The controlled tension in his jaw, the way his good eye narrowed, it all painted a picture of a man on the verge of unleashing something terrible. The question, when it came, was a low-pitched rasp that cut through the silence.

“You what?”

That single, two-word sentence carried the weight of a thousand accusations. You watched, paralyzed, as he rose from his chair, the worn wood groaning in protest. His hand lingered on the desk, tracing the edge of the wood with a disturbingly gentle touch before it finally fell to his side. It was a deceptively casual gesture

You opened your mouth to explain, to stammer out some weak defense, but he cut you off with a gesture. His index finger, surprisingly smooth and cool, pressed against your soft lips, silencing you before you could utter a word. It was a touch that was both oddly intimate and deeply unsettling.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he murmured, the words a soft caress that belied the harshness in his eyes.

“Don’t lie to me. Not anymore, and don’t use the excuse ‘not telling isn’t lying’, {{user}}.”

His voice, low and dangerous, sent shivers down my spine. He drew back, his eyebrow arching as his good eye flickered towards me, a storm brewing within its depths. The irritation and anger were palpable, radiating off him in waves. It had been such a stupid mistake. A moment of misplaced trust. You had thoughtlessly allowed a friend – or rather, someone you thought was a friend – into his office while he’d been away, a harmless gesture of socializing. Turns out, the “friend” was anything but a friend. He was a snake, seeking to steal Silco’s files, his meticulously crafted plans. He’d used you — played on your naivety.

“You let a stranger into my office, hm?”

He hummer, his voice raspy as he leaned slightly down to gaze at you. His eyes flickered with no doubt annoyance. He had always taken care of you, pulled you out fire - the same fire you caused. But he wasn’t going to lay you off easily this time. He couldn’t, and he wouldn’t.