C13 A Door Slightly Ajar

It was the silence that first made me suspicious.

Bishop’s office, usually alive with the gentle rhythm of keyboards, subtle chatter, and the occasional muted ring of a call, was unusually still. No movement behind the frosted glass, no sharp clicks of his pen. Just quiet. A kind that felt intentional.

I knocked once softly, out of habit. No answer.

I stood there, fingers grazing the door handle, the air tingling with a strange sense of hesitation. My gut told me to turn back, to wait for a more appropriate time.

But my curiosity whispered louder.

I pushed the door open.

It wasn’t locked.

The office was empty.

Of course, I had no business being in here without permission. I had only come to drop off the finalized brand proposal. Just a quiet, no-fuss task. But something made me linger.

His desk was pristine, like always. Minimalist and cold. But today… there was something different. One of the drawers wasn’t fully closed. Just slightly ajar. Barely noticeable. But noticeable enough.

I wasn’t nosy. At least, I never used to be.

But Bishop had been off lately. Distant. Watching me too carefully, like I’d become a problem he was trying to solve. It scared me. Not because I thought he’d hurt me but because I wasn’t sure what he believed about me.

And now, this drawer. This open invitation.

I gently slid it open.

Inside, nothing but manila folders stacked precisely. Files. Unmarked on the outside but the tabs had tiny initials scrawled in pen.

One of them read: R.H.

My heart stopped.

My name.

Or rather my initials.

Fingers trembling slightly, I pulled the folder out and opened it.

There were surveillance shots. Of me. Walking into the office on my first day. Talking to Lauren in the lobby. Grabbing coffee two blocks from my apartment. One photo had a red-circled timestamp in the corner: 10:02 PM the night Lauren and I had wine and vented about Bishop shutting down my vacation request.

Why was he tracking me?

There were documents too background checks, address history, even a copy of the internship application I’d never submitted to King & Co., yet somehow appeared in this file.

I sat down slowly, knees weakening.

What was this?

Why was Bishop keeping tabs on me like I was some suspect?

Then something else caught my eye tucked inside the folder. A torn piece of paper, folded once, edges worn like it had been handled too often.

I opened it.

It wasn’t typed. It was handwritten in a different script.

She’s closer than you think. Careful. They always look innocent before the knife goes in.

There was no signature. No date. Just that one cryptic warning.

A cold chill ran through me.

Who had written that? And about whom?

Me?

Was Bishop protecting me or preparing for war?

I pushed the drawer shut carefully, returned everything exactly as I found it. Then I stepped back, heart still thudding in my chest, and made sure nothing looked disturbed.

But something was disturbed now.

Me.

I left his office with a new truth in my hands. One I couldn’t unsee.

Bishop King was watching me.

And now, I had to figure out why before it was too late.

Certainly. Here’s a 700-word continuation of Chapter Thirteen from Entangled in Silk and Fire, deepening Rose’s emotional turmoil and heightening the mystery around Bishop’s intentions.

Watching Eyes

I moved like a shadow down the hallway, careful not to let my heels click too loudly against the marble floor. My heart was still racing, my breath shallow. The folder had been exactly where it shouldn’t have been too accessible, too obvious. Was it bait? Or a mistake?

I reached the elevator and pressed the button with a trembling finger. The mirrored doors opened, and I stepped in, alone. But I didn’t press the ground floor. I hit the button for the rooftop lounge.

I needed air. And distance.

The doors closed behind me, enclosing me in silence. My reflection stared back tense shoulders, wide eyes, and lips pressed together as if any sound would make everything unravel.

Why would Bishop watch me? And for how long? Since the beginning? Was that why he had agreed to hire me? Did he already know something about me?

Or worse did he think I was someone else entirely?

When the elevator opened, the wind greeted me like a slap. The rooftop was empty. Late afternoon sun bathed the skyline in a soft golden haze, and for a moment, the city looked unreal like a painting that had forgotten it was supposed to be alive.

I walked to the edge, gripping the glass railing, grounding myself.

I wasn’t sure what I felt. Anger? No. Not yet. Not until I had answers.

But fear? Yes. Not for myself but for the version of me Bishop might believe in. Because it was clear now he didn’t trust me. And trust, I knew, was everything to him.

A noise behind me made me tense.

“Didn’t think I’d find you up here.”

I turned slowly.

Lauren.

Of course.

She always had a way of appearing when I was trying to process something she probably already knew. Her face was calm, unreadable, wrapped in that signature air of subtle elegance. But today, something flickered behind her eyes concern, maybe. Or guilt.

“I needed space,” I said simply.

She nodded, stepping forward. “Bishop’s been... tense lately. You noticed?”

“Hard not to.” I hesitated, then added, “He’s watching me.”

Lauren’s expression didn’t shift. She just took a breath and moved to stand beside me at the railing.

“I figured you’d find out eventually.”

My stomach tightened. “So it’s true.”

“He’s been burned before, Rose. Badly. And recently.”

“That doesn’t give him the right to treat me like a suspect.”

Lauren looked away, out toward the horizon. “I told him you weren’t involved. I told him you were just trying to build something for yourself.”

My voice turned sharp. “Involved in what, Lauren?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small USB stick, pressing it into my palm without looking at me.

“Whatever you do, don’t open this on the office network. Take it home. Watch it alone.”

“What is it?”

“Something that will make things make sense.” She glanced at me. “Or make them harder.”

I stared at the small silver drive in my hand, suddenly aware of how much it weighed for its size.

Lauren stepped back. “Be careful. Whatever you think you know about Bishop, Damien, even yourself there’s more.”

With that, she turned and left, the elevator swallowing her like a closing chapter.

I stood there for a moment longer, clenching the USB like it might dissolve. The wind picked up, teasing loose strands of my hair, but I didn’t feel cold anymore. I felt hollow. And full, all at once.

When I finally made it home that night, I locked my door behind me and sat at my desk with the USB plugged into my laptop. My fingers hovered over the trackpad.

This wasn’t just about Bishop’s trust anymore. Or mine.

This was about the truth—and what it might cost to finally uncover it.