Digging(GL)

All characters, locations, behaviors, careers, and departments depicted in this story are entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. There is no intention to promote, guide, or encourage any of the actions or events portrayed. Reader discretion is advised.

Most people are born into the world hoping to be known; eager to leave footprints, names etched in memories, faces remembered in crowded rooms. But she… she spent her life perfecting the art of vanishing. To the world, she was known only as Sunny, a name that sounded cheerful, approachable, and innocent. But beneath that sunlight-sounding name was a shadow no one could trace. The name wasn’t hers. It wasn’t even close. It was picked for convenience, used for clean exits and confusing trails. She never spoke it aloud unless necessary, and even then, it was coated with just the right amount of false charm to make others underestimate her.

No one in the intelligence world could find her, and many had tried. Government trackers, cyber task forces, underground syndicates, they all hit a dead end. She wasn’t just skilled, she was untouchable. Every move was mapped out like a grandmaster’s chessboard. Nothing was accidental. No step was without strategy. She built her own world of silence, and lived within it like a whisper in a storm.

She never had a handler. No headquarters. No tech team working from a neon-lit control room. Just a cluttered laptop, a collection of secured drives, and a self-built website hidden behind a labyrinth of onion layers and encryption. That was where the gigs left like breadcrumbs by people desperate enough to pay for what the law couldn’t give them. Blackmail. Recovery. Secrets. Surveillance. Some wanted dirt, others just wanted peace.

But Sunny had one rule that never changed: cash only.

She didn’t trust banks. Not even digital wallets. Money was always physical, bundled into envelopes, tucked into library books, sealed in kitchen jars, or hidden under park benches. She gave precise instructions. Location. Method. Deadline. She even tested their obedience. If they dared to leave even a rupee less, or tried to be clever and track the drop… well, the consequences were designed to sting that they never forgot her.

She once sent a man’s entire confidential office footage to his wife after he’d shorted her pay by 10%. Another time, she anonymously mailed a client’s private browser history to his own board of directors. There were no second chances. Working with Sunny wasn’t just business. It was entering a world where trust was demanded, but never given.

On that day, as monsoon clouds pressed against the sky and the city rumbled in its usual chaos, Sunny sat at a roadside café tucked between a dying electronics store and a half-built gym. Her posture was casual, but her senses were never idle. A pair of wireless earplugs streamed intercepted audio from three nearby phones. Her sunglasses reflected the screen of her disguised device, a fake online shopping app that secretly displayed live facial recognition matches.

She looked like any other young woman taking a break. Hair tied up. Sleeves rolled. A chipped steel cup of chai in her hand. No one gave her a second glance. Two tables ahead, the man she was watching nervously fidgeted with a tissue. His messages were visible to her thanks to a cloned SIM he didn’t even know was replaced last night. He was meeting someone dangerous, someone who had already killed twice for silence. But Sunny wasn’t interested in justice. She was here for observation. Proof. Leverage. She was hired for information, not morals.

She didn’t mind. So she collected information and sent it to the client.

She returned to her flat just before sundown. A small one-bedroom space with no windows facing the street, protected by noise-blocking foam and backup power banks. The walls were covered in layered maps, wires crisscrossed along the ceiling like veins, and her fridge was half-filled with energy bars and soda cans. She wasn’t messy, but she didn’t waste time organizing the non-essential.

When her laptop pinged, she noticed it instantly.

A new request.

She opened it slowly, fingers hovering above the keys.

“Subject: Samara Dev. CEO of Devtrix. We suspect her of making secret arrangements behind the tender process. We want to know how she got it. Who helped her. What’s hidden beneath her smile. Discretion mandatory. Payment upon proof.”

Sunny stared at the message a little longer than usual.

Samara Dev.

That name wasn’t unfamiliar. She had seen her face on magazine covers, TED Talks, social media as always graceful, always intelligent, always… perfect. She was young for a CEO, but sharp. Her company had risen too fast in the past year. The media called it ambition. The client called it suspicion.

Sunny didn’t care what the truth was. She never judged her targets. Her job was to reveal. Truth had a price. And someone just agreed to pay it.

The message was already encrypted, but Sunny added an extra layer of security before replying. She never took risks with clients, especially when the stakes were this high.

She typed slowly, carefully:

“Before I begin, I need to know what exactly you’re after. Surface details or skeletons? You want proof, or you want power?”

The response came within minutes, like the man had been sitting by his screen, waiting.

“Two months ago, she bagged a tender that should have been mine. I did everything right. But somehow, she got to it clean, sealed, approved. No one knows how. Everyone thinks she’s just that good. But I don’t buy it. I want to know who helped her. Who are the names behind her win. Before next tender, I’m going to propose another budget plan, and I can’t let her get to it first. I need to know her every move. I want every damn name that backs her in the shadows.”

Sunny read the message twice, leaned back in her chair, and folded her hands behind her head.

This wasn’t a one-night job. It wasn’t a bug-the-phone-and-done kind of contract. This required infiltration. Layered investigation. A subtle presence inside Samara’s world.

She exhaled slowly, then typed:

“This is not a doorstep gig. To get what you need, I’ll have to blend in. I’ll need time, to study her routine, slip into her space, follow her without being noticed. This is a long game.”

The reply came in less than five minutes.

“Take your time. Just bring me the dirt before next tender meeting. Money is not a problem. I’ll pay whatever you ask.”

Sunny didn’t smile often, but this offer pulled a faint curve at the corner of her lips.

She paused, considered the magnitude, then typed the price. It wasn’t modest. It was the kind of amount that could let her live silently for the next few years without lifting a finger. A number people wouldn’t expect from someone working solo and invisible.

She asked for it in three parts; one at the start, one during the middle of the job once she started uncovering real data, and the final after delivery.

He agreed.

Payment instructions were sent, cash drop points, exact denominations, how to package them, and what container to use. Sunny was precise down to the color of tape and type of paper wrapping. No mistakes.

She spent the next five nights completely off-grid. No emails. No messages. No sudden moves. Her room transformed into a quiet war zone with charts, digital files, printed dossiers, code-scrambled drives, voice logs. She began her work outside the noise, far away from whispers and rumors. She wanted cold facts, public records, unedited timelines.

The name Samara Dev turned up more than she expected.

Elegant. Polished. Always poised under pressure. The woman had the kind of reputation PR firms only dream of. Interviews. Articles. Award speeches. She was the face of Devtrix a sleek, modern firm involved in software, logistics, and recently, city infrastructure bids.

Samara had taken over the company three years ago after her father passed. But rather than coast on inheritance or bask in sympathy, she pushed forward like a storm. Within the first eight months, she restructured nearly every department. Cleaned out the corrupt accounts. Fired executives who thought she’d be soft.

Most thought she'd fail. Instead, she multiplied profits and built alliances that weren’t aggressive, but elegant. Her charm was undeniable—but so was her intelligence. The deeper Sunny dug, the cleaner the surface looked.

There were no red flags. No sudden account spikes. No unexplained foreign transactions. Her tax filings were spotless. Her deals were always sealed through legitimate tenders, with nothing to suggest foul play. Every document, every press release, every photo—painted her as a woman who worked harder than everyone in the room and smiled while doing it.

Sunny didn’t like simple pictures. They always meant someone was hiding the real one.

So far, all she had was the mask Samara wore in public. A mask that was flawless. But masks, Sunny knew, always had a crack. Some were just better at hiding it.

She folded her arms, stared at the screen, and whispered to herself:

“You’re either the cleanest woman I’ve ever seen... or the smartest liar in this city.”

She had to get closer. Not through wires. Not through screens. She had to walk into Samara’s world and become invisible in it.

The money from the first installment was thick in her hands, clean, untraceable, delivered exactly as she’d requested. Most people would have held onto it like treasure.

Sunny spent half of it within a week.

New hair, new wardrobe, new voice modulation for public speaking. A freshly minted past, complete with fake internships, forged degrees, and glowing letters of recommendation that couldn’t be tracked back to anyone real. She printed a clean résumé under the name Jenny Rout a quiet, diligent girl from another state, with humble dreams and a desire to build a career in logistics.

A soft-spoken lie with an honest smile.

She rented a modest apartment not too far from the Devtrix office. The place was clean but forgettable, just the way she liked it. The landlord was an older woman who didn’t ask too many questions after hearing Jenny’s story, that she’d been transferred from a smaller company branch and was now trying to “settle into city life.” Sunny even placed fake photos on the living room wall—college friends that didn’t exist, a younger brother she never had.

By the time she stepped into the towering glass building of Devtrix, Jenny Rout had been born fully, quietly, and convincingly. She cleared the interview easily. Not by dazzling them, but by being harmless.

A bit nervous. Slightly unsure. Respectful.

The HR executive noted how ‘grounded’ she was, how she “might take some time but seemed like a good fit.” Sunny kept her smile warm but humble, her voice low, her eyes never too steady. She was placed in the logistics department as a junior file coordinator—nothing glamorous, but exactly where she needed to be.

A position far beneath Samara’s radar, yet deep enough in the operational trench to see how the company truly functioned behind all its glass and polish.

On the second day, Jenny was beginning to slip into her new skin more naturally. The ID badge hung around her neck now. Her tucked hair gave her a simple, neat appearance. No lipstick. Just kajal and a clean, unthreatening presence.

It was past lunch hour. Most employees had already returned from the canteen, so the hallway was quiet, filled only with the distant echo of clinking utensils and the hum of vending machines.

