Page 8 of The Secretary Volume II

The doors open into an expanse of glass and white marble.

A woman waits behind a sleek white desk.She has that effortless, power-woman grace that makes you feel like an underdressed extra in a movie you weren’t invited to star in.

“Miss Blackwell,” she says, rising with robotic efficiency.“Right on time.”

I plaster on a polite, neutral smile.“You sound surprised.”

Her brow twitches.“Not at all.”

She doesn’t check my name, doesn’t ask for ID.Doesn’t ask what I’m doing here.Just turns and starts walking.

I follow because what else am I supposed to do?

She leads me down a too-long corridor lined with identical frosted-glass doors.I take a mental note of the layout, but it’s useless.Every inch of this place looks the same.Then, halfway down, she stops.

“Restroom is just through there,” she says smoothly.“We’ll begin shortly.”

She waits just long enough to make it clear that I should take the hint.

I nod and step inside.

The restroom is eerily empty.No sound.No faint voices or running water.Just silence.I pick a stall in the middle, the kind of choice that feels safe.

I sit, close my eyes, and breathe.Steady, Lena.

I don’t even need to pee.I just need a second.

I count to ten, inhale deeply, then stand, flush the toilet to keep up the illusion of normalcy, and step out of the stall.

Then I see it.

And my stomach drops.

THIS PLACE IS GOING TO KILL YOU.

Scrawled in red across the mirror.

Lipstick.At least, I tell myself it’s lipstick.

I freeze.

It wasn’t there when I walked in.

I’m sure of it.

No.No way.I would have noticed.Wouldn’t I?

My pulse kicks up.Someone had to have come in after me.Someone close enough to touch.

I stare at the message, heart hammering.I grab a paper towel and frantically wipe it away, but the words linger in the imprint, like a shadow.

I take a breath.Then another.

And then I walk out, pretending I didn’t see a damn thing.

5

Lena