C4 Shadows in the Glass

Monday morning arrived like a slap. Rain painted the city in gray as I huddled under my umbrella, barely awake, shoes soaked and heart unsettled. The weekend had slipped away in a fog of overthinking and vague texts from Dominic—short, strange messages like “We’ll talk soon” and “Don’t quit.”

He was like a book half-written. Beautiful. Dangerous. And impossible to stop reading.

I rode the elevator in silence, careful not to glance at the mirrored walls. The last time I was in here, clothes were half-off and my breath was tangled in Dominic’s name.

I stepped out and instantly knew something was off.

There was a buzz in the air—not the usual hum of phones and typing. Something more anxious. Like people had been talking before I walked in. And they stopped.

“Morning, Miss Dawson.”

Jared, the older man from HR, gave me a strained smile.

“Morning,” I muttered, feeling eyes on me as I moved toward my desk. Jenna was already there, sipping her iced coffee too fast, eyes darting to the conference room. Something wasn’t right.

Then I saw her.

The woman standing in Dominic’s office.

She was tall, with sharp features and a storm behind her eyes. Not just beautiful—commanding. She wore a black pantsuit with red heels, like she was here to make someone bleed and look good doing it.

Dominic stood beside her, arms folded, face unreadable. But his body language screamed tension.

“Who’s that?” I whispered to Jenna, who was suddenly pale.

Jenna’s lips pressed together. “Genevieve Delacroix.”

The name struck somewhere deep in my memory. Then it hit me.

His ex.

The one he never talked about.

The one who’d ruined him.

“What is she doing here?” I asked, trying not to sound rattled.

Jenna didn’t answer, and I didn’t push. My mind was too busy spinning worst-case scenarios.

Minutes ticked by, and then—because life enjoys cruelty—Dominic opened his door.

“Miss Dawson” he called out across the floor.

Every head turned. I stood slowly, smoothing down my skirt.

“Yes, Mr. Vale?”

“Join us.”

Us.

The room twisted.

I entered slowly, heart in my throat. Genevieve turned when I walked in, eyes sweeping over me with a half-smile. Not warm. Not kind. A smile meant to cut.

“Mira Dawson,” Dominic said, his tone formal. “This is Miss Delacroix. She’ll be consulting with us on the marketing expansion for the Europe division.”

I nodded slowly, not trusting my voice.

“Pleasure,” Genevieve said, holding out her hand like a queen greeting a subject. I shook it, ignoring the iciness of her grip.

“She’ll be shadowing our department for a few weeks,” Dominic continued, glancing at me briefly. “I expect professionalism.”

Of course. That was for me, not her.

“Of course,” I echoed.

The meeting ended soon after, but the damage was done. As I left, I heard her laugh softly behind me. A sound that said: You’re not ready for this war, sweetheart.

Back at my desk, Jenna leaned in close.

“She’s not just here for the campaign,” she whispered. “Word is she’s trying to win him back. She’s got connections. Leverage.”

I tried to shrug it off. “Let her try. He’s moved on.”

But even I didn’t believe that.

Because later that day, I saw them in his office. Her hand on his arm. His expression unreadable.

And something dark twisted in my chest.

But that wasn’t the twist.

That came at 3:47 p.m., when an internal email landed in my inbox.

Subject: Confidential Security Notice

Body:

"All employees are advised that footage from the building’s security system has been compromised. The matter is under investigation. Do not share or forward this notice."

My blood ran cold.

Footage.

Elevator footage?

Was that how the tape had leaked?

I clicked out, hands shaking. Then my desk phone rang.

“Miss Dawson?” the receptionist said. “There’s a Mr. Damien Rooke here to see you. Says it’s personal.”

I blinked. “I’m sorry, who?”

“Mr. Rooke. He says you know him from NYU?”

That jolted something loose in my memory.

Damien.

He was in my media law class. Quiet. Strange. Always watching, never talking.

I hadn’t seen him in years.

“I’ll come down,” I said warily.

When I reached the lobby, I spotted him instantly. Damien was taller now, thinner, with a suit that didn’t quite fit and eyes too intense to feel safe.

“Damien?” I asked cautiously.

He smiled, and it didn’t reach his eyes. “Hey, Mimi. Long time.”

“No one’s called me that in years,” I said, forcing a smile.

“I’ve been… following your work,” he said. “And I heard about the incident.”

I froze. “What incident?”

He lowered his voice. “The tape. The leak. I know who did it.”

My stomach dropped. “What are you talking about?”

“I work in cybersecurity now. Freelance. A few of us were hired by someone anonymous to hack into Vale Enterprises’ surveillance last month.”

I stared. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

“Because you were the target,” he said softly. “Not him. Someone wanted to humiliate you. Specifically. And they paid a lot to do it.”

My heart pounded so loud I could barely hear the hum of the lobby. “What do you mean I was the target?”

Damien leaned in closer, his voice low and urgent. “The footage request was specific. Elevator cams. Floor 19, between 7:00 p.m. and 9:00 p.m. I didn’t realize it was you until I saw the footage clip that was uploaded. I didn't leak it—I backed out of the job once I figured it out.”

My stomach knotted.

He saw it.

“You watched it?” I asked, breath catching in my throat.

He had the decency to look ashamed. “Just enough to identify what was going on. After that, I wiped my drive and ghosted the client. But I still had a backup of the metadata—IP addresses, transaction details, and message logs. I’ve been sitting on it. Thought maybe you deserved to know.”

“Why now?”

He hesitated. “Because whoever paid for it reached out again. Wants more. They’re not done, Mira. And they’re asking for worse.”

A cold wash of fear rolled down my spine.

This wasn’t just exposure. It was war.

“Do you still have those logs?” I asked.

He nodded, pulling out a flash drive. “Encrypted. I trust you’ll know what to do with it. Just… be careful. Whoever’s behind this has money. Resources. And a personal grudge.”

I took the drive with trembling fingers. “Thank you, Damien. For telling me.”

“Don’t thank me,” he said. “Just don’t underestimate the enemy. They know where to hit you where it hurts.”

Back upstairs, my nerves buzzed like a live wire. I didn’t tell Jenna—she was too close to everything. I didn’t go to Dominic—God knows what he’d do, or if he’d believe me. Instead, I sat in the quiet conference room, slipped the flash drive into my laptop, and opened the files.

Encrypted logs, message threads, payment receipts in cryptocurrency. One username caught my eye: Revenant31.

The messages were cold. Clinical. No emotion.

“Focus only on the girl. I want her humiliated. This is personal.”

“Ensure no trace leads back to me. Payment will double if it's done discreetly.”

I stared at those words, bile rising in my throat. Someone wanted me ruined—and not for fame or gossip. For revenge.

I traced the routing of the crypto payment using a basic block explorer and narrowed it down to a third-party wallet often used for laundering. Useless… unless I had more access.

Still, I dug deeper. A partial IP address was exposed from a failed login.

My pulse sped up. It was a New York-based ISP.

Someone in the city.

I cross-referenced the login time with company records. Only one employee had clocked in at the exact time the ping occurred.

Jenna Parke.

My breath hitched.

No. It couldn’t be.

I stared at the name. My best friend. My roommate. My only real family in this city.

She couldn’t have…

But doubt had already taken root. And I couldn’t unsee the pattern.

Was it really just jealousy? Or had I invited a snake into my home years ago?

The next step was clear—I had to confront her.

But I had no idea if I was walking into another trap.