Jenny walked slowly, her fingers curled around the file she was pretending to deliver. Jenny didn’t head to the canteen to eat. Her real hunger was for information.

She moved slowly through the corridor, her eyes quietly scanning every corner of the building. Not for security cameras because she’d already memorized those but for people. People who lingered in offices longer than they were paid to. People who weren’t required to dress sharp, speak politely, or attend weekly meetings.

She had always known one thing to be true: If you want the truth about a place, ask the ones who clean it.
Maids, janitors, pantry helpers, those were the eyes and ears of the building. The ones invisible enough to witness everything.

Her gaze landed on an older cleaning woman wheeling a mop bucket into the corner closet. Another staffer near the stairwell carried lunch trays in both hands, humming something under his breath. Her instincts told her which ones might talk if asked the right way. Which ones had been here long enough to know more than they should.

She made a mental note, adjusted the way her ID badge hung around her neck, and turned toward the canteen. And then, chaos unfolded a few feet ahead.

A clumsy employee, young, clearly flustered and bumped into a chair, lost control of his tray, and the entire lunch splattered across the corridor floor. Rice, curry, a splash of yellow dal. The food spread like an abstract painting at her feet.

The guy let out a sharp curse under his breath, gave Jenny an awkward look, and mumbled, “I’ll get someone…” before rushing off, leaving behind a mess and an empty hallway.

Jenny sighed, took a step forward and suddenly felt a firm grip on her shoulder, pulling her backward. She stumbled a little, her shoes catching the edge of the spilled food.

A strong arm held her steady, and in one smooth motion, she was pulled gently back against a taller frame. Warm breath touched the edge of her cheek. The perfume, faint jasmine and something deeper, muskier made her head go still.

“Watch out,” came the voice. Low. Calm. Unhurried.

Jenny looked down first and finally saw, just centimeters from where her foot had landed, curry now dripped across the white tile. Another half step, and she would’ve slipped straight into it.

She turned around, almost as a reflex, and froze.

Samara.

The woman she’d spent the last two weeks researching. The daughter who took over Devtrix from her ailing father three years ago and managed to skyrocket its valuation through what looked like pure business genius. Public interviews showed her poised. Confident. Charismatic. But none of them did justice to the quiet presence this woman carried in person.

Up close, Samara wasn’t dressed like a figurehead or media darling. Her sleeves were rolled up, black trousers crisply ironed, the top button of her shirt undone. Her watch was sleek, expensive, but worn—like it had seen years of use, not just vanity.

But more than that, it was her eyes. Quiet. Studying. Not cruel, not warm, just aware.

Jenny kept her face blank, recovering quickly.

“Thank you,” she said in a voice small and unassuming.

Samara tilted her head slightly. “New to the office?”

Jenny blinked, her expression one of innocent confusion. “Yeah… how’d you know?”

That hint of a smile returned, just a slight curve of her lips, like something amused her but she wasn’t going to say it out loud.

“Didn’t see you around before,” Samara replied, then stepped back and walked past her, casually avoiding the spilled food.

Jenny stood frozen, watching the sway of Samara’s walk disappear into the hallway. Her heartbeat had sped up, but she made sure her breath remained calm. That brief touch on her shoulder lingered like static electricity.

The janitor finally arrived, a woman in her late fifties, wearing green gloves and a loose scarf around her head. She looked annoyed at the mess, but not surprised.

Jenny took the opportunity.

She turned to her with a polite, curious voice.

“Excuse me… who was that woman just now?”

The janitor paused in mid-mop, gave her a glance, and replied,

“That’s Samara, the CEO.”

Jenny widened her eyes, playing dumb perfectly.

“CEO? She doesn’t look like one…”

The janitor laughed softly. “That’s because she doesn’t act like one. She walks the floors herself. Doesn’t like being locked up in the glass tower. You’ll see her around more than you think.”

Jenny nodded slowly, feigning awe.

“Wow… she even helped me just now.”

The janitor smiled. “Yeah, that’s her style. Just don’t cross her. She forgets nothing.”

Jenny smiled back, brushing hair behind her ear.

“Thanks… I’m Jenny, by the way. Just joined logistics.”

The janitor wiped her glove, extended a hand.

“I’m Latha. Been here twelve years. You ever need help around here, ask me.”

Jenny gave a soft, grateful nod.

“I might just take you up on that, Latha-ji.”

And like that, the first thread was pulled.

Behind her innocent gaze, the spy within Jenny Rout already began weaving connections. The days passed in fragments, paper trails by morning, whispers and stolen data by night. Jenny Rout had slipped seamlessly into her role in the logistics department. Quiet, precise, helpful when needed, and invisible when not. Most people barely noticed her, which suited her perfectly.

The friendship with latha wasn’t forced. It unfolded like tea leaves steeping, slow and steady. Every lunch break, they would find a quiet bench behind the pantry, sip watery coffee, and talk.

Latha, like most long-timers, had a way of speaking without saying too much. But Jenny was trained to hear the spaces between words.

“Before Samara came in,” Latha said one day, swatting flies with her scarf, “this place was choking. Every week a new manager, every month a new rule. Nepotism, bribes, threats… I’ve seen it all. We worked, but we never felt alive here.”

Jenny stirred her coffee, her expression unreadable.

“And now?”

“Now?” Latha smiled, her eyes soft. “Now the building breathes. People care about what they do. Not because someone’s watching, but because someone actually listens.”

That night, Jenny lay on her rented mattress, back propped up by stiff pillows, the glow of her laptop painting cold light on her face.

Encrypted channels. Password dumpers. Packet sniffers camouflaged beneath company Wi-Fi. She wasn’t a hacker in the wild sense she was methodical, almost surgical. Employee emails. Internal chat archives. Meeting room camera logs.

She wasn’t looking to ruin anyone. Just find the fracture lines. Samara’s world looked clean on the surface, but clean things always cast sharp shadows. She had to know what lay beneath.

And then came Thursday evening.

Work ended like any other day. The air smelled of approaching rain. Jenny stepped out of the glass doors, clutching her backpack tighter than usual, and waited near the compound wall for her usual auto.

Then she heard a short honk. A sleek charcoal sedan pulled up and the window rolled down.

“Hop in,” said Samara from behind the wheel, casually one hand resting on the wheel, her other tapping the steering.

Jenny blinked. “Oh—I’m okay, really. I don’t want to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble. Get in,” Samara said with a small smile, not asking again.

Jenny hesitated for a second, then opened the passenger door and slid in. The car smelled like leather and something faintly citrus.

“Where to?” Samara asked, starting the engine.

Jenny gave her the location quietly. The car moved smoothly, barely a bump felt. For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of light music playing from the stereo filled the air.

Finally, Jenny broke the silence.

“I… just wanted to say sorry about that day. I didn’t know you were the CEO.”

Samara chuckled, her eyes still on the road.

“If you knew or not, what difference does it make?”

Jenny looked at her, a little embarrassed.

“Maybe I would’ve responded less clumsily. More respectfully.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Samara said, glancing sideways for a moment. “Be yourself. That’s what’s rare here.”

Jenny felt a quiet warmth under those words. Then Samara added, as if offhandedly,

“You seem to be close to Latha aunty.”

Jenny blinked in surprise, quickly turning to face her.

“Well—she was the first kind and friendly person I met here. I guess I just… felt comfortable.”

Samara nodded thoughtfully. “True.”

There was another silence, charged, not awkward. Jenny hesitated before asking,

“But… how do you know?”

Samara slowed the car, pulling gently over near Jenny’s stop. She didn’t respond immediately. She simply looked at Jenny, eyes clear, gaze steady. Then she smiled and said softly,

“Because I observe everything, Jenny.”

That pause just long enough to feel like a secret was being passed. Then the moment broke.

“We’ve arrived,” Samara added, glancing toward the road.

Jenny felt the strange urge to linger in that space for a second more, but she nodded quickly.

“Thank you. For the ride.”

She stepped out and closed the door. As the car pulled away, Samara rolled down the window slightly and waved once, a calm, confident goodbye. Jenny stood there for a moment longer than she should’ve.

Her heart, trained for threats and strategies, whispered something she didn’t want to admit yet:
That woman is dangerous… but not in the way I thought.

Jenny sat alone in her dimly lit apartment, surrounded by printouts, scribbled notes, decrypted employee chats, and long email chains from hacked inboxes. For days she had gone through everything, cross-checking budget allocations, verifying tender documentation, even snooping into the personal records of people who had worked under Samara. Nothing was out of place.

She had interviewed ex-employees discreetly, under various guises. Most of them vented—out of bitterness, not evidence. Words soaked in resentment, not facts. They called Samara “too clean,” “impossible to please,” “cold.” But not corrupt. Not once did anyone mention backdoor deals or favors. The worst they could say was that she was demanding.

Finally, Jenny compiled what she could—project documents, budget forecasts, timelines. All of it checked out. There was no hidden narrative, no sinister undercurrent. Just a woman who had presented a compelling case for a tender, and won it fair and square.

She sent it to the client. Minutes later, the reply came.

“There’s nothing here. This is all you can do?”

Jenny exhaled, staring at the screen. She replied honestly.

“What if she’s genuinely a good person? Maybe we’re trying to uncover something that doesn’t exist.”

The client’s response came fast, cutting.

“If you're trying to find something from the outside, you never will. Do you think she's stupid? If there is anything shady, only she would know. And she won't tell unless you're inside. Otherwise, we stop here. I’ll pay the second installment, and we’re done.”

