Page 30 of Their Arrangement
The words didn’t change.
I didn’t breathe.
And then—like I’d been triggered, like I’d been activated—I did it.
I unscrewed the base.
Lifted the stick.
Raised it to my lips.
And drew it across my bottom lip.
The color caught the light.
My reflection in the screen showed it faintly.
I pressed my lips together.
Rubbed.
The red deepened.
Like obedience blooming on my skin.
My heart raced.
I didn’t know what terrified me more?—
That someone had sent it.
Or that I had obeyed.
The pigment clung like sin.
Dark red. Bold. Reckless. It made my mouth look too full, too soft. Like I’d already done something wrong.
And I swore—for one heartbeat—I could feel them watching.
The break room was empty.
It usually was after five. That’s when the real executives disappeared to private lounges and corner offices with stocked bars and panoramic views. The rest of us—assistants, interns, junior staff—scavenged what was left. Cold coffee. Half-stirred sugar packets. The stale scent of status out of reach.
I stood by the small mirror above the sink, lipstick in hand.
Obedience.
I hadn’t reapplied it since the message. Since that single line appeared on my screen like a branded order:
Reapply every time you see one of us.
I hadn’t questioned it.
I hadn’t asked who sent it.
But now, here I was.
My hand trembled slightly as I uncapped the tube again, the soft click of the lid echoing far louder than it should have. I tilted the gold case and ran the color across my bottom lip.
