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recklessmark · 4 years ago

Text

Two/Eight detected

east athletic person on the face of the planet

Summary: you were the spearhead of the FBI Cyber Division to solve Two/Eight— the most damaging hack committed by an individual. Never had you predicted to cross path with Mark Lee during your time doing your job, neither before that. Even if you did, everything about him was magically coincidental and surely you couldn’t expect coincidence. It unnecessarily stressed you out more than the cyberattack. But only then you could realize Two/Eight was bigger than the hack itself.

Pairing: Bodyguard Mark x FBI Special Agent Reader

Genre: forbidden relationship, angst, a little fluff, smut

Warning: language, infidelity, manipulation, mention of cybersex, unprotected sex (be safe!), dom/sub theme, oral sex, fingering, sir kink, daddy kink, spanking, sex toy, finger sucking, degradation, dirty talk, name calling, gagging, mention of alcohol, sex and drug addiction, mention of deaths and blood, mental illness.

Word count: 25k (i have a serious backache proofreading this)

A/N: his age doesn’t fit the profile of the character but let’s just imagine it does because i have a thing for his age idk if it’s age kink lol i’m 18 and mf is still young af whatever.

The glow of the computer screen cast a colorful hue on your face as your fingers danced across the keyboard, the rhythmic tapping blending with the sounds emanating from the speakers. The city of Lyon sprawled before you, a breathtaking mosaic of towering skyscrapers, neon lights, and bustling streets. Yet, your attention remained fixated on the video tape, its contents a tantalizing mystery that demanded your full focus.

Playing the tape over and over again, your mind whirred with possibilities as you meticulously combed through the accompanying materials, determined to decipher the cryptic puzzle that lay before you.

Finally, a victorious smile curled upon your lips, a spark of revelation igniting within your eyes. Satisfied with your analysis, you rose from your seat with purpose, anticipation coursing through your veins like an electric current.

Confidently striding into the tension-laden conference room, you commanded the attention of your colleagues, the air heavy with anticipation.

“I know why the profiles never fit.” You declared with unwavering assurance. "He isn't your typical serial arsonist. His disorder is something entirely different."

“Which is?” A fellow raised their head to meet your gaze.

Leaning casually against the doorframe, you exhaled a measured breath. "It's an extreme manifestation of OCD. Specifically, a condition known as scrupulosity—an obsession intertwined with religious fervor and compulsions."

Just as the weight of your discovery settled upon the room, your pocket buzzed with the vibration of your phone. Retrieving it swiftly, you glanced at the contact name, your brows knitting together in mild confusion.

"Alright then, search it up if you need further information," you calmly instructed, a reassuring smile gracing your lips. With that, you turned and strode away, leaving your colleagues to digest the revelation.

As you made your way toward your cubicle, the bustling noise of the office surrounded you, a distant hum against the backdrop of your thoughts.

“What is it Jeong?”

“Have you checked your emails?”

"Not yet," you replied, a touch of confusion lacing your words.

“Do it now.”

Your lips pursed in confusion at his demanding tone as you hastened your steps, reaching your workspace. Settling into your chair, you scooted closer to your desk Opening your inbox as instructed, you stared at the screen, seeking answers within the digital realm.

The email immediately startled you with its content. Scrolling through the message with a furrowed brow, you absorbed its urgency.

"And?" you replied, your voice laced with impatience.

"Be here as soon as possible," came the curt response.

Swiveling in your chair, a mixture of frustration and confusion clouding your features, you questioned the suddenness of it all. "Why all of sudden?"

"You're the Executive Assistant of the Cyber Division. It's your duty to be here," Jaehyun's voice dripped with aggression, his words pushing against your resistance.

A quiet sigh escaped your lips as you examined your hand, contemplating your next move. "But I thought you already had someone to replace me."

“Yeah we do have some rising-star nominees but no one is capable enough to handle this case. I believe you’re aware of it too.”

Your mind raced, torn between loyalty to your current position at Interpol and the pressing demand from the CCRSB (FBI Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services Branch). You were caught in the middle, balancing the intricacies of friendship and professional obligations.

