Chapter 3 Caught Between Kings

POV: Susan Blake.

"There are two things I never expected to see on my first day: a $10,000 coffee machine-and Mark Henderson watching me like I was hiding a loaded gun."

The doors to Henderson Enterprises hissed open like the gates of some sterile utopia. Everyone inside moved with quiet urgency-sleek suits, no wasted motion, eyes fixed ahead like they had somewhere important to be and no time to explain it to people like me.

The receptionist gave me a tight-lipped smile, then quickly returned to typing.

I clutched my new access badge like it was made of glass.

Mark's office assistant, a woman named Dana, met me at the elevators with a clipboard and a smile that didn't touch her eyes.

"Miss Blake," she said, offering a clipped handshake. "Come with me."

Her heels clicked across the floor like a metronome. Mine barely made a sound.

We passed the executive lounge-there it was. The $10,000 coffee machine. Sleek, silver, futuristic. It looked like it could time-travel. I made a mental note never to touch it.

"This is your desk," Dana said, pointing to a modern cubicle just outside Mark's frosted-glass door. "You'll report directly to Mr. Henderson unless otherwise specified."

"Right."

She eyed me. "Word of advice? Don't speak unless spoken to. And don't get too comfortable."

Noted.

I sat down, booted up the system, and inhaled deeply.

Day One.

I could do this.

By noon, I'd already handled three internal memos, transcribed two legal summaries, and caught an error in the numbers for an upcoming client meeting. When I flagged it and emailed the correction, I got a one-word reply from Mark's internal account:

"Great job."

No signature. No emojis. But I stared at the statement like it was an award.

A few heads turned my way after that.

I tried not to let the whispers bother me, but they clung to the air like perfume.

"Isn't she the one from Miller & Co.?"

"I heard she begged Mark for a job after her boss threw her out."

"He only hired her because he felt sorry for her. She will soon be fired, don't worry."

Dana didn't stop the rumors.

She poured them tea.

I delivered documents to Mark's office just after one.

He didn't look up at first. He was seated behind a massive glass desk, typing something with calculated precision. "Leave it on the left," he said, without looking.

I hesitated. "Mr. Henderson..."

His eyes snapped to mine.

I froze, but pushed forward. "I-I noticed there's a huge error on the Leighton account figures. If those estimates are shared with the board, they'll flag it."

He stared at me. "Hmm...." Holding his jaw in thought. Then stood.

He walked around the desk and stopped two feet in front of me. "Where is the error miss? I am not seeing anything."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and showed him. My fingers brushed the edge of the paper, but his hand was already there, flipping the page, following my notes.

A quiet hum of approval left him.

Then he did something I didn't expect-a cold smirk tugged at his lips.

Slight. Controlled.

But it was there. "You're not afraid of me," he said.

My heart pounded. "Should I be?"

He didn't answer.

Just nodded once.

"Good work, Miss Blake."

I turned to leave, but paused at the bookshelf beside his desk-It was the photo frame that caught my eye.

A woman.

Flawless, elegant, with icy blonde hair and a dress that screamed old money.

She stood next to Mark, hand on his chest, smiling like she already owned him.

I didn't ask. But something twisted in my gut which I couldn't fathom.

The text came later that night.

I was on the train home, exhausted, hungry, and proud. For once, the day had gone well without yelling and humiliations.

Until my phone buzzed with a message.

Raymond: "Spy or rot in prison. Your move."

I stared at the screen in numb disbelief.

Another message came in seconds later.

"I wasn't joking about the account. One call to the cops and you're done. Unless you want to be smart and start digging for me."

My throat dried.

I shoved the phone into my coat pocket and looked around like someone might be watching. Every stranger suddenly felt dangerous.

What did he even want? Mark's files? Strategy plans? Passwords?

I couldn't do it.

But I couldn't go to jail either.

That night, I couldn't sleep.

I kept seeing that sticky note on my mirror. The wreckage of my apartment. My parents' car flipped on the side of the road, twisted metal and fire.

Everything I loved... taken.

I couldn't let it happen again. Not because of the devil that calls himself Raymond Miller. Not because I was so afraid to speak, but because I couldn't bear the shame and humiliation from haters.

I grabbed my phone, sending Raymond a text. "Please Raymond. Why're you doing all this to me."

*******

The next morning, I stood outside Mark Henderson's office with my heart thundering in my chest.

I knocked, but no reply from the other side of the door.

He simply opened the door himself, and looked at me like he already knew something was wrong.

"Miss Blake. What're you doing at my door this early?"

"Sir, if I may ask. Can I talk to you privately?"

He stepped aside. "Very well. You can come in."

I walked in, closing the door behind me.

I turned to face him-and I broke. "I'm sorry," I said. "This will probably cost me everything, but I can't keep hiding it."

He said nothing. Just waited.

Deep breath.

"Raymond is blackmailing me."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

"He forged documents-fake bank statements in my name. He threatened to report me for embezzlement if I didn't... spy on you."

Mark's jaw flexed. "And did you?"

"No," I said instantly. "I couldn't. But I didn't tell you earlier because I was scared. And now-now I am confused."

Mark stared at me for a long, tense moment.

Then stepped behind his desk, pressing a button on the intercom.

"Security," he said coldly, "bring me the footage from two nights ago. I want every camera near Miss Blake's apartment building. Now."