The next morning, Stella stood in front of the towering black skyscraper, its glass windows reflecting the dull gray sky. The massive structure dominated every other building in the vicinity, a silent testament to the empire it belonged to—Black Stone Industries. The name itself carried weight, power, and a chilling sense of inevitability.
Taking a deep breath, she straightened her posture, adjusted her bag, and walked toward the entrance. The revolving glass doors glided smoothly as she stepped inside, where the air smelled of fresh coffee and expensive cologne. The lobby was grand, with marble floors that gleamed under the soft golden lighting, and employees in crisp suits moving efficiently from one place to another. It was different from Protego—more polished, more rigid, more like a machine that never stopped running.
After presenting her ID at the front desk, she was directed to the HR department. Marco gestured for her to take a seat across from him.
"Stella Winchester," Marco said, flipping through her file, his expression unreadable. "So, you're officially part of Black Stone now."
Stella folded her hands on her lap. "Yes. I assume my position has been decided?"
Marco skimmed through her resume, nodding. "Your previous experience is solid. The company has reviewed your performance at Protego and Polotogo, and after consideration, you'll be keeping your previous role as a manager."
She exhaled softly. At least that part of her life wouldn't change too drastically. "And my salary?"
Marco leaned back in his chair, glancing at the calendar on his desk before responding. "Your starting salary will be around $97,888 per year. That breaks down to approximately $50 an hour." He paused. "However, your pay may increase or decrease based on your performance. Black Stone rewards efficiency but has no patience for dead weight."
There was an underlying sharpness in his tone, a reminder of the company's ruthlessness. Stella had expected nothing less.
"Understood," she replied simply.
Marco slid a sleek black ID card across the table. "This is your new employee card. It grants access to all authorized areas. You officially start next Monday. If you have any concerns, now is the time to raise them."
She studied the card, her name embossed in silver beneath the bold logo of Black Stone Industries. For some reason, the weight of it in her hand felt heavier than it should.
"No concerns," she said, though a small voice in the back of her mind whispered otherwise.
Marco nodded. "Then, welcome to Black Stone, Mrs. Winchester."
The name sent a shiver down her spine, though she wasn't sure why.
Gathering her things, she stood up. "Thank you."
As she turned toward the door, Marco's voice stopped her.
"By any chance, are you related to Simon Winchester? Our boss?"
The answer was right there, lingering on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it down. Instead, she smiled—calm, composed, as if the question was nothing more than idle curiosity.
"No," she said smoothly. "In fact, I only heard his name for the first time a few days ago."
Marco studied her for a moment, as if searching for any hint of deception, but Stella held his gaze unwaveringly.
"Alright then," he said, nodding.
She flashed him another polite smile. "Goodbye, Mr. Marco."
Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and slipped out of the office. But as she walked down the hall, her fingers instinctively curled into a fist at her side.
Lying had never been this easy.
And yet, something told her that in this place, it was going to become a habit.
As Stella stepped out of the office, she barely had time to register her surroundings before she bumped into someone familiar.
"Earlene!" she exclaimed, her surprise quickly turning into delight.
"Stella?" Earlene's eyes widened. "Wait, you work here?"
Stella nodded. "Yep. Just joined today."
"Damn," Earlene grinned. "I can't believe it. This company is about to skyrocket now that it has you."
Stella chuckled, shaking her head. "The company was already at the top, Earlene. I'm just another employee."
Earlene hummed in agreement, but her expression shifted. Leaning in slightly, she lowered her voice. "I heard the boss at Polotogo tried something with you."
Stella stiffened for a split second before forcing a casual shrug. "Yeah… that's why I quit two months ago and joined Protego. But now, here I am—part of Black Stone. Everything happened so fast."
Earlene nodded sympathetically, but her gaze flickered down to Stella's hand. Her brows furrowed.
"You're married?"
Stella followed her gaze to the diamond ring on her finger. For a moment, she just stared at it, her expression unreadable. Then, she smiled softly.
"Yeah. Almost six years now."
Earlene opened her mouth to ask something else, but Stella was already stepping back. "Anyway, I should get going. See you around."
Before Earlene could protest, Stella turned on her heel and walked away, leaving behind an air of unanswered questions.
She exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders as she picked up her pace.
I need to get better at lying… and escaping.
As soon as Stella stepped into her apartment, she let out a tired sigh and dropped her bag onto the floor. Kicking off her heels, she made her way to the couch, sinking into the cushions as exhaustion settled deep in her bones.
The room was warm, the remnants of the afternoon heat still lingering. Without a second thought, she unbuttoned her blouse and slipped it off, tossing it aside before reaching for the air conditioner remote. Cool air flooded the space, sending a shiver down her spine.
Her fingers drifted to her left breast, pressing lightly over the inked design that lay above her heart—a mark of permanence, a piece of a past she could never erase. Then, almost instinctively, she traced her fingers up to her neck, where the faint, intricate symbol of the death bond still remained.
Her gaze finally dropped to her wrist, where Simon's name was etched in delicate, flowing script. The sight of it made her lips curve into a soft, almost wistful smile.
His voice echoed in her mind, deep and teasing.
"I love it when you're naked in our bed, with these three marks highlighting everything between us."
She let out a slow breath, running her thumb over his name. These marks had once been symbols of love, of devotion—an unbreakable connection. Now, they were memories she kept hidden beneath layers of fabric and silence.
That was why she always covered herself. Full sleeves, high collars—anything to avoid the questions. Anything to keep the past where it belonged.
Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the couch, exhaling softly.