Chapter 5 Whispers Beneath the Mask

I don't remember when curiosity became a need, or when need blurred into obsession. All I know is that she arrived like smoke-silent, shapeless, but impossible to ignore.

The masked girl.

She never spoke unless necessary, and when she did, her voice had the precision of a knife-quiet but sharp. In a building full of noise, she was stillness. Everyone tried to figure her out. Everyone failed. Including me.

But I wasn't like them. I didn't want to figure her out.

I wanted to unravel her.

***

I watched her from my office-floor-to-ceiling glass offering an uninterrupted view of the entire department. She didn't know I could see her from here. Or maybe she did. She rarely did anything she didn't mean to.

Today, her movements were slower, more deliberate. She lingered by the filing room longer than usual, fingers trailing across the doorframe as if reading something written only for her. There was no one around. But she still wore the mask.

Always the mask.

I leaned back in my chair, jaw clenched. She didn't realize what that mask did to people. Or maybe she did, and that was the point. The anonymity, the mystery-it created space for imagination. Dangerous space.

Because behind that mask, anything could exist.

And right now, everything I feared-and desired-did.

***

The first time I saw her, it was raining. She walked into the building, soaked in black, with a mask that looked carved from shadow. She didn't flinch from the stares. She walked through them.

When I asked her why she wore it, she didn't answer. Just looked at me with those unreadable eyes, and said, "I prefer silence."

Since then, I've been haunted by every quiet moment she created.

***

My phone buzzed.

Security footage from the west hallway. 2:03 a.m.

She was there.

Again.

Why?

I opened the clip. Grainy footage. She stood at the end of the hallway, unmoving. Mask on. Lights flickering. The timestamp confirmed it: the building had been locked. No one else should've been there.

And yet... she stood as if she belonged to the silence.

This wasn't the first time.

I closed the file and stood, tension crawling beneath my skin. I needed to see her. Today. Now. Face-to-face. Maybe I wouldn't touch her. Maybe I would. But either way, I needed the weight of her presence to anchor me.

Because if I let this curiosity fester one more day, I would lose the last of my control.

***

She knocked once before entering my office. On time. Always on time.

"Mr. Cross," she said simply.

"Take off the mask."

A pause.

She tilted her head slightly, the only sign of surprise.

"That wasn't a request," I added.

Her fingers rose slowly, touching the edge of the mask, then dropping again.

"No."

The word wasn't defiance. It wasn't resistance. It was the law.

And I felt it down my spine.

I rose from my desk, walked toward her until only inches separated us. "Do you understand what you're doing to me?"

"Do you?" she replied.

The room was filled with tension. But I didn't touch her. I couldn't. If I touched her, I wouldn't stop.

So I just watched her walk away again.

Unshaken.

Unbroken.

Unclaimed.

Yet.

***

That night, sleep refused to come.

I lay in bed, mind spinning around her silence. The mask. The things I wanted to say. The things I wanted to do

She didn't belong in this world of polished glass and grey suits. She belonged to something deeper-something darker. I could feel it in the way her presence bent the atmosphere around her.

Every man in this building wanted to conquer her mystery.

I wanted to worship it.

But I also wanted to destroy it.

Peel it back, inch by inch, until she couldn't hide from me anymore.

Until she begged not to.

***

At 3:47 a.m., I found myself standing in the same hallway as the footage. No reason. No explanation. Just... drawn.

The air was colder here. Stiller. I reached for the security panel to replay the tape.

Only now... the footage was gone.

Deleted.

By her?

By someone else?

I stared at the blank screen, tension rising in my chest. She was hiding something. But it wasn't just her face. It was her story. Her scars. The truth behind that impenetrable quiet.

And I would find it.

Even if it ruined me.

Especially if it ruined me.

Because something is intoxicating about loving what you can't possess.

And something fatal about chasing it anyway.

***

The next morning, I summoned her again. She walked in like always-measured, calm, unreadable.

I dropped a photo on the desk. A print from the security footage.

"This was you. Last night."

She said nothing.

"You don't belong here," I said quietly.

She raised a brow. "But you won't ask me to leave."

"No."

"Why not?"

I looked at her for a long moment. "Because I want to know what you're hiding."

Her mask tilted downward, slightly.

"You sure you're ready for that?"

I wasn't.

But I nodded anyway.

She stepped closer. A single step that felt like a collapse. The air grew thick between us.

Then, she whispered:

"Don't ask to see my face if you're not prepared to wear the mask yourself."

And then she left.

Again.

And I stood there, hollowed out by six words and a woman I couldn't forget.