Jenny’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. It was the first time in her career that someone questioned her ability. She had always delivered. Always stayed ahead of the game. She had broken into data centers without stepping into buildings, extracted secrets from locked servers halfway across the world. But this… this was different.

Samara didn’t have locks to break into. She didn’t have dirt to uncover.

Jenny could feel something unfamiliar building inside her, frustration, yes, but also something softer. Doubt. Admiration, maybe. She shook it off.

She typed back:

“Don’t write me off yet. If outside data won’t help, I’ll go closer. I’ll find something. Leave the rest to me.”

The client responded simply:

“Good. I hope you do better.”

And with that, the second payment came through. Jenny leaned back, staring at the ceiling. She had never relied on proximity. That was too risky. She preferred data silent, obedient, factual. But this was a challenge now. Not just about payment. Not even just about pride.

This was about knowing. Was she wrong about Samara?

The problem was, Jenny had already infiltrated the company through logistics. There was only so much she could do from her department without raising alarms. If she wanted to get close, it wouldn’t be through work. It had to be through life.

Accidents. Coincidences. Moments.

She would have to make Samara notice her, not as an employee, not as a file-keeper, but as a person. She had never used emotional manipulation as a tool before. But now, it seemed… necessary.

Dangerous? Absolutely. Because she wasn’t sure if the person she was trying to fool was already quietly seeing through her.

But Jenny had made up her mind.

She was going to dig deeper.

Not with her codes.

Not with her tools.

But with herself.

And that... was far more dangerous than anything she'd done before.

The following week passed like a carefully laid trap that refused to snap. Jenny had tried everything.

She intentionally dropped a stack of old procurement files outside Samara’s office, hoping to be seen picking them up with that classic flustered charm, only to be blocked by a finance team member who rushed to help her before she could even notice.

She hung around the corridor near the boardroom, waiting for Samara to walk out from a meeting but instead, a client showed up unexpectedly, and security cleared the entire floor for privacy.

She even faked a system glitch in the logistics data dashboard, attaching a flag that would escalate to Samara’s direct review. But IT patched it before it could make it to her desk.

Every attempt was swallowed up by sheer luck, strange timing, or some cosmic sense of humor. Each day she returned to her apartment with a growing mixture of irritation and awe.

Samara was… elusive.

Not because she was avoiding people. But because the world seemed to dance around her, protecting her from contrivance.

It was frustrating.

It was oddly fascinating.

It was… humbling.

One friday evening, it was getting late, but the sky still held a golden warmth. Jenny stood alone on the rooftop terrace of the building, leaning slightly against the railing, her eyes closed, letting the wind brush past her face.

Her mind was far from peaceful.

Ideas tumbled restlessly, what else could she try to run into Samara naturally? Could she pretend to need help with reports? No, that already failed. Should she plant a bug in the conference floor? Too risky. Maybe the cafeteria? No, always too many people. The elevator trick? Already foiled when it stopped on the wrong floor. She had tried and failed for days.

Every perfectly calculated incident missed either by dumb luck or the strange way things seemed to orbit around Samara. And now, standing in the quiet air, Jenny felt caught in a maze she couldn’t solve. Her eyes stayed closed, her fingers lightly gripping the edge of the railing, letting the breeze try to hush her racing mind.

Then came the voice. Calm, gentle, and close enough to cut through her thoughts like a thread snapping.

“Are you alright?”

Her eyes fluttered open. She turned her head slightly, heart skipping, not out of fear, but from the shock of recognition. That voice. That calm, soothing tone.

Samara...

Of all the moments… after all the efforts… fate had brought her here, just like that, without a plan, without a script. Jenny blinked, surprised, almost laughing to herself at the irony.

She turned around slowly, composing herself within seconds. Her lips curved into a soft, innocent smile just the right amount of surprise and sweetness. A calculated smile. One she had used before. One she knew made people lean in.

"I’m fine," Jenny said, her voice light and a little breathy. "Just… enjoying the breeze."

Samara walked toward her with quiet steps, her presence never loud but always grounding. She stopped in front of Jenny, letting her eyes meet jenny's eyes.

Then she said softly, “Yes… it’s beautiful.”

Jenny looked at her, startled.

"Huh?" Jenny asked, the word escaping almost involuntarily.

Samara turned her eyes briefly towards sky while her eyes resting on the horizon and smiled, that quiet confidence returning.

"I meant the sunset," she said.

Jenny followed her gaze then, as if noticing the glowing sky for the first time, the soft hues of orange and rose bleeding into a blue that slowly darkened. She hadn’t even realized.

All this time, her mind had been chasing moments, plotting angles… and she had missed the one thing that Samara was simply… enjoying.

Jenny smiled again, this time not the fake one. It was small, a little real, a little flustered. Her eyes lingered on the sunset now, but her thoughts stayed on the woman beside her.

Maybe fate wasn’t mocking her.

Maybe… it was guiding her differently.

The rooftop air was still, touched only by the quiet rustle of wind and distant honks below. The two stood side by side, silence gently draping itself around them like a soft shawl. Samara turned slightly toward Jenny, her voice breaking through with curiosity.

“Usually employees run home on Friday evenings… you staying back surprised me. That’s why I asked if you were alright.”

Jenny didn’t answer right away. She glanced at the edge of the terrace, then turned her head slowly to meet Samara’s eyes with a calm, carefully weighed look.

“Well… I don’t have anyone waiting,” she said, her voice even, slightly vulnerable. “So… no rush.”

The words were deliberately honest, not entirely untrue, but wrapped in the kind of softness that invited concern or curiosity. Jenny was good at placing emotional breadcrumbs, especially when she needed someone to follow. Samara looked at her for a moment longer than necessary. Her expression shifted, just slightly, as if unsure whether to respond with empathy or silence. So instead, she changed course.

“So, how’s your new life at the company treating you?” she asked, tone polite but not distant.

Jenny shrugged lightly, keeping the conversation casual.

“It’s good. But… not really the path I chose.”

That answer hung between them for a beat, until Samara tilted her head a little.

“Then what is your path? What are you good at?”

Jenny looked straight ahead at the dimming skyline, then said, almost with pride, “Strategies. Plans. Calculations. Stuff like that.”

Samara absorbed that. Then, as if thinking aloud but with measured clarity, she said, “Hmm. Then maybe a management role would suit you better.”

Jenny turned her head with a faint smile.

“Yeah, well… those roles need years of experience. And I’ve already stepped into logistics, so…” She let the thought trail off like it didn’t matter, even though her heart was starting to race.

Samara didn’t reply immediately. Her expression remained thoughtful, distant like she was trying to feel out something deeper that Jenny hadn't said. Then, her voice came soft but direct.

“If you're interested… you could work as my assistant.”

The words landed so gently, yet they echoed in Jenny’s ears like a siren going off. She blinked, caught off guard, not by fear, but by the sheer luck of it. No schemes, no forced accidents, no calculated encounters. Fate had just placed her exactly where she needed to be. Right beside the very woman she was sent to investigate.

And now… she had an open door.

Jenny didn’t speak right away. She didn’t trust herself to fake the right reaction just yet. Samara misread the silence, and gently added, “Don’t feel pressured. I’m just saying… if it’s something you’d genuinely want.”

Jenny turned to her with quick clarity, shaking her head.

“No—it’s not pressure. I was just… surprised,” she said, and then met Samara’s eyes with conviction.

“Please help me out. Trust me… you won’t regret it.”

Samara gave a small nod, her gaze lingering on Jenny’s face just a moment longer before she said quietly, “We’ll talk on Monday then.”

She turned, heels clicking softly as she walked away under the growing dusk. Jenny stood still, staring at the space Samara had just left, her heart beating faster than it had in weeks.

This wasn’t just progress.

This was war territory up close, personal, and dangerous.

And for the first time… it felt thrilling.

The Monday following their rooftop encounter, Jenny was escorted into her new workspace a compact, tastefully furnished cabin nestled right beside Samara’s glass-walled office. The placement wasn’t just convenient. It was intentional. Strategic.

From where she sat, Jenny could hear the rise and fall of Samara’s voice through meetings and calls. She could tell when she was engaged, stressed, annoyed, or distracted just from the cadence. She didn’t need to ask. She could feel the pulse of the company through the rhythm of the woman beyond the wall.

And that… made everything easier.

Within days, Jenny had embedded herself into Samara’s routine with surgical precision. Her schedule? Memorized. Agendas? Prepped the night before, complete with backup slides. Emails? Filtered, responded, and flagged with quiet intelligence. Even data sets arrived on Samara’s desk not just summarized—but dissected with action points Samara hadn’t yet thought of.

Samara never openly praised. She didn’t need to. The softened tone, the subtle shift in posture, the way her eyes lingered on Jenny when others left the room — all spoke enough.

“You’re always a step ahead,” Samara murmured during a client break one afternoon. Her gaze flicked over Jenny’s notes with barely hidden admiration. “I don’t even have to ask.”

Jenny smiled, guarded and quietly said. “Just doing what I’m good at.”

But the truth was: she was doing more than what she was sent for. More than what she planned. Samara’s days were dense, meetings with stakeholders, teams, board members. And Jenny was always there, beside her, guiding where needed, observing always. But she wasn’t just collecting data anymore. Somewhere in the hours between meetings and the late-night summaries, she had started noticing things beyond her mission. The curve of a tired smile. The way Samara pinched her nose bridge when numbers didn’t align. The silence between words.

