The Best Laid Plans

The hum of the engines blends with the faint hum I always hear in the tower. Or maybe that’s just in my head.

The elevator closes around me like a mirrored box. Glass, chrome, and my own reflection—endless versions of Verra Lux staring back. The hum of ascent is steady, intimate, a pulse beneath the skin.

For a moment I let myself picture it: Security storming the atrium, Tim caught mid-sentence, his badge stripped from his collar. He looks over his shoulder once, shocked, as they drag him through reception. People whisper my name with a kind of reverence. I can almost hear the hush spread across the floor. Justice, finally.

But the picture won’t stay fixed. It trembles, changes. The sound of the restraints becomes softer, slower—rhythmic. His shoulders twist, not in resistance but in control. The fantasy folds in on itself, and suddenly it’s not him restrained at all. It’s me. The heat rises from nowhere, blooming through my chest, settling lower. My breath fogs the mirrored wall.

I close my eyes. The echo of last night stirs—the sting of the spanking, the helpless edge of it, how close I’d come before the shame stopped me. I should have finished, should have taken the edge off this morning instead of pretending it was gone.

I smooth my skirt, press my knees together, **** the thought away. This is his fault. His tone, his eyes, that smug calm—he’s been in my head since yesterday. He started this.

Fuck, what was wrong with me. Was this Magic? It must be. I looked at my reflection again. My nipples are so hard you can see them through my sheer white blouse. I needed to get to my office quickly.

Reception

The elevator doors open to reception on my floor, one from the top. The air feels thicker, the hum louder now, behind my eyes instead of in the walls.

Then I see her.

Emily. Dressed in the tight one piece dress of white and blue that the receptionists wear.

My former assistant stands at the reception island, perfectly composed behind the glass standing desk. For a heartbeat I don’t believe it; she had already been reassigned. If her transfer’s already processed, Tim’s promotion must have been as well. Shit, that gave him access. I needed to get to my office and make SURE the termination and security report I filed this morning went through.

Except… she emily stops me, wasting what might be precious time.

She waves when she notices me, bright and relaxed, like nothing’s wrong. “Executive Lux! Welcome back.”

I try to glide past, but she stands, blocking the path. “I hope you don’t mind the change,” she says. “I actually prefer this role. More direct contact with clients.”

I arch a brow. “So, less pay, fewer responsibilities, but more contact? Fascinating career move.” My tone is sugar edged with glass.

Emily only smiles. “It’s a better fit. Less stress.” Her eyes dip—quickly, reflexively—to my chest. We both pretend not to notice the way my blouse clings, but Emily's eyes don't leave my chest. What was she thinking in that empty little head of hers?

“I’m sure it is,” I say, already angling toward the corridor. My pulse spikes again. I need to check the compliance logs, make sure Tim’s firing actually went through.

Still, my gaze betrays me. The reception uniform hugs her like it was tailored just for her—same cut as every other girl here, yet on Emily it looks deliberate, almost elegant. I tell myself she must be sleeping with someone important. That’s how people survive demotions.

I look away, disgusted—or I tell myself it’s disgust—but the warmth in my stomach says otherwise. The air feels heavier, the hum of the building deeper.

Then I see him.

Across the office floor, seated at the desk that used to be Emily’s, Tim looks up from a terminal. Calm, unreadable, like he’s been waiting. The breath leaves my throat in a slow, useless gasp.

The room doesn’t move, but everything inside me tilts.