The laughter in the corridor echoed with a boisterous ease, dancing down the walls like sunlight in a hall that had seen far too many tense mornings. Yet beneath that playful energy, a darker undercurrent rippled—subtle, almost imperceptible, like a cold breeze curling around the ankles of unsuspecting prey.
At the far end of the corridor, where the overhead lights flickered just a little too inconsistently and shadows clung like cobwebs to the corners, a figure stood—barely a silhouette. His presence was hidden from the rest, yet his expression, twisted and coiled with disdain, would have shattered the illusion of cheer had anyone noticed him.
His jaw clenched so tightly it creaked, and his eyes narrowed into venomous slits. Hands shoved into his coat pockets; his shoulders tensed with barely contained fury.
"Oh, you seem to be enjoying yourself, Joseph," he hissed under his breath, the syllables curling like smoke. "Just you wait. When my plan unfolds, that smug smile of yours will vanish for good."
A sneer lifted one corner of his lip as he leaned against the cold wall, tapping his foot—not in boredom, but in barely restrained agitation.
"Laugh all you want while you still can. The fun won't last much longer."
His voice dropped to a whisper; more promise than threat.
And then—he was gone.
Like a shadow receding into the walls themselves, his presence evaporated, leaving no trace but the faintest drop in air pressure and a sense of something off.
Joseph, still standing in the middle of the corridor's liveliest commotion—surrounded by laughter, chatter, and the sound of Amayra's heels click-clacking somewhere nearby moving away—suddenly went still.
He had been rubbing his temples, trying to mentally navigate the hurricane of chaos that Amayra had just inflicted on his morning, when an instinctive jolt seized him.
His fingers stopped mid-motion. His shoulders stiffened, and his spine straightened like a soldier under inspection.
He didn't know what it was exactly—but it was there. A sensation. A chill that crawled across the back of his neck like invisible fingertips.
His flickering red eyes darted to the side, like he was ready to attack that dark creature.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he shifted his head just enough to peer out of the corner of his eye, focusing on the space behind him. The light in that direction seemed a touch dimmer. The air felt heavier. Thicker. Wrong.
"Was it just my imagination?" he murmured, the words dry on his tongue. "Or… was there really someone there?That feeling… it wasn't normal."
His voice dropped into a mutter as his brows furrowed. The noise around him blurred into a muffled backdrop, like the world had taken a step back to let him listen closer.
But before he could even piece the feeling together—SMACK!
A loud, hearty slap landed on his back with the force of a bear hug disguised as a backhanded compliment.
"HAHAHA! Joseph!" Thomas's booming voice thundered down the corridor, his laughter echoing like a joyous war horn. "Don't look so flustered! I know exactly what I saw back there, and trust me, that's just her being herself. She's always been like this, creating these… 'situations.'"
His hands gestured in wide arcs, his face split with amusement. It was as if Thomas had just watched a sitcom episode titled 'Amayra Strikes Again'.
Without waiting for a reaction, he clapped Joseph on the shoulder once more—less violently this time—and turned on his heel, striding away with that same old-school swagger only men who drank whiskey for breakfast and survived boardroom brawls could carry.
Joseph remained rooted to the spot, his brain still rebooting from both the physical impact and the cryptic whirlwind Thomas had just blown through. The casual implication in his tone wasn't lost on him. Situations? How many "situations" did Amayra create? And why did he now feel like he was a recurring character in one?
Then came Mary.
As always, Miss Mary stood by like the all-seeing Oracle of this office circus, arms folded neatly, posture dignified, her lips curled ever so slightly in quiet amusement.
Her eyes locked onto Joseph's with that knowing glint—the one that usually preceded a mic-drop moment. She leaned in slightly, as if gifting a sacred truth.
"Her full name is Amayra Blackwood…. Blackwood," she said, the surname falling with the weight of a gavel. Her tone was calm, crisp, and unmistakably dramatic, as if she had underlined it in all caps and bold font.
Joseph froze mid-thought.
His pupils shrank slightly. The corners of his mouth twitched downward. His breath caught somewhere in his throat.
"Don't… tell me…" he muttered, as dread crawled down his spine.
Mary gave a simple nod, composed yet filled with restrained glee. "Exactly. She's the only daughter of Thomas Blackwood."
BOOM. The realization dropped like a piano from a rooftop.
Joseph didn't move, but his entire posture sagged—like a man who just realized he stepped into a trap, smiling, thinking it was a casual conversation.
And now, the flashbacks of the break room began.
Joseph's teasing words: "I wasn't aware that reporters now had unrestricted access to this building."
Amayra, grinning like she owned the place: "Well, I'm not just any reporter. I'm the 'REPORTER'."
Joseph groaned, squeezing the bridge of his nose as though he could crush the headache before it formed.
"Of course," he muttered bitterly. "Of course she is. Why wouldn't she be?"
He sighed again, the kind of sigh that only came from accepting life's cruel jokes. "Why…" he grumbled under his breath, "is my luck always this bad?"
Enter David.
As if summoned by pure irony, David's voice rose behind him—low, wounded, and theatrical.
"Bad luck? Really? YOU think this is bad luck?"
David's sorrow quickly twisted into theatrical fury, his voice escalating with every syllable as if he were performing live on a stage. His chest heaved, eyes brimming with melodramatic betrayal. "I saw everything, you heartless… traitor!" he declared, his tone so over-the-top it would've made a soap opera villain blush. His arm shot forward with the weight of divine judgment, finger shaking as it pointed directly at Joseph. "How could you do this to me?"