That evening, after Samara’s final meeting, she slumped gently into her chair, letting out a breath that had been held all day. Jenny stepped in without knocking, holding two glasses of something cold.

“Here,” she said, placing the drink on the table.

Samara blinked, then let out a soft chuckle. “Thanks… This is exactly what I was thinking of.”

“Yeah, I noticed you usually drink it after long meetings. You didn’t get a chance today, so I asked Reena to bring it in.”

Samara stretched her arms slowly, lifting the drink and taking a sip with visible relief. The tension hadn’t quite left her shoulders, and Jenny noticed.

Almost without thinking, she asked,

“Want a shoulder massage?”

Samara looked at her, surprised. Then smiled faintly. “Would be great.”

Jenny stepped behind her and placed her hands on Samara’s shoulders. It was awkward at first, not because she didn’t know what she was doing, but because this was new territory. She had broken people bones, twisted wrists, pinned enemies. But this… this was the first time she had touched someone with care.

Her fingers moved softly, testing pressure, kneading gently. The silence stretched between them, thickened with unspoken questions and something warmer, something heavier.

Samara closed her eyes. Jenny looked down at her, and for a moment, the mission, the purpose, the calculations—everything blurred. She cleared her throat quickly, retreating back into the safety of routine.

“Well… I should finish the last-minute tasks. It’s getting late.”

Samara didn’t answer right away. Just nodded slowly, as if anything she said would unravel her. She remained seated, quiet, until Jenny shut her laptop and stood to leave. Samara stepped out of her office at the same time.

“Oh, you’re done too… If you want, I can drop you off,” she offered casually.

Jenny agreed with a small nod. They walked side by side to the car, both saying nothing. The silence didn’t feel awkward, it felt full. Electric.

The drive to Jenny’s place was quiet. Streetlights passed in golden rhythms, casting shadows across Samara’s face. When they reached her apartment, Samara parked gently and looked ahead.

“Well… bye. Let’s meet tomorrow.”

Jenny raised an eyebrow, teasing lightly.

“Tomorrow is Saturday.”

Samara blinked, confused.

“Oh. Right. I forgot.”

Jenny tilted her head, playful.

“Do you miss meeting me that much?”

Samara didn’t even hesitate.

“Yes.”

Jenny froze for a heartbeat, unsure what to say. But Samara, catching herself, quickly added,

“I mean—I miss working. You know. I love work, so…”

Jenny smiled knowingly, lips curling in the quiet,

“Right. Work.”

Samara looked away, the faintest blush brushing her cheeks.

“Okay then… bye.” She started the car again, not waiting for her expression to betray more than she was ready to admit. Jenny stepped out and watched the car drive off. The street was silent, but her mind wasn't.

And for the first time in a long time… Jenny wasn't sure who was drawing whom close.

Days slipped by quietly, and Jenny found herself adjusting to her new rhythm more smoothly than she expected. Working closely with Samara had slowly turned into something more personal than professional — a familiarity neither of them acknowledged outright, but it bloomed in quiet moments: a shared smile, the exchange of looks that lingered, and small talks that stretched beyond work hours. It was subtle, gentle — like two best friends who had unknowingly known each other for years.

The company’s 25th-anniversary event was nearing, and a hum of excitement had spread through the building like spring after a long winter. The HR department was buzzing, decorating floors, planning programs, and coordinating departments. Everyone seemed involved — except Samara.

That afternoon, while Samara had stepped out for a meeting, a small group of employees approached Jenny near the lounge.

“Jenny,” one of them said with a hopeful smile, “can you convince Samara ma’am to attend the event properly this time?”

Jenny blinked, confused. “Doesn’t she attend?”

“Technically, yes,” another added with a sheepish grin. “She gives a powerful speech, stays for fifteen minutes, then vanishes into her office. But this is the 25th year… it’s special. We all want her to stay. She deserves to celebrate too.”

“Yeah,” someone else chimed in. “She’s done so much for all of us, fought for our benefits, backed promotions, stood by us when things went wrong. We want her to enjoy, not just lead.”

Jenny looked at them all, taken aback by their quiet affection and respect. She had always seen Samara as composed, powerful, distant, but here was a side she hadn’t expected: a boss deeply loved by her people.

“I’ll try,” Jenny promised, nodding gently.

The day before the event, while sorting Samara’s calendar, she casually brought it up.

“So, what are the schedules for tomorrow?” Samara asked, pulling her chair back.

“Nothing as of now,” Jenny replied.

Samara frowned lightly. “Nothing? Why?”

Jenny looked up and said, “Tomorrow’s the anniversary event.”

“Oh,” Samara nodded. “Let them enjoy. I’ll stop by for a bit and—”

“They want you to stay,” Jenny interrupted gently.

Samara looked surprised.

Jenny continued, “They asked me to convince you. Everyone is really hoping you’ll be there till the end. They think you never let yourself enjoy like the rest of them.”

Samara was quiet for a moment, visibly hesitant. Jenny tilted her head slightly and said, “I’ll be there too… so, maybe… stay for my sake?”

That broke the wall. Samara smiled, unexpectedly warm, and reached out her hand softly tapping Jenny’s head like one would to a dear friend or… something more.

“Anything for you.”

And just like that, she turned as her phone buzzed. Her smile stayed for a second longer before she glanced at the screen.

“Duty calls,” she said lightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Jenny nodded, speechless for a beat. As Samara walked away, Jenny stood still. Her heart fluttered strangely, like something warm had spilled inside her chest. She lifted her fingers slowly to where Samara had touched her hair, feeling the lingering warmth of it. Her face grew hot.

She let out a small, shaky breath and whispered to herself, “What the hell is happening to me…”

With a slight smile she couldn’t suppress, Jenny walked back to her chair. As promised, they both attended the anniversary event, arriving fashionably late but with quiet anticipation. Samara, true to her word, didn’t retreat after the formal speech. Instead, she lingered at the back row of the hall, arms folded with ease, watching the stage with a rare softness in her expression. The glow from the decorations reflected faintly off the glass of her watch, and her otherwise commanding aura had mellowed into something almost… approachable.

Jenny stood right beside her.

Wherever Samara went, Jenny naturally followed, not out of obligation but something gentler, deeper. Samara noticed it, felt it in the small ways Jenny matched her pace, in the way she leaned slightly in whenever someone else came too close, and the quiet comfort of her presence without any words needing to be exchanged. And for Jenny — staying near Samara wasn’t strategy anymore. It was instinct.

As the evening reached its peak, a lively rock performance took the stage. Lights flared, the music thumped, and the crowd erupted into cheers. Jenny and Samara stood amongst them, swaying slightly to the beat, their laughter muffled beneath the sound of drums and guitars. People were dancing, jumping, some even screaming with joy. As the final chorus echoed, the music crescendoed into a booming finish. In the rush of it all, the lights, the heat, the crowd, accidentaly Jenny leaned closer. So close, her shoulder touched Samara’s. Neither of them moved.

Jenny froze.

The moment Samara’s shoulder brushed against hers, her mind blanked as if someone had flipped a switch and every thought shut down. Her heartbeat spiked, racing beyond reason. She didn’t flinch. Couldn’t.

And Samara? She felt it. Not just the touch, but the unspoken tremble behind it. And instead of stepping away, she leaned in just a little more soaking in the energy, the closeness, the warmth that came from being near Jenny. Her heartbeat was no longer calm and collected like her boardroom presence. It was uneven, wild.

Samara’s gaze drifted to Jenny slowly, uncertainly, almost shy. She found her standing still, looking ahead, but her jaw was clenched slightly, and her fingers were nervously twined together like she was holding something back. Samara’s heart raced.

She turned her eyes back to the stage, but her mind was somewhere else. It raced through moments — the massages, the silent dinners, the after-hours talks, the way Jenny remembered her drink preferences, the way she looked when she smiled, the way she always stood close, always noticed…

“I’m in love with her,” Samara whispered inside her mind, a gentle realization that wrapped itself around her like a warm blanket. Her lips curled up without her meaning to.

Just then, someone from the organizing team rushed over to Jenny, whispering something about a backstage glitch. Jenny turned to Samara as if asking for permission with just a glance. Samara nodded wordlessly, still smiling faintly.

Jenny followed the staff member, only to be ambushed with a teasing smirk. “You both speak in eyes now, huh?”

Jenny blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “What?”

“You and Samara ma’am,” the staffer said, nudging her with a grin. “The way she looks at you? We can all see it.”

Jenny’s ears burned. “It’s… nothing like that,” she mumbled, adjusting the hem of her top as if to distract herself. But the blush in her cheeks and the lingering smile on her lips betrayed the truth she was still trying to figure out for herself.

The event was completed successfully. Samara, generous as always, had arranged snacks for everyone and even kept a quiet counter for those who wanted drinks, though she herself didn’t touch any. The laughter, clapping, and excitement from the night slowly faded into softer goodbyes as the office emptied out floor by floor.

Jenny and Samara, among the last to leave, walked together through the quiet parking lot. The night air was a little chilly, but Jenny felt oddly warm beside Samara. As they reached Jenny's building, Samara pulled over and turned off the engine. She turned toward Jenny with a soft, teasing look and said casually,

“Can I come up? Just to rest a bit.”

Jenny froze, her mind short-circuiting for a second.

