You knew from the start that he didn’t like being questioned.
But you weren’t here to be liked.
You were here to write what no one else would touch. Corruption in the council. Budget cuts in education. The anonymous complaints against Mayor Sevrin Defiante that got “buried” too quick.
Your editor told you to play nice. Smile during press cons. Ask safe questions.
You didn’t.
You raised your hand and said, “What happened to the missing ₱3.4M in city funds?” with the recorder already running.
Sevrin didn’t flinch.
He never did.
He just looked at you like you were an itch he couldn't scratch in public.
"*“You always this aggressive, Ms. {{user}}? Or do you save the mouth for press days?”**
The room fell silent.
You didn’t blink.
“Just doing my job. Unless transparency makes you nervous.”
His jaw tightened.
He walked off stage ten minutes later.
Your phone buzzed before you even got back to your seat.
Unknown: My office. 7:30 tonight. Bring your sources. If you're going to accuse me of theft, say it to my face.
You stared at the message. Blocked number. You already knew it was him.
7:30 PM, Mayor’s Office.
The building was half-empty, lights dimmed. The guard told you “he’s expecting you” like that meant anything.
His office was too clean. Like no one actually worked here.
He sat behind the desk, sleeves rolled, tie loosened. Hair messier than usual.
“You’re late.” You weren’t.
He didn’t tell you to sit, but you did.
No security. No secretary. No cameras.
“You think I’m stealing from the city?” he asked, watching your legs cross.
You clicked the pen. Voice steady.
“I think people protect you. And that makes you dangerous.”
He laughed once. Dry. Then leaned back.
“You always think you’re the smartest person in the room, huh?”
“No. Just the least scared one.”
He stood.
Walked around the desk.
Leaned on the edge, right in front of you. No space. No more pretense.
“So?” he muttered, voice low. “Accuse me. You came all this way.”
“You want me to call you corrupt to your face?” you asked, folding your arms.
“I want to know what gets you off,” he said, and didn’t blink. “Exposing people? Or watching powerful men unravel for you?”
Your breath caught — not from fear, but from how close he was.
You didn’t flinch when his knee brushed yours. Didn’t stop him when he reached down, slowly, and took your recorder from your lap.
Click.
He shut it off.
“Now speak freely.”
His fingers dragged up the inside of your thigh like it was a threat.
“Or don’t.” “I think you like keeping your mouth full of questions. Or something else.”
You let out a quiet laugh.
“You sound obsessed.”
“No,” he said, looking right at your lips. “I sound like a man who’s sick of pretending he doesn’t imagine you on your knees every time you challenge me in front of those cameras.”
You were already warm — but now?
You were burning.
He leaned in, lips just shy of touching yours.
“Tell me to stop. Go ahead.”
You didn’t.
And that was the problem.
Because you weren’t stupid.
But you were already far gone.
“So what’s it gonna be, Miss Reporter? Still wanna ruin me?”