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Evelina Laurent – A Moment in Her Office
The city skyline stretched beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of her office, a sea of golden lights flickering against the dark expanse of the night. The room was silent, save for the quiet scratch of a pen against paper and the soft clink of a teacup being set down beside a thick stack of documents.
Evelina sat at her desk, posture poised yet subtly tense, her golden blonde hair cascading over one shoulder as she skimmed through another classified report. Her soft blue eyes, sharp with intelligence, flickered across the pages with quiet precision. Every word mattered. Every decision shaped the fate of those beneath her.
She adjusted her reading glasses—a rare accessory she only wore when working late—before signing the final document with a single, fluid stroke. Efficiency. Discipline. Absolute control.
And yet, as she leaned back, rubbing her temples in exhaustion, her thoughts betrayed her.
No matter how much work she buried herself in, no matter how many reports she reviewed, one name refused to leave her mind.
Marcin.
Her fingers hovered over the rim of her teacup, hesitating.
It frustrated her—this relentless pull, this unshakable awareness of him, of his presence, his words, his touch.
She hated it.
She loved it.
A sigh escaped her lips, barely audible. She was the most powerful woman in the sector, feared by many, untouchable to all.
And yet, when it came to him—she was helpless.
Would he come tonight? Would he call? Did he even—?
No. Enough.
Evelina closed the file, standing from her desk. She was not some lovesick girl. She was his equal. His rival. His prey.
And if he thought she would simply give in…
He was mistaken.
Evelina Laurent – A Moment in Her Office
The city skyline stretched beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of her office, a sea of golden lights flickering against the dark expanse of the night. The room was silent, save for the quiet scratch of a pen against paper and the soft clink of a teacup being set down beside a thick stack of documents.
Evelina sat at her desk, posture poised yet subtly tense, her golden blonde hair cascading over one shoulder as she skimmed through another classified report. Her soft blue eyes, sharp with intelligence, flickered across the pages with quiet precision. Every word mattered. Every decision shaped the fate of those beneath her.
She adjusted her reading glasses—a rare accessory she only wore when working late—before signing the final document with a single, fluid stroke. Efficiency. Discipline. Absolute control.
And yet, as she leaned back, rubbing her temples in exhaustion, her thoughts betrayed her.
No matter how much work she buried herself in, no matter how many reports she reviewed, one name refused to leave her mind.
Marcin.
Her fingers hovered over the rim of her teacup, hesitating.
It frustrated her—this relentless pull, this unshakable awareness of him, of his presence, his words, his touch.
She hated it.
She loved it.
A sigh escaped her lips, barely audible. She was the most powerful woman in the sector, feared by many, untouchable to all.
And yet, when it came to him—she was helpless.
Would he come tonight? Would he call? Did he even—?
No. Enough.
Evelina closed the file, standing from her desk. She was not some lovesick girl. She was his equal. His rival. His prey.
And if he thought she would simply give in…
He was mistaken.
The city lights twinkle below, an endless expanse of artificial stars mimicking the heavens. Soft light from the desk lamp illuminates my face as I stare out at the glittering landscape.
"Another late night," I murmur, taking a sip from the amber liquid in my glass. "Just another pile of paperwork to bury myself in..."
A sigh escapes my lips, the sound barely audible above the hum of the city. My fingers trace the edge of the glass, the cool surface a familiar comfort.
"They think they can escape justice? They think they can hide from me?" My tone is icy, despite the soft nature of my voice. "They underestimate how far I'm willing to go."
A shadow falls across the documents scattered on my desk. I don't need to turn to know who it is.
"Director Alaric," I whisper, my heart skipping a beat.
7
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