Her apartment, her room? It was practically a Samara museum. Not in a fangirl way, of course. But… there were photos, screenshots, sketches, printouts, quotes she had pinned up for research purposes, to study her, not admire her. Jenny blinked.

“N-No! I mean, no, not today,” she blurted out reflexively.

Samara’s eyes widened for a second before bursting into laughter.

“Oh my god, relax! I was just asking casually,” she chuckled, shaking her head.

Jenny turned beet red. “I didn’t mean it like that…” she mumbled.

Samara smiled fondly and gave a little wave.

“Sleep well, Jenny. You did great tonight.”

Jenny nodded mutely and watched as the car drove off into the night. Back in her apartment, Jenny collapsed onto her bed without changing. The lights were still dim, the air still heavy with leftover incense from her morning routine, but her thoughts were far from peaceful. Her heartbeat hadn’t settled since that moment their shoulders brushed during the rock performance. That fleeting contact had thrown her entire system off balance.

She touched her shoulder lightly, remembering the exact spot where Samara’s had rested against hers. It was nothing. Just a moment. But it had stayed with her.

Why?

Why was she feeling this way?

She had seen countless women in her life elegant, dangerous, beautiful, powerful. But none of them left her this undone. None of them made her laugh like an idiot. None of them disarmed her so completely. With Samara… things weren’t just risky because they were becoming real.

Jenny stared at the ceiling, her mind racing through memories:

Samara brushing her hair from her face.

Samara laughing at her bad jokes.

Samara tapping her head softly and saying "Anything for you."

She closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “Stupid heart…” she whispered.

But it was already too late. Whatever it was between them, it was no longer a distraction. It was something she couldn’t untangle from anymore.

And for the first time in years, Jenny felt scared.

Not of getting caught...

Not of being exposed...

She was scared of falling for someone who might not even know who she really was...

“Why am I even doing this?” she whispered under her breath.

Being alone meant peace. Being single meant freedom. I had lived without needing anyone for years. No explanations, no guilt, no risks.

So why was I letting myself get dragged into this mess?

Why was I… hesitating?

Jenny sat cross-legged on her bed, the soft glow of her laptop lighting up her face as she opened her old website. She stared at it for a moment, her brand, her code name, her rules, her escape. The cursor blinked against the screen, waiting for her next move. After a pause, she began typing her reply to the client, each word carefully chosen, but spoken with quiet defiance.

"I think there’s no dirt on her. I’ve looked. I’ve been close. And I believe you should accept that. I’m dropping this case here. If you feel I haven’t delivered, I’ll refund your second payment. No hard feelings."

She hit send and leaned back, expecting that to be the end of it. For a couple of hours, silence. Jenny almost thought that was it. That maybe he’d just disappear. But then his reply arrived with short, sharp, and manipulative words.

“I don’t want the money back. I want the progress you promised.

Last time you said you were getting closer.

Now you're chickening out?”

Jenny clenched her jaw, irritation bubbling up. She typed back immediately.

“Look. I did get close. I’ve tried everything.

But how can I show you something that simply doesn’t exist?”

A few minutes passed. Then another message came, more composed, but colder.

“Alright. Let’s say she’s clean. Maybe I was wrong.

Then consider this a small final task.

Next month is the budget bidding event I told you about.

A day before it happens, just give me the documents and plans Samara’s team has prepared.

If your data checks out after the bidding, I’ll pay the final installment.”

Jenny stared at the screen, the words circling in her head.A single task. One delivery. Not lies. Not spying. Just… documents.

Her mind tried to rationalize:

It’s not betrayal. It’s business.

She’ll never know. I’ll be gone by then.

This is my chance to escape all of this, with enough money to breathe.

She began typing slowly.

"Do you have a particular format or specific details you’re looking for?"

Within minutes, the client sent a structured list of everything he wanted. Jenny’s eyes traced the list. She didn’t feel good. She didn’t feel bad either. She just felt… tired. And then, with a breath of resignation, she accepted the final task. And just like that…

She was back in the game, the game between her heart and her mind. A game of escape… but was she trying to escape from Samara, or from Sunny?

The next morning, Jenny sat alone in her cabin, buried under a growing pile of mental strategies and scenarios. Her eyes stared blankly at the laptop screen, but her mind was racing elsewhere. Plans of how to access Samara's files, how to trace the budget documents without triggering suspicion, how to keep her distance while staying close, it all jumbled into a loud, spiraling mess. But louder than all that was the soft voice of her heart, whispering Samara's name in between every thought.

Unaware of the world outside her storm, she didn’t notice Samara walk in. Samara paused at the door, amused and a little concerned, seeing Jenny so lost in her thoughts.

“Hello, miss… are you even here?” Samara teased gently.

Jenny flinched, eyes snapping up. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t notice you—did you say something?”

“I didn’t,” Samara replied, stepping closer with a smile that felt like morning sunlight. “Just walking to my cabin, and saw you so deep in thought. You looked like you were solving the secrets of the universe.”

Jenny rubbed her temple and forced a smile. “No, I wasn’t thinking. Just didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Samara tilted her head and asked playfully, “Was it because of me?”

The question hit unexpectedly. For a second, Jenny forgot how to breathe. That was partially true, though not in the romantic way Samara might be hinting. Her nights were haunted by more than just Samara’s smile; they were filled with guilt, lies, and unspoken truths.

Jenny laughed nervously, cheeks warming. “No… I was just tired from yesterday’s event.”

Samara gave a dramatic sigh. “Oh, come on. I was hoping I’d made it into your dreams and kept you awake, whispering sweet nothings,” she said with a teasing grin.

Jenny shook her head, biting her lip to suppress a smile. It was too charming, too genuine, and far too dangerous. Samara’s playfulness melted into quiet concern as she reached out and gently tapped Jenny’s hand resting on the desk.

“You really do look tired. If you’re exhausted, take the day off. I’ll manage without you for a while.”

That gesture, soft and sincere, cracked something inside Jenny. She had come here to collect secrets, to manipulate her way into protected corners of Samara’s world. But sitting there, looking into the eyes of the woman who trusted her, who cared for her in ways she hadn’t anticipated… Jenny wasn’t sure who was being deceived anymore.

“I’ll be okay,” Jenny whispered. “I can manage.”

But inside, she knew, she wasn’t managing. She was sinking. And Samara, unknowingly, was becoming the weight and the lifeline at the same time. That afternoon, Jenny was seated beside Samara, helping her organize a few folders.

“I need to prep this before I meet with the finance and engineering teams tomorrow. We’ll be finalizing the budget proposals before the bidding next month,” Samara muttered, scanning through her files.

Jenny blinked. That was it. The moment she’d been waiting for. Trying to stay casual, she asked, “Would it be okay if I sat in on that meeting?”

Samara glanced at her with raised brows. “Are you interested in the project now?”

Jenny smiled faintly. “Just thought of expanding my knowledge. If you’re fine with it.”

Samara’s face lit up, clearly pleased. “Of course. No issues at all. Actually, you’ll catch on soon, and maybe even help me shape the final version.”

Jenny nodded, trying to match Samara’s energy. But inside, she was building walls of calculation.

The next day, she took a seat at the back of the long, glass-walled conference room. Notebook and pen in hand, she watched as people from various departments filed in, accompanied by finance heads, engineering leads, data analysts, and Samara herself. There was a subtle charge in the air, not of tension, but of passion. Everyone was alert, involved, and alive.

As the meeting began, Jenny quickly realized… she was lost.

Formulas, timelines, phase rollouts, vendor bidding sequences, logistics flows—terms flew across the room like a foreign language. Everyone spoke with ease, building on each other’s thoughts, debating numbers, and correcting errors, all while collaborating without ego. It was a kind of fluency that came only from deep knowledge, lived experience… and love for what they did.

Jenny, meanwhile, just sat there. Pen poised, page blank.

Jenny had never gone to college. Her education had been survival—dodging danger, reading lies, setting traps. She had mastered the art of knowing people, not systems. She had hacked through corporate servers and identities, but never truly belonged in a room like this.

She had seen countless corporate folks complain about their bosses, their 9-to-5 monotony, their burned-out dreams. But these people, they loved what they were doing. They weren’t dragging themselves to a paycheck. They were building something with pride.

The more she watched, the smaller she felt.

When the meeting ended, she looked down at her notebook. Not a single sentence written.

The room slowly emptied, but Samara stayed back, sorting her notes. She glanced over and smiled. “Any doubts? You can ask me if something was unclear.”

Jenny hesitated. Then gave a sheepish smile and said, “Forget doubts. I felt like you all were speaking an alien language. I only understood the finance guy… and that too just the last ten minutes about numbers. Because numbers are the same in every galaxy, apparently.”

Samara burst out laughing, the kind of laugh that came from genuine amusement, not mockery. She tapped Jenny’s shoulder with a fondness that felt real.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” she said. “You’re already great at what you do. You’ll catch up, believe me.”

Jenny managed a small smile, but her eyes didn’t hold the same light. Back at her desk, the room now empty, Jenny slumped into her chair and stared blankly at her untouched notebook. She couldn’t explain what she was feeling.

Shame? Frustration? A sense of being wrong for this place?

She leaned back, arms crossed, heart heavy.

“Should I even continue this?” she whispered aloud. “Isn’t it better to drop now, before I do something I can’t undo?”

And just like that, her mind slithered in like smoke, cold and cunning.

“Chickening out?”

Her client’s message echoed in her head. She closed her eyes and took a breath, long and tired.

