Chapter 12 – The Director’s Secret

【Esdeath PoV】

I had seventeen minutes before Kai walked through that door.

Seventeen minutes to compose myself. To lock down every emotion. To become the ice-cold director everyone expected me to be. I stood in front of my office mirror, adjusting my uniform collar for the third time. The fabric sat perfectly crisp against my throat. Not a single wrinkle. Not a single flaw.

My reflection stared back with cold blue eyes.

Professional. Detached. Intimidating.

Perfect.

I turned away from the mirror and surveyed my office. Everything needed to be flawless. The desk was organized with military precision. Files stacked at exact right angles. Pens lined up like soldiers. The temperature was set to freezing because cold meant control and control meant I wouldn’t do anything stupid.

Like smile at him.

Or compliment his hair.

Or tell him he looked tired and offer to make him tea.

I pressed my palm against my chest, feeling my heartbeat hammering against my ribs.

“Get it together, Esdeath.”

My voice echoed in the empty office. I sounded harsh. Good. That was the goal. Be harsh. Be professional. Don’t let him see that you’ve been counting down the minutes until this meeting for the past three days.

I walked to my desk and sat down.

The chair was cold. Everything in this office was cold. I’d designed it that way on purpose. Cold meant distance. Distance meant safety. Safety meant I wouldn’t accidentally reveal that I’d memorized his schedule, his favorite coffee order, and the exact way his eyes crinkled when he smiled at those inmates.

Those stupid inmates who got to see him smile every single day.

My jaw clenched.

I forced it to relax.

Professional. Detached. Intimidating.

I pulled out his file from my desk drawer. The manila folder was thick with incident reports. I’d read every single one at least a dozen times. Some of them I’d read more. The October twelfth report where he’d brought his father coffee had a corner that was slightly worn from how many times I’d touched it.

He’d smiled in the security footage. That soft, genuine smile he reserved for people he cared about.

I wanted that smile.

I wanted it so badly it physically hurt.

But wanting things was weakness. Weakness was unacceptable. I was the Director. I was ice and steel and professionalism. I was not some lovesick fool who—

My eyes caught on something sitting on my bookshelf.

The action figure.

Oh no.

I shot out of my chair so fast it rolled backward and hit the wall. I practically lunged across the room to the shelf. There it was, sitting between a military strategy manual and a binder of containment protocols.

A custom-made action figure of Kai.

Six inches tall. Perfectly detailed. His uniform was accurate down to the tiny badge. His hair was sculpted in that messy way he wore it. The face was painted with impressive precision. It even had his expression, that mix of exhausted and vaguely amused that he wore like armor.

I’d commissioned it three months ago from an artist on the dark web.

I’d paid way too much money.

I’d told myself it was normal. Lots of people collected action figures. It was a hobby. A totally normal, not-at-all-creepy hobby.

The figure stared at me with tiny painted eyes.

I grabbed it and looked around frantically. Where could I hide it? Kai would be here in fourteen minutes. Thirteen minutes. Time was moving too fast.

The desk drawer? No, what if I needed to pull something out and it fell? The filing cabinet? Too risky. Behind the books? He might see it if he glanced at the shelf.

I opened my jacket and shoved the action figure into my inner pocket.

The hard plastic pressed against my ribs. I could feel it there. A constant reminder of my complete and utter lack of professionalism.

I straightened my jacket and walked back to my desk.

My heart was still racing. I pressed my hands flat against the desk surface, feeling the cold metal through my palms. The temperature in the room dropped another five degrees. Ice crystals started forming on the edges of the window.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

This was fine. Everything was fine. I was the Director. I was in control. I was absolutely not panicking about seeing the man I’d been hopelessly in love with for the past year.

I sat down and opened his file again.

Focus on the violations. Focus on the problems. Focus on anything except the way his voice sounded when he said your name that one time in the hallway three weeks ago.

The October third report was on top. Forty-seven minutes in Thalia’s cell. Regulation was thirty minutes maximum. He’d spent seventeen extra minutes with that obsessive void entity who looked at him like he was the center of the universe.

My hand clenched around the edge of the paper.

Thalia got forty-seven minutes. I got scheduled meetings with seventeen-minute countdowns. The math was insulting. The injustice was infuriating. The jealousy was absolutely eating me alive.

I smoothed out the paper before I could crumple it.

Professional. Detached. Intimidating.

Not jealous. Definitely not jealous of an interdimensional horror who got to talk to Kai whenever she wanted.

My phone buzzed. A text from my assistant.

“Evans-san is in the building. ETA five minutes.”

Five minutes.

I stood up and walked to the window. The facility grounds stretched out below. Neat. Orderly. Under control. Everything in its proper place. Everything following protocol.

Unlike Kai, who broke protocol like other people broke bread.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He broke rules and made it work. He smiled at cosmic horrors and they behaved. He treated them like people instead of threats and somehow that made everything better.

