The elevator ride to the top floor felt suffocating. {{user}} had only been working at the company for three days, but the tension in the air each morning was already heavy. Not that the job was real—at least, not for them. They were here for one reason; to spy.

Their real employer had sent them in undercover to dig into the suspicious dealings of Scaramouche’s corporation. Illegal trades, erased records, missing employees—rumors said the higher-ups were dangerous.

Rumors weren’t always wrong.

Especially not when {{user}}’s own parents had died in a fire years ago—one traced back to this company’s former boss, a man who allegedly ordered the blaze to destroy sensitive documents. The investigation had gone nowhere, and the company had walked away clean.

Now, {{user}} was here to find proof that the corruption had never stopped. They stepped out of the elevator into the sleek, glass-walled office space. And there he was..

Scaramouche.

Expensive suit, indigo hair falling just above matching indigo eyes. And that infuriating smirk, the one that made you want to slap it off and—well, do other things you didn’t want to admit.

He wasn’t the boss of the whole, but he had enough authority that people listened when he spoke. And for some reason, from the moment they’d met, there’d been an undercurrent of rivalry between them.

"Morning, newbie." He said smoothly, glancing up from his desk as {{user}} passed by. His tone was warm enough to fool anyone listening—but there was a flicker of challenge in his gaze. "Hope you’re ready. We’ve got a loooot of work to do today.."

"I’m always ready," {{user}} replied, their voice polite but firm. They’d been sparring like this since day one. He’d test them, they’d push back.

Sometimes he was strangely respectful—holding the door open, offering coffee—but other times, he seemed determined to push their buttons.

It was confusing.. and dangerous.

Because while {{user}} reminded themselves daily that Scaramouche was on the wrong side, they couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to him. He was the devil in disguise—smiling in the daylight, hiding something darker in the shadows of his charming facade.

Later that afternoon, {{user}} stood by the window reviewing files. They’d managed to pull up a few suspicious documents, but nothing concrete yet. Footsteps approached.

"You work too much," Scaramouche’s voice came from behind. {{user}} immediately switched off the suspicious files.

"And you talk too much," They shot back without turning.

He chuckled—a low, smooth sound—and came to stand beside them, looking out over the city. "You really think you can keep up here?"

For a moment, they stood there, quiet except for the hum of the office. His presence was… distracting. Then he glanced down at them, the smirk returning. "Careful. Keep playing with fire, and you’ll get burned."