The arrival of Selene Reyes had sent Ethan into a spiral of cryptic meetings and locked doors, leaving Mika with a oversized hoodie that smelled like expensive cedarwood and a mountain of unanswered questions.
Mika wasn't the type to sit idly by while a mystery unfolded under her nose. If Ethan Solis was a "transformer with a bad fuse," she wanted to see the blueprints.
"He’s not just 'moody,' Chloe," Mika whispered into her phone, ducking behind a large potted fern in the marketing department. "The lights literally react to his temper. And when I touched him, it felt like... like the air in the room finally decided to sit down and relax."
"Mika, honey, that’s called 'chemistry,'" Chloe’s voice crackled through the speaker. "Or a stroke. Both are common when looking at a billionaire. Just stay away from the weird magic stuff and focus on getting that permanent contract."
"It’s not just chemistry," Mika insisted, peering over the fern. She saw Jasper entering Ethan's private elevator with a woman dressed in flowing, iridescent silks—Selene. "There’s a pattern. And I’m going to find it."
Mika spent the rest of the afternoon doing what she did best: being "naturally curious" (which Ethan would have called "corporate espionage"). She began by visiting the Solis Tower archives in the basement, a place where digital records went to die and paper trails were still kept in mahogany cabinets.
The archivist, a man who looked like he had been part of the foundation since 1982, didn't even look up from his crossword. "Solis family history is in Section 4-G. Mostly boring philanthropy and property deeds."
But Mika wasn't looking for deeds. She was looking for the gaps.
She found a leather-bound ledger dated eighty years ago. As she flipped through the yellowed pages, she noticed a recurring theme. Every generation of the Solis family had a "Great Recluse"—a son or daughter who vanished from public life in their late twenties.
1946: Thomas Solis retires to the Highlands following a 'freak lightning strike' at his wedding.
1972: Elena Solis cedes the company after a series of 'unexplained structural failures' at her gala.
"It’s a pattern of isolation," Mika whispered.
She pulled out her phone and snapped pictures of a faded photograph tucked into the back of the ledger. It showed a young man who looked strikingly like Ethan, standing in a garden. Beside him, the flowers were blackened and wilted, while the rest of the garden thrived.
"The Solis Hum," Mika muttered. "It’s not a gift. It’s a cage."
Suddenly, the lights in the archive flickered—three short pulses, then a long, low dim. It wasn't the frantic, jagged buzz of Ethan’s presence. This felt deliberate.
"You shouldn't be digging in the dirt, little bird," a voice echoed through the stacks.
Mika spun around. Standing at the end of the aisle was Isla Valdez, a junior designer from the creative team and one of the few people Mika actually liked. But Isla wasn't holding a stylus; she was holding a small, silver pendulum that was swinging in perfect, unnatural circles.
"Isla? What are you doing down here?" Mika asked, her heart racing.
"Looking for you," Isla said, her mischievous grin returning. She tucked the pendulum into her pocket. "I felt a ripple in the building’s energy. You’re poking the bear, Mika. Or in this case, the lightning storm."
"You... you feel it too?" Mika stepped closer. "The buzzing? The cold?"
Isla leaned in, her eyes sparkling with secrets. "My grandmother taught me how to read the 'unseen.' This building is built on a ley line, but the man at the top? He’s the leak. He’s bleeding power, Mika. And you? You’re the first person I’ve seen who acts like a sponge instead of a conductor."
"I just want to help him," Mika said. "He’s so alone, Isla. He thinks he’s a monster."
"He is a monster," Isla said matter-of-factly. "But even monsters need a ground wire. Just be careful. When you ground a current that big, you might get burned in ways that don't leave scars on the skin."
Before Mika could ask more, the elevator bell chimed upstairs. It was the signal for the end of the shift.
Mika headed back to her desk, her mind a whirlwind of wilting gardens and silver pendulums. She found a small, hand-written note sitting on her keyboard. There was no signature, just a single line of elegant, sharp handwriting that she recognized from the memos in the executive suite.
The hoodie suits you. Keep it. But stay out of the basement, Mika. Some secrets are buried for a reason.
Mika looked up toward the top floor. She didn't feel scared. She felt a surge of stubborn defiance. She pulled the black hoodie tighter around her, the scent of cedarwood giving her a strange sense of courage.
"Nice try, Mr. Vampire," she whispered to the ceiling. "But I’ve always liked digging in the dirt."