Page 242 of Love Me in the Dark

Now he has my attention.

Asher doesn’t hold complaints or files for me anymore. He hasn’t for years. With a company the size of mine, the sheer number of employee complaints would be a full-time job. Which is why I have a whole department that handles this sort of thing.

It usually only reaches Asher when it involves senior management. Something that could be a pain in the ass for the company.

But for him to hold something for me?

It hasn’t happened in over a year.

And even then, it was just one of our executives sleeping with his assistant.

I crack one eye open and hold out my hand. He passes me the tablet, already loaded with the report.

It’s a complaint against a senior manager in one of my tech subsidiaries. The content itself is familiar—misconduct, misrouting, failing upward.

Corporate rot.

But it’s the tone that hooks me, not what the report contains.

Efficient. Sharp. Pissed.

No corporate niceties. No ass-kissing.

Ivy.

Just a first name. No photo. No extended record attached that would show me who I’m dealing with. Only call logs, tickets, a few flagged performance metrics that stand out like bloody fingerprints on white tile.

I scroll through a few attached files. A voice note—private. Not meant for anyone. She must’ve logged it into the system accidentally.

I play it after making sure that my earbuds are securely in place.

Her voice is quiet. Controlled. Edged in a kind of weariness that doesn’t come from working too much, but from a lifetime of knowing the world was never built for her. That nothing she does will push her over the line from the darkness of her life into the light around her.

“If I disappeared, no one would even notice. Except maybe to ask who’s covering my shift.”

The note ends abruptly.

My thumb hovers above the screen.

Who are you, Ivy?

She’s got no socials listed on her profile.

Untraceable.

Unremarkable in every sense of the word, at least on the surface.

Untouched by the darkness in my world..

Fascinating.

“She’s not part of any high-tier group?” I ask, still reading the records of her calls and reports. Systems she shouldn’t be able to troubleshoot at her level.

“No, sir,” Asher replies. “Tier Two support. Night shift. Lives alone. No dependents. No assets.”

Perfect.

“Schedule a review of her case history,” I say. “I want all department crossover, all call recordings, and direct access to her internal notes folder.”