Joseph blinked, taken completely off guard, his eyebrows arching. The room seemed to tilt for a second with the weight of David's accusation. "What… what are you even talking about?" he asked, his tone drenched in genuine confusion.
David stepped forward like a knight wronged by his king, clutching at his chest. "You! You ruined my only chance with the angel of my dreams!" he wailed, eyes glistening as if he were about to weep. "How could you just steal her attention like that?"
Behind them, Miss Mary, who had been quietly observing from her post like a theatre critic at the climax of a tragicomedy, covered her mouth with a delicate hand, trying to hide her growing amusement. Her eyes twinkled with laughter, and her shoulders gently shook as she folded her arms, soaking in the unfolding drama like the last sip of a strong coffee.
Joseph turned his head slowly to David, lips tightening. It was too early for this. He raised one hand in a measured, diplomatic gesture. "David, listen—"
But David, in true dramatic form, wasn't finished. "Why is it always YOU?" he cried, throwing his hands into the air like a preacher in mid-sermon. "Why are all the beautiful women always chasing after YOU?"
Joseph's jaw tensed. Enough was enough.
In a swift, silent move honed by years of detective precision, he lunged forward and slapped his hand over David's mouth, muffling the rest of the rant. David's words died into indignant grunts, eyes wide with protest.
"Alright, that's enough," Joseph said firmly, the edge in his tone warning of thinning patience. He turned to Miss Mary, who was now openly giggling into her sleeve, and added with an apologetic glance, "I think we've disturbed you enough for one day."
Miss Mary waved a hand, dismissing the concern. "Oh, don't worry about me, sir. This is better entertainment than my coffee break. Keep it up!" she said with a grin that suggested she wouldn't mind a sequel.
Joseph forced a tight-lipped smile. "Yeah, sure. Glad to be of service," he muttered.
Still gripping David, who was now flailing like a fish on land, Joseph began to drag him down the corridor like a babysitter hauling away an unruly child. David, even with his mouth covered, refused to go down quietly.
"Mmmph! Let me go! I have a right to express my pain!" he groaned against Joseph's palm.
"Not here, you don't," Joseph growled under his breath, pulling him around the corner with firm, calculated steps. "Come on, my friend, let's have this discussion somewhere less… least not in public."
Miss Mary took one last sip of her coffee, shaking her head as the door closed behind them. Her laughter, soft and genuine, echoed faintly in the corridor. "Poor Joseph," she said under her breath. "Always in the middle of the chaos."
And just like that, the corridor quieted, save for the low hum of fluorescent lights overhead. But the echoes of their ridiculous scene still hung in the air like the aftermath of a flashbang—bright, absurd, and impossible to ignore.
Inside the office, the chaos continued, albeit in a more... controlled environment.
Joseph practically shoved David through the door, one hand still locked on his arm like a vice. David flailed again, tapping at Joseph's hand with an open palm like a protest sign in motion.
The second Joseph let go, David stumbled backward and spun around, eyes wide with wounded drama. "Wanted to kill me or what?!" he barked, clutching his wrist as if Joseph had nearly dislocated it. He looked genuinely offended, like a Shakespearean prince betrayed by his closest ally.
Joseph raised a brow, utterly unmoved. "What are you even trying to say?"
David, not missing a beat, pointed an accusatory finger, his voice bordering on hysteria. "You were covering my nose and mouth! I couldn't breathe! Do you even realize that?" He staggered back into a chair, panting like he had just escaped a life-or-death scenario.
Joseph blinked again, still recovering from the sheer absurdity of the scene. "Oh… uh… sorry about that," he said, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.
But then, with zero remorse and maximum efficiency, he turned and began sorting through a towering stack of case files on his desk, casually adding, "Anyway, let's get back to work. I've got a ton of things to finish."
David's brows furrowed, his indignation losing steam for a moment. "Yeah, you'd better be sorry…" he mumbled, his voice dropping into a disgruntled mutter as he slumped into the visitor's chair.
But then—he jolted upright, realization dawning like a thunderclap.
"Wait a second!" he shouted, snapping his fingers so hard it echoed through the room. "Don't think I will forget what happened out there! You ruined my chance with the angel of my dreams!"
Joseph, already flipping pages like he was speed-reading through evidence logs, didn't so much as blink.
That was it. That was the final straw.
"Hey!" David barked. "Are you even listening to me?"
Joseph still didn't answer. The deliberate silence was like gasoline on a fire.
David let out an exaggerated groan and spun the chair around dramatically so that his back faced Joseph. "Fine!" he declared. "Don't mind me. I'll just sit here and suffer in silence."
With a huff, he yanked open his smart phone, angrily typing in the MeTube search bar like it owed him a refund. His fingers clicked away in a storm of petty fury.
Joseph, meanwhile, allowed himself the faintest smirk as he scanned the next document. Peace. Blessed, delicious, temporary peace.
And so, the office settled into a weird, simmering stillness—one laced with unsaid words, passive-aggressive sighs, and the faint hum of a MeTube conspiracy video playing in the background. As Joseph and David silently waged their own little cold war.
A new chapter had quietly begun in the life of Joseph—one named Amayra, a woman who seemed to carry the very force of nature within her soul. Unpredictable, relentless, and undeniably magnetic, she was a storm cloaked in elegance, a wildfire with a press badge. And as her path entwined more deeply with his, the carefully drawn lines of Joseph's world began to blur. What truths would she uncover? What chaos would she bring? And more importantly—was Joseph ready for the whirlwind that was Amayra Blackwood? Whatever came next, one thing was certain: his life was no longer his alone, and what path these things will lead.
To be Continued...