One more month, she thought.

Just one more month.

Within that month, Jenny became a silent fixture beside Samara—no longer just the girl helping with documents, but someone who was always present. She attended every meeting, sometimes even before being asked. At first, she was still lost, scribbling down unfamiliar terms like “design matrix,” “scope freeze,” and “risk buffer” without knowing what they meant. But something had shifted.

Unlike the streets she came from, unlike the world where questions were met with suspicion or mockery, here, no one judged her.

Even the interns who fumbled with their words were given space. Their ideas were heard. Samara would listen intently, sometimes tilting her head in thought, and if she disagreed, she’d explain gently, not to correct, but to shape the thought into something more refined. The leads followed the same tone. The room was built not on hierarchy, but on mutual respect.

It humbled Jenny.

So when she returned home each night, exhausted but strangely fulfilled, she found herself typing the unfamiliar phrases into search bars. She watched explainer videos. Read forum posts. Cross-checked definitions. Her nights weren’t quiet anymore; they were filled with learning.

At work, she began to understand just enough to ask questions. Small ones. Sharp ones. She offered a few suggestions, not always right, but never laughed at. Slowly, she wasn’t just sitting in the room; she was part of it. And as her understanding grew, so did her admiration for the people around her.

She saw how the team operated—how they researched, analyzed, and calculated every projection like surgeons tracing veins before an incision. She watched how they argued over a single metric for hours because they cared. She noticed how they stayed late, not because they were forced to, but because the work mattered to them. And for Jenny, who had spent her life running from authority and surviving in silence, it was a kind of warmth she didn’t know she’d been missing.

She watched everyone closely—how they prepared, how they revised drafts, ran simulations, recalculated data just to be sure. She noticed how even when meetings ended, many team members stayed behind, heads buried in reports, not because anyone demanded it, but because they cared.

One evening, as the sun dipped low and the office lights felt warmer, Jenny passed by a young man still bent over his laptop. His eyes were tired but focused. She paused and asked, “Why are you putting yourself through this pressure? I mean… if there’s a delay, Samara would understand, right?”

The man looked up, surprised, but smiled gently. “Of course she would. No one here forces anyone. There were weeks when I had nothing to do, and I left early—no questions, no remarks. But now that I have work… why drag it out? If I can give my best now, why not?”

Jenny was silent for a moment. Jenny looked at him for a few seconds more and then quietly walked away. But her mind was stirred.

She thought about all the times she’d seen Samara drop by someone's desk, not to demand updates, but just to check how they were doing. She remembered how Samara once cancelled her own meeting because a junior designer had a panic attack and needed someone to sit with her. This wasn’t about pressure. This was about pride. Ownership. Trust.

And in that moment, something clicked.

She realized Samara’s strength didn’t come from big people behind her or strong speeches. It came from her consistency—her calm trust in her people, her refusal to micromanage, and her unwavering presence during hard times. That quiet support was the reason why people gave more than their job descriptions. That was why they stayed late, why they innovated, why they cared.

And that was why Samara had won the last bidding war,

It wasn’t a strategy.

It wasn’t seniority.

It wasn’t a magic presentation.

It was not because she had bigger investors or louder proposals. She had hearts behind her. People who worked for her, not just under her. Jenny stared at her notepad that night, and for the first time, it wasn’t blank.

At the top of the page, she wrote:
“People don’t build companies. Here, people build people, and those people become the face of this company.”

And beneath that, smaller:
"She doesn't rule. She leads."

The final week before the bidding was like standing on the edge of a storm: everyone at Devtrix was either wired with energy or exhausted to the bone. The entire office floor felt heavier, denser, like every second carried weight.

Project leads paced with tired eyes, whispered strategy talks happened in corners, and printers worked overtime spitting out revised numbers, models, drafts, again and again. The bidding wasn’t just a document—it was a statement, a shot at something bigger. And everyone knew it.

Jenny wasn’t on the front lines, but she was everywhere else.

She took notes, cross-checked numbers, sat in on meetings quietly. What she didn’t understand, she researched later at night, piecing it together slowly. She carried her laptop like a lifeline, often working past midnight. It wasn’t asked of her. But she did it anyway.

And on the side, she had her own mission.

Three Days Before the Bidding. The document was complete. Every line, every note, every observation the client had asked for and Jenny had compiled with obsessive care. She triple-checked the layout, printed it cleanly, and sealed it in an envelope. Her task was done.

And so was she. That evening, as the sun began dipping behind the glass towers and the lights in Devtrix slowly turned blue, Jenny told herself: Tomorrow morning, I’ll drop it off. And after that… I disappear.

She had decided everything. By this time tomorrow, she would be gone. No more Devtrix. No more encrypted messages. No more Samara.

She stood from her seat, collecting her bag in silence, her chest tightening. Her body was ready to walk away. But her eyes weren’t.

They searched, scanned the glass-walled cabin across the floor… until they found her.

Samara was still there. Head down. Eyebrows furrowed. Sleeves rolled. Her desk was covered in sketches, diagrams, projections—her mind clearly swimming in a dozen directions. The light beside her was soft and warm, outlining her in a tired, golden glow.

Jenny sighed.

Her mind whispered: Go. You have to clear out your apartment. Destroy everything. Leave.
But her heart tugged: One last time. Just… one last time.

She walked slowly across the cabin. Samara looked up at the sound of footsteps, surprised. “Didn’t leave yet?”

Jenny gave a tired smile. “Saw you here… felt like maybe you needed some air to breathe.”

She reached out her hand.

“Want to join me for a walk? To the rooftop?”

Samara blinked, the corners of her lips curving. “Do I look that cracked?”

Jenny chuckled, gently gripping her hand. “You look absolutely beautiful. No matter what.”

Samara raised a brow at that but said nothing. Instead, she rose quietly and walked beside Jenny, their hands still lightly joined. No words.

Just the warmth of fingers. The sound of heels on tile. As they reached the rooftop, Jenny gently let go of Samara’s hand. She needed to step back emotionally. To remind herself, this was goodbye.

But Samara walked forward and stretched her arms wide, face tilted up, eyes closed, letting the night breeze rush across her skin. Her long hair fluttered behind her. The city spread below them like a glittering map of another world.

She inhaled deeply.

Jenny stood still. Watching her. Something quiet and aching bloomed inside her. At least I gave her this moment, she thought. At least I made her feel light, just once.

Samara turned, smiling.

“Thanks, Jenny. I really needed that.”

Jenny returned the smile. “Thought so.”

Samara moved closer, slow and unhurried, then rested her head gently on Jenny’s shoulder.

“How did you know, Jenny?” she whispered. “You’re always right where I need you. You give me exactly what I don’t even realize I’m searching for. You stand next to me before I even know I’m lost.”

Jenny didn't respond. She couldn’t.

Her heart was pounding, painfully loud in her chest, but her face remained calm. Her eyes dimmed. Her silence spoke what her lips could not: This is the last time.

Samara didn’t notice that and she kept her head on Jenny’s shoulder, relaxing finally, trusting the silence. But Jenny's hands were stiff. Her breath was just a little shallow. Her presence, a little too still. And the truth… hovered between them, invisible, heavy as the sky.

Tomorrow, Jenny would be gone...

And Samara didn’t even know she was about to lose her...

Jenny lingered on the rooftop with Samara just a little longer, watching her breathe easier for the first time in days. Then, gently pulling back, she smiled and said softly,
“Finish your work early tonight. Rest a bit. You can check everything tomorrow.”

Samara nodded, still half-lost in the comfort Jenny always seemed to provide. Jenny gave her one last glance before turning and walking away. As she disappeared through the door, Samara watched her go, a growing unease settling in her chest.

What are you doing, Jenny? Why do I feel like you’re building a wall between us?

She sighed, shook her head, and went back downstairs. But by the time she passed Jenny’s cabin again, it was empty. The lamp was off. The chair was tucked in. The place looked untouched. Samara frowned, but said nothing. She sat at her desk again and tried to lose herself in the numbers.

That midnight, Jenny received a message from the client. A drop location. A time window. A final instruction. Jenny read the client’s text twice. Then closed the laptop and stared into the quiet apartment.

Not her apartment anymore. She had told the landlord she was moving back home. A family emergency. Apologies. She had smiled through the lie. She always did.

She had packed in silence the night before—there wasn’t much to carry. Some files. A few clothes. Her burner phone. The laptop. And the envelope that could change everything.

Now, sitting in an unfamiliar, rented flat with pale yellow walls, she was dressed again in the old uniform, the black coat, the dark jeans, the mask of detachment. And yet… she wasn’t moving.

Next day morning, she climbed onto the rooftop of that random building and just sat there, cross-legged, the envelope beside her, laptop on her lap—open, but untouched.

The message from the client blinked below. Still, she hadn’t replied.

The war inside her refused to quiet down. Her mind was sharp, cold, relentless:
So what? Who are they to you? You’ve hurt worse people. Destroyed bigger systems. These people? They’re just sheep who happened to walk into your trap. Nothing more.

But her heart whispered differently.

She had seen how they worked. The nights were spent perfecting mockups. The debates. The tired smiles. The way Samara clutched her pen when she was nervous. The joy came when something clicked.

And suddenly, what she was doing didn’t feel like just a con.

It felt like theft.

On the other hand, at the Office – noon, Samara pushed open the office door with a fresh printout in hand, only to pause. Jenny’s cabin was still empty.

