Page 11 of Toxic

The soft hiss of the apartment door sliding shut behind me echoes in the dimly lit space. I step into my sanctuary, my technological haven. The glow of multiple monitors casts an eerie blue hue across the room, illuminating the stark contrast between this space and Hawk’s minimalist penthouse. Wires snake along the floor like cybernetic vines, and the quiet hum of servers provides a comforting white noise.

I toss my clutch onto a nearby chair, the metallic clank of its chain strap against the leather seat punctuating the silence. My mind is already racing, replaying every moment of last night with Hawk Rivers. The weight of the encounter sits heavy in my chest, a mix of exhilaration and unease that I can’t quite shake.

I sink into my ergonomic chair, the familiar contours cradling me as I pull up the surveillance footage from Hawk’s penthouse on one of the main screens. The crystal-clear image flickers to life, and I’m transported back to that moment.

My eyes fixate on the video, watching our intimate encounter unfold. I study Hawk’s expressions, the subtle shifts in his body language. The way his stormy gray eyes darken with desire, the twitch of his jaw as he restrains himself, the precise movements of his hands as they explore my body. Each replay intensifies theobsession coiling tighter within me, a serpent winding around my heart.

I pause on a frame where Hawk’s eyes reflect a potent mix of desire and cunning. My fingers trace his face on the screen, leaving smudges on the glossy surface.

“What are you hiding, Hawk?” I murmur, leaning in closer as if proximity might reveal his secrets. The scent of his cologne, a heady mix of sandalwood and something uniquely him, lingers in my memory.

The encrypted line on my secure phone chirps, breaking my trance. It’s Max, my trusted assistant and fellow hacker. His voice comes through, clear and professional.

“Devin, we’ve got an interesting development. Rivers Financial has reached out to Sphinx via the dark web.”

My pulse quickens, a flutter beneath my skin. “What do they want?”

“They’re requesting Sphinx’s help to restore video footage from the gala,” Max explains, a hint of curiosity in his tone. “Apparently, someone scrubbed the surveillance feeds.”

A smirk spreads on my face, the irony delicious on my tongue. Of course, I was the one who erased that footage, intending to keep evidence against Regina Black for future leverage. The thought of Hawk seeking my alter ego’s help sends a thrill through me.

“Interesting,” I muse, mind already spinning with possibilities. My fingers dance across the keyboard, pulling up encrypted files. “Max, I want you to respond with a proposition.”

“What do you have in mind?”

I pause for dramatic effect, savoring the moment. “Tell them Sphinx will restore the footage... if Hawk agrees to have a one-night stand with Sphinx.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end, heavy with unspoken concerns. “Are you sure about this?” Max’s voicecarries a note of worry. “It’s a bold move, Devin. I mean, Rivers is the last person you should send that type of proposition to. We’re treading dangerous waters here.”

“Trust me,” I reply, confidence lacing my words. My eyes flick to a framed photograph on the wall – a cityscape at night, lights blurring into streaks of color. It reminds me of the rush I feel when I’m in control. “I want to see how he reacts. Sometimes you have to make waves to see what surfaces.”

I can almost hear Max’s hesitation through the line, but he doesn’t argue further. “All right, I’ll send the message. But be careful, Devin. Men like Hawk Rivers don’t take kindly to being played.”

As I wait for a response, I feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, electric and intoxicating. This game with Hawk is addictive, and I’m eager to see his next move.

Minutes later, Max’s voice comes through again, this time tinged with something akin to disappointment. “Hawk’s assistant responded. They said the terms are unacceptable and that Hawk…has someone. He’s…um…not available.”

“He has someone?” I repeat, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. Irritation creeps into my voice, and I can feel a spark of jealousy igniting in my chest. The idea that Hawk might be interested in someone else, that there might be another player in this game I didn’t account for, is unacceptable. “What exactly did they say, Max?”

“The exact words were: ‘Mr. Rivers is not available for such arrangements. He has someone in his life already. Your terms are unacceptable. If you wish to negotiate a standard contract for your services, please contact our legal department. We are willing to pay top dollar.’”

Without a second thought, I launch into a hacking frenzy. My fingers fly across the keyboard, the rapid-fire clicks filling the room. Lines of code scroll across the screen as I bypasslayers of security to access Hawk’s personal and business communications. Emails, messages, call logs – I comb through them all, searching for any hint of another woman, another connection. Who would dare to touch my man?

But as the minutes turn to hours, frustration mounts. There’s nothing. No evidence of any significant female presence in Hawk’s life beyond professional interactions. The lack of information is both a relief and a new source of anxiety.

“Who are you hiding, Hawk?” I mutter, eyes scanning line after line of data. The blue light from the screens casts harsh shadows across my face, reflected in the darkened window beside me.

Despite the fruitless search, my mind keeps circling back to the previous night. The way Hawk looked at me, the intensity of our connection. I replay snippets of our conversation in my head, analyzing every word, every gesture for hidden meanings.

“So beautiful,” he had said, his voice low and husky. The memory of his breath against my ear sends a shiver down my spine.

The line between professional detachment and personal obsession blurs further with each passing moment. I’m losing myself in this, and a small part of me knows it’s dangerous. But the thrill is too potent to resist.

Suddenly, my personal phone rings, cutting through my concentration. I recognize the number instantly – Hawk’s private line. My heart rate spikes, and I hesitate before answering, composing myself.

“Devin,” Hawk’s smooth voice comes through, masking any underlying intentions. There’s a richness to his tone that makes my name sound like a caress. “Let’s meet up.”

I suppress a smile, relishing the subtle power I hold in this moment. “I’m afraid I’m busy, Hawk,” I respond coolly, forcing nonchalance into my voice. “Perhaps another time.”

---