came to grab it." Her voice is even.
"Humm. Is that so?"
"Yes sir, is there a problem?"
Always so fucking prepared. Won't even allow me to finish.
I take three steps closer to her, now directly looking down at her, as she steps back and I move further, my legs almost pressing between her tights "You ever get tired of being perfect, Liach?"
Her eyes flick to mine. "What do you mean by that, Mr De Luna? I'm just doing my job here." She says, shifting uncomfortably.
Her brow furrows, face like a kitten ready to strike. Which was cute.
"Nothing. I wonder if every nerd is like you." As I step away from her.
Teasing her is always so fun.
Two days after the hallway encounter, things start to go wrong.
And it's not the obvious kind—not the gunfire or betrayal or cash gone missing. No, this kind of wrong is quiet. Slow. It doesn't shout. It whispers.
And I've learned to listen to whispers. It started two days ago. After Serena drew my notice to the abnormality. Then the position of folders on my desk starts shifting by a fraction. But I don't do fractions. I do precision.
Then came the system logs. A small discrepancy—someone accessing internal files that weren't tied to an active task order. The path wasn't flag as high-risk, but the file it connected to is mark as an Omega.
Top-tier movement logs. Only three people should know it existed, is being tempered with. I check the names of those who had logged in and those who had full access to it, none of them matches the algorithm of when it was last logged into.
And that confirms my suspicion. There's a spy and a thief amongst us.
Immediately, I call for a meeting. I sit at the head of a narrow meeting table in the east wing—just four of us. Marek. Captain Rigo. Captain Enzo and I.
"We have a minor breach," I say. "Digital files and some basic information, nothing more than the obvious. Whoever did it was careful and strategic."
"What was accessed, Boss?" Rigo asks.
I study him. Rigo's slick but never sloppy, he's always five seconds from outsmarting the room.
"An Omega manifests rotations," I answer. "North Sea. Six weeks ahead."
Marek stiffens. "That's not small."
"No. It's not." Enzo shifts in his seat. "You think it's one of us?"
I let the silence stretch. "I think someone wants us to think it's one of us."
"A spy!" Marek spits out. "Those cockroaches are still infesting the De Luna's."
"Boss, do you have an idea of who it may be?" Rigo asks.
"No. I lied. "That's why I'm bringing it to your attention, so you should be on the lookout."
I want to see how long they figure out who the spy is.
"Yes sir." They reply.
And just like that, the seed is planted.
Suspicion doesn't need water. It needs questions asked.
And I've just given them both.
When I was returning to my office, Liach's presence caught my attention. She was on her desk typing, perfect as ever. Pale blouse. Gloss lips. Not a hair out of place. She doesn't look up when I pass. But I can feel her eyes on my back staring into my soul.
Little Wolf, why do you keep staring?
"Miss Liach, is there something you need? Our eyes lock as I turn to face her.
Avoiding my gaze, shifting her eyes back to her work. "No Sir."
As noon comes crawling, news of plans being leaked and a failed contract because of confidential information exposed, causes tension to spill into everything.
Enzo and Rigo argue over access control policies.
Marek pulls me aside to question whether Enzo has been getting sloppy.
I don't stop them from arguing. I want them to, because chaos is a truth serum, it sharpens your instinct and makes you stay on you feets
And if my inner circle is leaking, the cracks will expose them.
When evening comes the tension in the estate reaches its peak.
I pour a drink in my office, lights dim, the city glowing beyond the glass. My mind runs over every detail. Every files.
And one face keeps surfacing.
LIACH.
The one who was on my arm some nights ago, dressed in red, looking like war and sin.
I should stop thinking about her. But I can't.
It's not that I don't think she could be the one. I know she's the one, but these small things that are going wrong are too little to hold her down.
I could pull her in. Question her. Press it out of her if I want to.
But I'll risk exposing myself to the other spies I haven't caught or decided what to do with yet.
*
By the next morning, everything explodes after the news that Rico is murdered
"Whoever is doing this? Is targeting us in full force," Marek mutters beside me. "Five dead, one mutilated beyond recognition, there were no cameras inside. Not even a witness left."
It's her again. I know it: the marks— it's clean, artistic. No cartel does this. No rival family leaves messages. They leave blood.
But this? This is a signature. This is a performance. The very same that matches our findings over the past two I was searching for her.
Butterfly.
"Do we move in, Boss? It hasn't been that long since they were killed." Marek asks.
I shake my head," We're too late."
She's already gone, you can't get to her even if you try now.
She will be sitting in her office now.
Rigo storms into Marek's office accusing him of manipulation. Marek throws it back in his face, demanding to know why Rigo's name is tied to off-shore laundering logs. Later that afternoon, Enzo throws fuel on the fire, saying someone's been inside restricted files.
I watch it all unfold from the hall, arms cross.
Then, Liach walks past me with files in her hands towards the archive room.
She doesn't look at the chaos. But she smiles at me.
And for a second…I want to ask, if she lit this match and she's now enjoying herself.
"Sir, Is it always like this?" she asks calmly, taking a seat across from me, after I call her in.
"Like what?"
"Men arguing over territory while the real threats move in silence."
She says it like a joke.
But it lands as a warning.
"You've been paying attention," I mutter.
"I'm your assistant. That's what I'm paid for Mr De Luna."
For a long moment, I studied her. Her posture is perfect. Legs crossed, hands resting on her lap, spine straight. Not a single crack in sight.
But you are now doing more than you are paid for, princess.
So I ask her.
"Do you ever lie, Liach?"
She tilts her head to the side. "Professionally? Or personally?
"Both."
She smiles, and coughs, clearing her throat, "Yes, Sir, I lie, but not all the time," she raises both hands as if asking not to say anything, then continues. "N-not to you."
That honesty is more dangerous than any denial.
"To who? if it's me?"
"To the clients who want to work with— the De Luna's." She adds, smiling.
I lean forward. "If you play me..." I let it hang. You won't like the ending."
Her smile still remains in place and doesn't fade.
She doesn't reply to that.
"Anything else Boss."
"No. You can leave now " I say, watching her walk out.