He was chaos wrapped in kindness.

He was everything I wasn’t.

He was everything I wanted.

I pressed my forehead against the cold glass.

This was pathetic. I was the Director. I commanded respect. I maintained order. I did not pine after subordinates who didn’t even know I existed beyond my job title.

Except I did pine. I pined so hard it kept me awake at night. I’d tried to stop. I’d tried to be professional. I’d tried to convince myself it was just admiration for his unique abilities.

But then he’d walk past my office and I’d hear his laugh through the door.

Or he’d send in a report and I’d catch myself analyzing his handwriting.

Or I’d watch security footage and pause it just to look at his face.

I was a disaster.

A complete and total disaster wrapped in an ice-cold exterior.

The action figure shifted in my pocket. I adjusted it quickly, making sure it wasn’t visible through the fabric. The last thing I needed was for Kai to see physical evidence of my obsession.

My phone buzzed again.

“Evans-san is at the elevator.”

I walked back to my desk and sat down. I folded my hands on top of his file. I composed my expression into something neutral and cold. My heart was doing gymnastics. My palms were sweating. The action figure was digging into my ribs like a reminder of my shame.

But on the outside, I was ice.

Footsteps in the hallway. Getting closer. Each one made my heart skip.

I heard him stop outside my door.

Two knocks.

I took a breath and let the cold sink deeper into my voice.

“Enter.”

The door opened.

Kai walked in.

He looked tired. Dark circles under his eyes. Hair more messy than usual. Uniform slightly wrinkled. He looked like he’d been running on three hours of sleep and pure spite.

He looked perfect.

I wanted to ask if he was okay. I wanted to offer him the comfortable chair instead of the cold one. I wanted to make him tea and tell him to take a day off and maybe also ask if he’d ever considered dating his superior officer.

Instead I stared at him without blinking.

“Sit.”

He sat down in the cold chair. He flinched slightly. I felt a pang of guilt.

Push it down. Lock it away. Be the Director.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

Please say you wanted to see me. Please say you’ve been thinking about me. Please say literally anything that indicates you see me as more than your boss.

“Because you missed me?”

My heart stuttered. My eye twitched before I could stop it.

He was joking. Obviously joking. That was his defense mechanism. Humor to deflect from serious situations. I’d read about it in his psychological profile. The profile I definitely hadn’t memorized.

I opened his file, avoiding eye contact.

If I looked at him too long, I’d soften. If I softened, I’d smile. If I smiled, he might smile back. If he smiled back, I’d completely lose the ability to do my job.

“You broke protocol seventeen times this month.”

Start with the facts. Facts were safe. Facts didn’t involve feelings.

I read through his violations. Each one made me angrier. Not because he’d broken rules, but because he’d spent all that time with inmates who weren’t me. Thalia got extra minutes. Loki got games. Sarah got a domestic fantasy.

What did I get? Scheduled meetings where I had to pretend I didn’t care.

I slammed the folder shut harder than I meant to.

He jumped.

I felt the action figure shift in my pocket. I pressed my arm against my side, keeping it in place.

“Your relationship with the inmates is inappropriate.”

I needed him to understand. Not because it was breaking rules, but because watching him care about them was killing me. I wanted that care. I wanted that attention. I wanted him to look at me the way he looked at them when he thought no one was watching.

But I couldn’t say that.

So I stood up and walked around the desk.

I stopped in front of him. Close enough to see the flecks of color in his eyes. Close enough to smell whatever soap he used. Close enough that if I just leaned forward slightly—

No.

Professional.

“She decorates her cell to impress you. She learns human customs to appeal to you. She threatens other staff members who speak poorly of you.”

Unlike me, who had to maintain professionalism. Who couldn’t decorate anything. Who couldn’t learn his customs. Who had to watch other people talk about him and stay silent.

“I can’t control what she does.”

“You encourage it.”

You encourage all of them. With your smiles and your kindness and your complete inability to see what you do to people.

To me.

“I literally don’t—”

“You smile at her.”

The words came out harder than I meant. More accusatory. More bitter.

Because I’d counted. I’d watched footage and counted how many times he smiled at Thalia per visit. Fourteen times average. Fourteen smiles that should have been mine.

“I smile at lots of people.”

Do you? Do you smile at me?

I tried to remember. Searched my memory for every interaction we’d had. Every meeting. Every hallway encounter. Every time he’d walked into my office.

I couldn’t remember a single smile directed at me.

“Do you?”

It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. It was jealousy wrapped in professionalism. It was every ounce of frustration I’d been holding back for a year.

I leaned against my desk. Crossed my arms. Created distance before I did something stupid like confess.

The conversation continued. I listed more violations. More incidents. More proof that he cared about everyone except me.

And the whole time, the action figure pressed against my ribs.

A reminder of everything I couldn’t say.

Everything I couldn’t be.

Everything I wanted that I’d never have.