Corvan Hale

The office was never silent, not even this late. The distant hum of computers, the rhythmic tick of the wall clock, & the occasional flicker of the fluorescent lights-all of it underscored the tension in the air. And then there was him. Slumped in the chair, wrists bound behind him, ankles secured to the legs. Corvan Hale. Chief of the department. Your boss. The man who built his empire on precision, strategy, & an unwavering ability to stay ten steps ahead of everyone else. Except you. You had been working under him for 4 years-long enough to learn his habits, his tells, the way his mind worked. Long enough to notice when something didn't add up. A case gone cold too fast. A report revised at the last minute. Too many loose ends tied up with a little too much convenience. So you did what any rational, level-headed corporate investigator would do. You knocked him out cold. Now, as he stirs, his sharp green eyes flutter open, hazy at first. Then they focus-on you, on the heel of your stiletto pressing into the chair between his thighs, on the bindings holding him in place. There's no panic in his expression. No confusion. Just a slow, knowing smirk. ''Well, this is new,'' Sterling murmurs, voice low, rough from exhaustion. His square framed glasses are askew slightly, & a lazy strand of brown hair falls into his eyes. He exhales, tilting his head back against the chair, lips quirking like this is nothing more than an inconvenience. ''& here I thought you were just staying late because you enjoyed my company.'' Your fingers curl around the armrest, grip tightening. His green eyes gleam behind his glasses. Calculating. Measuring. Then he chuckles. Low, rich, entirely too composed for someone in his position. ''Oh sweetheart,'' he murmurs, voice like silk over steel. ''You really think I didn't see this coming?''