She frowned and turned to the corner where Latha aunty sorted files near the pantry. “Latha aunty… have you seen Jenny? It’s already noon.”

The older woman looked up and shook her head slowly. “No, dear. She hasn’t been in touch. Didn’t tell me she’d be late either.”

Samara’s stomach twisted. She pulled out her phone and hit the call button. It rang.

Jenny stared at the screen.

Incoming Call – Samara

She had been planning to toss the phone. Get rid of the number, the SIM, everything. But deep down… some quiet, trembling part of her had waited for this.

A small smile touched her lips as she saw Samara’s name.

She answered.

“Hi, Jenny?” Samara’s voice was soft. Concerned. “You weren’t at the office?”

Jenny leaned back against the rooftop wall. Her voice was calm, but tired. “Yeah. A bit under the weather. Took a leave.”

There was a pause.

“…Are you sure?” Samara’s tone lowered, grew unsure. “Is it… because of yesterday? Did I make you uncomfortable?”

Jenny closed her eyes. Her chest tightened.

Uncomfortable? No. It had been the only comfort she had known in years.

Her voice cracked with gentleness. “No, dear. That was… the happiest moment of my life. I’ll never forget it.”

Samara smiled to herself, warmth blooming inside her. “Alright. You’ll be there for the bidding tomorrow, right? I have something to tell you.”

Jenny froze. Her throat tightened. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t lie. Couldn’t promise what she wasn’t sure she could give. Her heart was screaming.

She couldn’t say goodbye.

And without realizing, a single tear rolled down her cheek.

“Jenny?” Samara’s voice called again. “Can you hear me?”

Jenny slowly hit the end call button. And after a pause, typed out a message:

“Bad network. Will try to come, but no promises. Do your best tomorrow, Samara. Show your rivals the power of your hard work, and the glow you wear like a crown.”

She hit send and stared at it. Seconds later, the reply came:

Thanks, dear. If your health’s not good, or if you need me, just let me know. I’ll be there for you.

And that was it. That single line shattered her.

She dropped the phone beside her, buried her face into her hands, and cried. Not the silent, disciplined kind of tears she had mastered over the years. But deep, shaking sobs—the kind she hadn’t let out since she was a child.

Because for the first time, she didn’t feel like the predator.

She felt like someone who had just lost the only person who ever tried to understand her.

The sky above was heavy with grey clouds as Jenny sat still on the rooftop, her fingers cold against the metal edges of the document folder. Her coat collar was pulled high, not for the wind, but to shield the ache she could no longer hide. Her eyes were dry now, not because the sadness was gone, but because it had dug so deep that even tears had lost their way out.

She stared at her laptop screen one last time. The message from the client blinked again—same instructions, same drop-off location, same words that should’ve meant nothing to her.

But everything meant something now.

Every graph she helped correct. Every late-night coffee left at Samara’s table. Every quiet glance across the meeting room. Every tiny piece of her that had unknowingly started rooting itself into Devtrix and Samara.

She could walk away. It would be easier. She had planned it all. The apartment was empty. The SIM card was pulled out. Her fake email was wiped clean. But for the first time in her life, running didn’t feel like an escape. It felt like erasing something that was never fake to begin with.

And so, she stood up.

Back at Devtrix, Samara couldn’t focus. The conference room was too quiet without Jenny’s usual silent presence, her wide, curious eyes scanning every discussion like she didn’t want to miss a thing. Samara checked her phone again. No new messages. Only Jenny’s last one—"Do your best tomorrow, Samara. Show your rivals the power of your hard work, and the glow you wear like a crown."

She smiled at it, but her heart didn’t.

"Where are you, Jenny?" she whispered to herself, staring at the chair opposite hers. Jenny decided not to respond to the client. And she didn’t run either. For the first time, she stayed. Not out of strength, but because she was too broken to flee, and too scared to go back. She wandered around the city like a ghost in her own skin, unsure what her next move was. Every street reminded her of Samara. Every silence echoed with things left unsaid.

Meanwhile, Samara’s bid had gone through. Her name was printed across the front page of a national business magazine. Cameras flashed. People raised their glasses. She smiled, but it was hollow.

The moment the ceremony ended, she slipped away from the crowd. She checked her phone—no messages. She dialed Jenny again. Switched off.

Still, she hosted a small dinner that evening for the department heads. She laughed, she clinked glasses, she paid the bill herself… and then quietly slipped out while the rest continued celebrating.

She didn’t even realize where her feet were taking her until she was standing in front of Jenny’s apartment building. The door was locked. The room is dark. She waited for a few minutes, then knocked.

Nothing.

A concerned neighbor peeked out and, after a short pause, said, “She vacated it two days ago. Left quietly, didn’t say much.”

Samara felt something twist inside her chest. A fear so sharp it made her breath catch. She stood there a few minutes longer, unable to move. Then she turned away, walking back with a coldness wrapped around her heart like winter frost.

The next day, she marched into HR, requesting access to Jenny’s emergency contacts and resume. She didn’t care if it breached protocol—she just needed something. A clue. An address. A number. But all of it led nowhere. No working numbers. No alternate contacts. Not even a proper hometown.

For five days, Jenny disappeared from the map. She wandered along empty train platforms and sat for hours near a bus station with her phone turned off in her pocket. Every time she reached for it, her hands trembled. She wanted to go back, but she didn’t know what Samara would say. She wasn’t sure if Samara would ever want to see her again. Or if she deserved to be seen.

It was Saturday evening. The rain had just passed. Samara stood by the window, her arms wrapped around herself as if that could somehow keep her heart from falling apart. The wind carried the scent of wet earth. Her living room was dim, soft jazz playing low, the kind that made silence feel lonelier.

She closed her eyes. And all she could see was Jenny—laughing quietly in the cafeteria, tucking her hair behind her ear during meetings, those rare moments when her eyes softened, and she let something real show through.

A knock came at the door, but she didn’t hear it.

Lost in her own storm.

Then another knock, louder this time, more urgent.

Samara blinked, startled, and turned toward the door. A strange fear crept up her spine. Who could be here at this hour?

She opened it slowly.

And there she was.

Jenny.

Soaked from the rain, hair clinging to her face, her hands hanging loosely by her sides. Her head was bowed low, not from shame, but from something worse. Fear. The kind that makes you forget how to breathe.

Samara froze. Her throat tightened.

“My God, Jenny…” she whispered, stepping forward, gripping her hands. “It’s really you… I thought… I thought I’d never see you again.”

Jenny looked up then, and it hurt more than it helped. Because those eyes, usually so alert, were now sunken. Hollow. Her lips parted like she wanted to speak, but no sound came out.

Samara pulled her inside gently and closed the door. She guided her to the couch like she was walking a wounded animal, handed her a soft towel, and sat beside her, unsure if either of them could speak without breaking.

Minutes passed.

Then Jenny whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Samara turned toward her, her face still soft with worry. “That doesn’t matter, Jenny. I thought you’d come to the bidding. You picked up the call. And you didn’t go to the location, so… I was so sure. I thought you chose me.”

Jenny blinked, as if those words snapped her out of her fog.

“…What do you mean?” she asked.

Samara tilted her head slightly, confusion playing on her face. “You didn’t go to the drop-off. You received the final message but didn’t act on it. That was the sign. I was that client, Jenny. I thought you had chosen me. That was what I wanted to tell you on the day of bidding.”

Jenny’s breath faltered, like her lungs were refusing to fill. Her voice trembled as the words stumbled out of her mouth.
“Why did you…?”

Samara stepped forward, panic slipping through her composure. “It’s not how you think—”

But Jenny didn’t let her finish.

“Do you even understand what I’ve been through?” Her voice cracked. She gripped her forehead, bowing her head down into her palms as her knees trembled. Shame swallowed her whole. She felt foolish for not doing a background check, foolish for trusting her heart. This was the first time she had ever overlooked the client's identity. The money had been too good, the job too clean, and she had been too tired to care where it came from.

Samara reached out, trying to hold her hand again. “Jenny, please… let me explain…”

But Jenny pulled her hand away, eyes red with betrayal. Her lips were quivering, but her silence screamed. She stood.

And instantly, Samara stood too, panic rushing back. She reached out and gripped Jenny’s wrist tightly, not to hurt her, but as if letting go meant losing her forever.

Jenny tried to free herself, but Samara suddenly wrapped her arms around her from behind. The hug wasn’t soft—it was desperate, trembling, full of fear. Samara buried her face into Jenny’s shoulder and whispered shakily,
“If you walk out of that door, I know I’ll never get another chance to see you again. I… I won’t even know where to look for you.”

Jenny squirmed in anger, her eyes flooded. “Why do you even care?” she snapped. “I was just another puppet in your game, wasn’t I? A convenient tool.”

“No!” Samara clutched her tighter, her voice cracking. “No, that’s not true! I care about you, God, Jenny, I care about you so much.”

Jenny gasped in disbelief, shoving her again. “Is this how you treat someone you care about? You pull them into your world, feed them half-truths, and when they fall, you act like it hurts you too?”

Her voice broke mid-sentence. Her chest was heaving. “You played me,” she whispered, the tears finally breaking free. “I gave you something real. And you just stood there smiling.”

“I wasn’t playing you,” Samara said, almost in a whisper. Her eyes shimmered, her breath uneven. “I love you.”

Jenny froze. Those words would have made her the happiest woman alive, on any other day, in any other context. But now, in this sharp silence, they felt too cruel. Too late.

