Page 42 of The Secretary Volume II

My jaw tightens as I read his reply again.He’s predictable in his unpredictability.Always playing chess with real people, maneuvering them like disposable pawns.I should know—after all, I’ve been on this board longer than anyone.

I turn my attention back to the monitor.She’s still there, sitting stiffly at her desk, her gaze fixed on nothing.She feels watched, even if she doesn’t consciously know it yet.I remember that feeling—before I gave up fighting it.His attention is a drug, intoxicating and lethal in equal measure.He’ll give her exactly enough validation to feel special, just enough rope to think she’s free.She’ll tighten it herself, convinced it’s a lifeline, never noticing it’s a noose.

Poor thing.She thinks finding that note was a clue, a step toward answers.She doesn’t understand yet that he is always three moves ahead, and every step she takes only draws her closer to a fate she won’t see coming until it’s far too late.

I lean closer to the screen, watching her carefully fold Gillian’s note and tuck it away, unaware of the trap snapping shut around her.

Welcome to Shergar Corp.

I wonder if she’s ready for what’s coming.

Because once he’s set his sights on you, there’s no escape.

23

Lena

Ireturn from lunch, still regretting the sandwich I inhaled too fast and the coffee I spilled down my sleeve.The stain is dark against the pale fabric of my shirt, an obvious, pathetic mark of how my day is going.I dab at it with a napkin—more out of habit than any real hope of fixing it—then reach for my water.That’s when I see it.

A piece of paper.Folded once.Sitting in the center of my desk like it’s been waiting for me.

Not a sticky note.Not an internal memo.Just a single sheet of heavy paper.

I pause.

This isn’t the first time.The first note was scrawled on the mirror before my interview.The second was left on my desk on my first day.And now this.Different paper, different moment—but the same feeling.Like someone is watching.Like I’m being cued before I even know I’m in a scene.

I stand, walk to the glass, and glance around the office.No one is looking at me.Carrie is in her office typing furiously, her fingers moving in a blur.Stewy is pacing by the window, muttering into his phone.The same corporate rhythm, the same dead-eyed monotony.No one is looking to see if I open it.

I pick it up and unfold it carefully, the weight obvious before I even see the words.

Do you have what it takes to be in my world?

Check yes or no.

I read the words slowly.

Then I read them again, just to be sure.

I don’t recognize the handwriting.

It could be a joke.A prank.Another weird Shergar thing no one warns you about.But it doesn’t feel random.It feels deliberate.Planted.Meant for me.Like the others.

I refold the note slowly and slip it into my bag.

Not because I plan to answer.

Not because I’m interested.

But because I want to know what kind of person thinks I would be.

The rest of the day drags along with its usual hollow rhythm—emails, calendar updates, Slack pings that feel increasingly disconnected from reality.But I can’t shake the shift, the feeling of being watched, even when no one is.

And then, in the afternoon strategy meeting, Ellis calls my name.

“Lena.”

I look up, startled.

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