"But I'm currently committed here, at Interpol. I can't just abandon my—" you began, your words trailing off.

"Your secondment has been temporarily maintained in statu quo. There won't be anything for you to do there after this weekend," he interrupted firmly.

Weary, you leaned back in your chair, the weight of the situation settling heavily upon your shoulders. Jaehyun's voice continued, unyielding in its directive. "Enough with the excuses. I'll see you on Monday."

The call abruptly ended, leaving you no opportunity to voice your concerns. Jaehyun, your friend but also your technical superior as the Executive Assistant Director of the CCRSB, had made an irrational request—one that demanded you catch a flight back to the United States within the next two days. The moment you saw his contact on your phone, you knew it’s going to be this fucking bullshit.

Rubbing your temples in frustration, you redirected your attention from the email tab back to the article you had been reading halfway through.

TWO/EIGHT HACK AFTERMATH.

“One month after the Two/Eight attack, hackers still at large...”

The words blurred before your eyes... Of course your head was aching.

Your grip tightened around the sleek black pistol, your fingers finding solace in its cold, deadly embrace. Eight. Nine. Ten. Ten shots fired, one after the other, each finding its mark with unwavering precision. It was by pure coincidence you discovered your hidden talent. No one would have expected it, least of all you. After all, you were the least athletic person on the face of the planet, the embodiment of clumsiness. PE was a joke. You purposely forgot your gym clothes most of the time so you could just do health assignments instead of participating in class. You were embarrassed to do anything physical in front of your classmates. So no, you did not want to go hunting with your dad when he suggested it. You couldn’t understand why he liked it either. He was kind of nerdy like you. But rather than loving books and languages like he did, you preferred computers, and codes. After your mom tried to reason with you, you gave up eventually. No one ever expected an afternoon bird hunting game could change your life.

In the indoor shooting range, where others drowned out the noise with headphones or earbuds, you relished in the absence of such distractions. Every sound, every echo, was amplified, allowing you to perceive the presence of another person solely through your acute hearing.

"How does it feel?" you blurted out suddenly, your arms lowering to your sides. A shiver ran down your spine as the sound of footsteps echoed from behind you. They were gentle and sedate. The kind of how calm-manner male billionaires walked in movies.

“You’re an experienced firearm user, aren’t you?”

You knew it was a man. However, you did not anticipate that voice. Dark, venomous, devilish. You could sense his proximity, his presence enveloping you like a shadow. It was the smell that hit you first. Overwhelming. A musky, earthy, and clean scent; mixed with gun powder, and the smell of the place your parents always went when they had to get new tires and something else you couldn’t put your finger on. You could feel it in the air though, like the oxygen itself was coating your skin. You did not know there’s any perfume resembled this fragrance. Surely, there was not. He’s not wearing cologne, you could bet a million dollars on it.

"Why is it that people always feel the need to ask the painfully obvious?" you quipped, your tone tinged with nonchalant sarcasm.

“You know that it has been three questions in a row?”

"Ah, so we're keeping count now? That makes it four," came the response, accompanied by a small chuckle from him that somehow managed to break the tension hanging between you.

You still had not laid your eyes on him, neither had him. But by now, you could feel a burning gaze on the side of your face. miraculously making the tiny hair on your arms stand up.

“You’re mean.” He remarked in assertiveness.

It was a trait of yours that you were well aware of, though he was the first to vocalize it so boldly, straight to your face. It stirred something within you—a desire to be even meaner to him than you were to others. Not because of his straightforwardness, but because of the unsettling effect he was having on you. There was an undeniable air of intimidation surrounding him.

With a twist of your heels, you finally turned your gaze towards him, and once again, he took you by surprise. Everything about him fascinated you. Standing at approximately 5'9", give or take an inch, he exuded an enigmatic aura. Jet-black hair, meticulously styled with a few strands falling effortlessly onto his forehead. His eyes, round and down-turned, held a sharpness and piercing gaze that could see right through you. The prominence of his jawline added to his air of determination. Dressed in a black dress shirt and matching slacks, he was the epitome of darkness and mystery. If Hades were to take on human form, this man before you would undoubtedly be his embodiment.