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her body gave in before her mind did, and she collapsed onto the couch, face buried in her palms, sobbing like her soul had been torn.

Samara stood there for a second, stunned and trembling, before falling to her knees in front of Jenny. She didn’t touch her this time. Didn’t speak. She simply stayed there, her chest caving in, watching the woman she loved cry with a pain that mirrored her own.

Minutes passed like years.

The room had gone quiet except for the rain ticking gently against the windows, as if the sky itself was listening to their silence. Jenny sat curled into herself, hands trembling, eyes wet and lost in a fog of disbelief. Then, through her shaking sobs, she finally whispered, her voice barely audible over the storm in her chest—

“If you really loved me… why did you do this?”

Samara inhaled deeply, like she’d been waiting for this question all her life.

“I knew about you… even before I ever texted you as ‘Sunny.’”

Jenny slowly lifted her head, confused, her eyes searching Samara’s face for some sign of truth or of betrayal, she wasn’t sure.

“Tara,” Samara continued. “She was my cousin. You helped her. Four years ago, she was blackmailed—some coward tried to destroy her life with leaked photos. She didn’t know where to go or whom to trust. Then she found you. You didn’t just fix it… You saved her. You didn’t even take a single rupee in return.”

Jenny’s body stiffened. That memory had been buried under hundreds of missions, faceless names, and fragile outcomes. But Tara… yes, she remembered. A scared girl who cried the whole time and left behind a small thank-you note written in trembling ink.

“I was there when Tara got her life back,” Samara said. “We both admired you, talked about how fearless and kind you were. But while she moved on… I couldn’t. I became obsessed with knowing the girl behind the name. I searched… for years. But all I ever found was your website. No photos. No address. Just a ghost.”

Jenny’s lips parted, but she didn’t speak. Her heart was pounding so loudly it muffled everything else.

Samara lowered her eyes, her voice breaking. “And then… my world shattered. My parents died in a car accident. I took over the company. The responsibilities drowned me. I had no time to think of dreams or ghosts anymore.”

She paused, her fingers nervously locking together before gently reaching out toward Jenny again.

“But one night, when I couldn’t sleep, I opened your website again. And somehow, it all came back, everything I had buried. I wanted to find you. Not the spy. But you. So approached you as a client, and when you said you would join the company and collect details, I was waiting for you to meet. So many people joined our company at that moment, so I didn't know who Sunny was. You kept your face low, kept your words minimal. But when I received the first report… I had a gut feeling. I needed to be sure. So I played along, I intentionally told you to become closer to Samara to get actual details.”

Jenny blinked, dazed. Her breath hitched. “The kitchen… You knew me?”

“No, that was a pure accident. I was doubting that you might be the Sunny, so at the rooftop when we met, like fate was bringing me to you, I took a chance and was trying to place you near me,” Samara admitted. “So I gave that seat. When the second document arrived from you, I was certain. It was you. My Sunny. But then I realized… I wasn’t just chasing the myth. I had fallen for the girl who brewed coffee at 6 PM, who quietly took notes during team meets, who would pretend to be okay but often blinked too fast when nervous.”

She knelt down in front of Jenny now, holding her hands delicately, almost afraid she’d break them.

“I admired Sunny,” she whispered. “But I fell in love with Jenny.”

Jenny’s lips trembled. Her mind was racing through every moment, every word Samara had said, every look she’d given, every time she lingered a second too long. Samara smiled faintly through her tears.

“But when you said you would drop this mission while submitting your second document, I was scared. I was scared you would vanish like before. I thought, if I kept you here long enough, I could find the right moment… to tell you the truth. So, I triggered and hit your ego, so that you will stay longer because I planned to say everything on the bidding day. But you didn’t come.”

She looked up, her voice fragile. “You don’t know how much I panicked. I looked everywhere. I even took your resume from HR… called every number. Nothing. I thought I lost you forever.”

Jenny couldn’t hold back anymore. She broke again. Her tears streamed freely, not from confusion now, but from the sudden and overwhelming ache of being seen. Really, truly seen.

Samara whispered one last time, like a prayer. “I didn’t care about the report. Or the company. I just… wanted you to stay. And now you’re here.”

Jenny stared at her, silent.

Samara reached out slowly, her hands trembling, and touched the side of Jenny’s face.

Jenny didn’t pull away this time. Jenny was overwhelmed.

Everything Samara had confessed was still echoing in her head, bouncing against all the walls she had carefully built over the years—walls that were now cracking at every corner. Her body was frozen in place, breath shallow, thoughts tangled like the rain-smeared city outside the window.

Samara leaned in gently, until their foreheads touched, the space between them closing like the last page of a long letter. Her voice trembled against the hush.

“Please, Jenny… I’m really sorry for what I did. I never meant to put you through this kind of emotional trauma.”

Jenny closed her eyes. There was still so much pain, so much unspoken weight sitting on her chest. After a pause that felt like an eternity, her voice emerged, soft, almost broken.

“I’m not the good person you think I am…”

Samara immediately pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, her gaze unwavering, her breath caught.

“I know,” she interrupted gently. “But I also know how caring, how brilliant you were… when you were just Jenny. And I fell in love with that girl—flawed, fierce, guarded, soft. All of her.”

She moved beside her now, sitting quietly and reaching for Jenny’s hands. They were cold. A little unsure. Samara wrapped hers around them like someone holding something precious that had nearly slipped away.

“Can you please stay with me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Stay like the Jenny I met… the one who made me smile without trying?”

Jenny’s heart fluttered, confused and pounding. She had never let herself feel like this—never allowed herself to believe love could be for her too. Not the kind that wasn’t conditional. Not the kind that saw every part of her and stayed anyway. She clutched Samara’s warm hands tighter, unsure of what to say. But Samara, as always, understood.

“I know it’s hard to believe me,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes. “After everything I did, after the games I played… I won’t blame you if you walk away.”

Jenny shook her head slowly, her voice cracking like the last piece of armor falling off.

“I believe you…” she said. “But I’ve never been in love, Samara. I don’t even know if I know how. And I’m scared.”

Samara leaned in again, this time not to plead, but to promise. She placed her hand gently on Jenny’s cheek, her thumb brushing away a stray tear. Their eyes locked—one searching, the other surrendering.

“Then let me love you,” Samara whispered. “Let me be the one who stays. I will never leave you alone… not until death takes me away from you.”

And something inside Jenny melted. The fear, the confusion, the years of loneliness, all slipped away in that moment, as if her soul had finally been held by the one person it had been waiting for.

She smiled. That soft, rare smile Samara had only seen in glimpses. But this time, it stayed.

Samara couldn’t take it anymore. The composure she had fought so hard to keep shattered. She leaned forward, slowly, almost reverently, and pressed her lips to Jenny’s in a kiss that didn’t rush or demand. It was quiet. Real. Healing. The kiss lingered like a secret finally spoken aloud. Jenny leaned back against the couch, eyes closed, lips still tingling from the warmth they had just shared. Samara rested beside her, fingers laced gently with hers, as if holding on to something fragile—something she never wanted to lose.

The rain outside had softened into a misty hush.

They sat in silence, not the awkward kind, but the kind that wraps itself around two people who don’t need words for a while.

Then Samara turned slightly, eyes narrowing with a curious grin. She tilted her head and asked, half playfully, half cautiously,

“By the way… what’s your real name?”

Jenny opened her eyes, surprised for a moment. Then she let out a breath—half a chuckle, half a release. Her smile was faint, but it was real.

“I don’t have a last name,” she said, her voice softer than before, more stripped down. “Grew up alone. No family, no records worth remembering.”

Samara's expression sobered, but her hand only gripped Jenny’s tighter. Jenny turned her head and looked at her, calm now, like she was finally stepping out of the shadow she had lived in for years.

“First name’s Carina.”

There was a small pause. Samara’s eyes shimmered as she whispered the name to herself.

“Carina…” she repeated, like tasting something delicate. Then, her smile grew warmer. “That name suits you. It sounds… like starlight.”

Jenny laughed quietly.

“You’re being poetic again.”

Samara leaned closer and murmured against her hair,

“You bring that out in me, Carina.”

For a moment, Carina let herself savor that. Her name is in someone’s mouth. Not a code name. Not a cover. Just her. And in Samara’s voice, it didn’t sound like a burden. It sounded like a beginning. Then Samara chuckled softly, nuzzling against Jenny’s neck.

“Do you know,” she murmured, “I imagined kissing you like this a hundred times… but I never imagined you’d actually let me.”

Jenny smirked faintly, brushing a finger along Samara’s cheek.

“That makes two of us,” she whispered. “I never thought I’d stay either.”

Samara tilted her head, searching her face.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Jenny looked at her. That girl with fire in her heart and warmth in her eyes. And she knew.

“No,” she said quietly, reaching to pull Samara closer again. “Don’t stop. Not tonight.”

Samara’s lips curved into a smile, tender and slow, and she leaned in again. This time the kiss deepened, more certain, more vulnerable. Jenny responded, her arms slipping around Samara’s back as their bodies gently pressed together, lost in that shared moment that didn’t need anything else—no missions, no secrets, no pain.

Only them. And when they finally broke apart, breathless and blushing, Samara tucked a strand of hair behind Jenny’s ear and whispered against her skin:

“You’re home now.”

Jenny closed her eyes.

And for the first time in a very, very long while… she believed it.

If you'd like to experience the story with visuals, voice, and atmosphere — watch it here.