Anna was halfway through organizing morning contracts when her phone suddenly vibrated inside her desk drawer, jolting her out of focus.
It was her personal phone—something she seldom checked during work hours. But the persistent vibrations grew unnerving, tugging at her unease.
With cautious movement, ensuring no one was watching, Anna slid open the drawer and peered at the screen.
Unknown number. A message was waiting.
Hesitating, she finally tapped it open.
We need to talk. Tonight. 8:30 PM. Come alone.
Before she could react, a second message appeared.
If you don't… I'll show Adrian Volkov the video from my penthouse.
Her fingers turned ice-cold. Julian Mercer.
For a moment, the bustling executive floor seemed to fade into silence.
Video.
Her mind flashed back two nights—her penthouse, the wine, the quiet cameras her wealthy clients installed—either for protection or their own pleasures.
She had checked the room thoroughly. Yet Julian had been vigilant, prepared—and now he held leverage.
Anna quickly locked her phone, closing the drawer as Adrian's office door swung open.
"Anna," he called.
She straightened instantly.
"Yes, Mr. Volkov?"
He studied her sharply—pinpointing her rising panic.
"The board meeting documents?"
"Ready," she replied smoothly, handing him the file.
Their fingers brushed briefly. Adrian's gaze lingered.
"You look tired," he commented.
"I'm fine," she replied, meeting his steady eyes.
He nodded slowly and walked away. Anna exhaled, forcing calm into her breathing.
Less than twelve hours to avert a crisis that could destroy everything.
—
Julian Mercer's rooftop bar was a haven of quiet—above the chaos, with whispering wind and soft, hidden music.
Julian leaned casually against the table, a glass of whiskey in hand, waiting. When Anna arrived, he offered a smile—but it lacked warmth.
"Elena," he whispered.
Anna stood firm.
"You shouldn't have contacted me," she said.
He shrugged nonchalantly.
"You didn't give me a choice." He pulled out his phone and placed it on the table. The screen illuminated a paused video of her penthouse.
Julian circled slowly.
"Relax," he said. "I'm not interested in ruining your life."
"Then delete it," she demanded.
He chuckled.
"That wouldn't be very useful to me."
Her voice hardened.
"What do you want?"
Julian's face grew serious.
"Business. I want information."
A cold knot tightened in her stomach.
"Volkov International is moving into markets my partners covet," she said.
He leaned in, voice low.
"And you, Elena—or should I say Anna—have access."
Her heart pounded.
"You're mistaken," she insisted.
Julian raised his phone slightly.
"One file," he said calmly. "That's all I need."
"Which file?"
"Volkov's high-risk shipping contracts."
Her stomach dropped. Those documents were among the most sensitive in the company. Improper access would be immediately suspicious.
Julian's faint smile persisted.
"Bring me the file."
"And the video disappears."
"And if I refuse?" she challenged.
Julian's tone darkened.
"Then Adrian Volkov receives a very interesting email."
Silence stretched painfully. Finally, Anna broke it.
"I need time," she said.
"You have three days," Julian replied, pocketing his phone and stepping back.
"Don't disappoint me."
—
That night, Anna didn't sleep. At dawn, clarity struck—her double life had become too dangerous, too exposed. It had to end now.
She opened her laptop and drafted a formal termination notice to the agency:
"Effective immediately, I am terminating my services."
Her finger hovered over send—then pressed.
Relief washed over her. For the first time in years, hope flickered.
Moments later, her phone chimed—a reply from Velvet Circle.
She opened it, and instant relief vanished.
Contract Notice
Your request for termination has been received. However, clause 14 of your agreement requires maintained VIP engagements.
Her eyes scanned further. The upcoming booking details made her stomach sink: a seven-day international trip, booking a Tier One VIP—Adrian Volkov.
Declining such a high-profile client violated the contract and risked severe penalties she couldn't afford.
She saw the client's name at the bottom—Adrian Volkov.
Her breath caught. Her boss. The most powerful man in the country. The man she'd been avoiding for months.
He had just booked Elena Vale for an entire week—completely unaware of her true identity.
Anna sat silently, the laptop's blue glow illuminating her pale face.
• If she goes: She'll spend seven days on a boat with her boss as Elena, praying he doesn't recognize her without glasses and her bun.
• If she stays: Julian leaks the footage, and Adrian destroys her for lying.