He arched a brow teasingly, and in that moment, you realized you had been staring at him like a thirsty chick spotting Ben Barnes. Admittedly, he was the most strikingly attractive man you had ever laid eyes on. However, the fact that he had managed to elicit such a reaction from you was utterly unacceptable.

"Uh... thanks?" you responded, your voice tinged with uncertainty. What exactly did he expect you to say? You had no clue. Hell if you knew.

He chuckled again. “Are you always like this?”

A chuckle escaped him once again. "Are you always like this?"

"Like what?" you asked, your gaze fixed on him, seeking clarification.

"Dry and... unfriendly," he replied, his words laced with a hint of amusement.

You pursed your lips and nodded ever so slightly, silently judging his assessment. He had accused you of being mean, but you saw no evidence to suggest that he was any better, considering the way he had approached you right from the start. The only difference so far was that he laughed twice and you definitely had scowled more than twice.

"I haven't seen you here before," he continued, his tone softening in an attempt to alleviate the tension.

You nodded. "Yeah, I've been out of the States for nine months. Haven't touched one of these," you gestured toward the pistol in your hand, "during that entire period."

"Twisted fate," he mumbled under his breath, a hint of intrigue in his voice. "Wanna make a bet?"

A coy smirk played on his lips, drawing your attention. You squinted at him, not particularly fond of games of chance, but secretly intrigued by the mysterious tricks he might have up his sleeve. Just as you were about to reply, his phone suddenly rang, shattering the momentary connection between you.

You gestured for him to answer the call with a shrug on your shoulder. He swiftly fished the vibrating device out of his pocket, a glimpse of thunder flashing across his eyes as he glared at the screen. It was a fleeting moment, but one that didn't escape your notice. Whoever was on the other end of that call must hold a significant place in his life. Whether it was for better or worse, you couldn't quite discern.

"Yeah?" he answered, raising the phone to his ear, followed by a long pause. "Give me ten minutes."

With that, he ended the call and massaged the back of his neck wearily. You simply observed him in silence, waiting for him to break it. After a heavy sigh, his eyes found their way back to you.

"Maybe next time then," he began, his voice laced with determination. "Give me your number." He extended his long arm toward you, his phone awaiting your digits. Obviously he’s not asking, he’s demanding.

Though his intensity made you uncomfortable, there was an inexplicable pull that urged you to keep in touch with him. You wanted to know more about him, about the story behind those dark eyes. You’re not finding a soulmate. You didn’t hope to either. However the connection was apparently too strong that you can’t bring yourself to cut it from here.

"Name?" he inquired, his gaze fixed on the screen.

"Y/N," you replied.

"Nice," he murmured, typing in your name before tucking his phone back into his pocket. "Y/N... see you again."

Before you could process what was happening, the heavy black metal door slammed shut at the corner of the room. He hadn't even bothered to reveal his name. What the hell? This felt too real to be a dream. You chuckled quietly. It did feel like a prank though.

The target of the Two/Eight hack was none other than Lee Corp, a colossal empire in the realm of technology. The hack hadn't managed to completely obliterate them, but it had left behind a trail of devastation that was nothing short of catastrophic. Their entire business revolved around digitization, digitalization, and digital transformation, which meant that rebuilding their database from scratch was their only viable option. It was a miracle in itself that they had survived the relentless attack.

And now, here you stood, within the hallowed halls of their main building, overseeing their arduous journey towards recovery.

"I believe it's time to have a chat with the board of directors," you murmured, your strides echoing down the hallway. "Starting with the CTO and CEO."

The sound of your heels clicking against the polished porcelain floor drew glances from the fellow agents who were toiling away alongside you. You offered them a slight nod in acknowledgment as they greeted you in return.

"Oh, and at the field office as well," you added, coming to a stop by a cubicle and casually leaning against it with one arm. Your gaze settled on your coworker, Lillian, narrowing your eyes ever so slightly.

"What?" she inquired, her brows furrowing in confusion.

“Tell him to grip the underside of your jaw, not to block your windpipe. Otherwise, he will choke you to death someday.”

