Lucien Silvyr didn't move.
His gaze flicked to the spilled water at his feet, then back to Aria's face—as if calculating something, as if deciding whether she was a threat… or an inconvenience.
"I'm sorry," Aria said quickly, bending to retrieve the mop handle. Her voice was steady, but her fingers trembled. "I didn't mean to—"
"What's your name?" His voice was low, sharp. Not the voice of a boy—this was a man who had learned to command boardrooms and control empires.
"Elena. Elena Frost." She kept her eyes down.
Silence stretched between them like a noose.
"You're not on the clearance list for this floor."
Aria's heart skipped. Of course she wasn't. She wasn't even supposed to be in this city.
"I—I just started," she lied. "I was told to finish up on the top level…"
Lucien's head tilted slightly. He was studying her. Not her clothes, not the mop—but her. Like he could read beneath her skin. Like he knew that Elena Frost didn't exist.
Then, he did something she didn't expect.
He smiled.
But it wasn't warm. It was the kind of smile that warned of a trap before the jaws snapped shut.
"Very well," he said. "You'll start with my office. Glass doors at the end of the hall."
Her breath hitched.
Was he testing her?
"Sir, I—"
He raised a hand, silencing her.
"You spilled water on a hundred-thousand-dollar marble floor, Miss Frost. Consider this your first strike."
And with that, he turned and walked away, shoes clicking in even, deliberate steps. Like thunder after lightning.
Aria stared after him, her throat dry.
The elevator was still behind her. She could leave. Walk away. Disappear.
But then… where would she go?
She clenched her jaw, picked up the mop,
and moved toward the office with glass doors.