The young lady was practically gaping at your throwaway tone.

Her lips parted, but no words escaped them. It seemed she had forgotten just how observant and casual you could be, especially when it came to matters of intimacy.

Disregarding Lillian's appalled expression, you clapped your hands together to grab everyone's attention. "Alright, folks, it's time for a break. Lunchtime."

With approving nods, the agents, including Lillian, abandoned their documents, computers, cardboard boxes, and whatever else had consumed their attention. They gradually made their way towards the wide glass door until you were the only one left standing. You glanced around the now deserted floor, a sense of relief washing over you. Honestly, it looked far better than the confines of the FBI office. More spacious, easier to breathe. Though, you suspected that the weight of the work itself was the true culprit behind the haunting atmosphere of your workplace.

As you wandered through the vast office space, a fleeting shadow caught your attention in your peripheral view. You turned swiftly, expecting to find someone there, but there was no one. Odd. The 23rd floor was off-limits to those outside the Bureau. You could only caught a mere glimpse of them but you’re sure that was not a female.

With cautious steps, you made your way towards the corridor at the back of the expansive office. You had meticulously surveyed the entire floor upon your arrival and knew it led to a stairwell. A mild grimace tugged at your lips as you attempted to minimize the click of your heels. There was no doubt that they were already aware of your presence, and quite possibly gone.

And indeed, they had.

The abrupt sound of a door slamming shut reverberated through the walls. You cursed under your breath and sprinted towards the direction of the noise, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever it was, even if it was just their hair color. But it was too late. The door was locked, accessible only to the employees of Lee Corp. They possessed ID cards granting them passage through gates, rooms, doors, and elevators. Unfortunately, you didn't have that privilege. The best you were allowed was to use the elevators. As for the front gate, you simply had to flash your badge at the guards.

Annoyed, you huffed and gave up on twisting the door handle. It was then that you noticed a small sticky note attached to the magnetic stripe card reader. It had been deliberately left there, meant for you. You peeled it off with a frown. The words on it read, "TWISTED FATE."

You flinched dramatically when someone abruptly tapped your shoulder. “What you’re doing?”

"Screw you, Jay. You scared me half to death," you retorted, throwing a punch at Jaehyun's chest. For him, it was nothing more than a gentle brush against his clothes. A smile crept across his lips, revealing the adorable dimples on both sides of his cheeks. No matter how angry you were at him, those dimples were your ultimate weakness. His gaze swept over you, taking in your appearance, before settling on the note in your hand.

"What's that?" he questioned.

You shot it a glare, internally debating whether or not to tell him the truth. It shouldn't necessarily bother him, though.

"Just a Starbucks order," you replied evenly, shrugging your shoulder.

He narrowed his eyes at you, clearly not entirely convinced by your blatant lie. Yet he didn't press further. If you didn't want to share, he wouldn't push.

"Alright. Wanna grab lunch? I heard they have, uh..." he paused, trying to recall from memory, "oh yeah, Thai food."

"You seem quite interested in their cuisine," you remarked, engaging in conversation as you made your way out of the office. Little did you know, there was someone watching you at the end of the corridor with a coy smirk, eyes glistening with a secret that remained hidden from the world.

Finally, you were able to have some time for yourself. It was Saturday, work-free. You glanced at the mountain of papers with tediousness. At this point, it’s uncertain to state that whoever behind Two/Eight could get away with it, nor were they going to get caught. Apparently they’re good enough to not be caught yet. But one thing was clear: Lee Corp needed to weather the storm of their recovery. They had been struck at the very core, a wound that needed urgent attention before they bled out completely.

Of course, as a decent person, you couldn't single-handedly save this damn behemoth of an empire. However, by planting a honeypot in their domain server, you could become their protector. It was technically illegal to secretly infiltrate a private domain like that, but it was the only way to gain some semblance of control over this mess—whatever they called it. Biggest hack, the most eventful attack or the most wonderful revolution. If they’re planning on another attack, the honeypot would notice it. And, with any luck, no one would be able to detect it without access to your account.

The silent contemplation swirling in your mind was abruptly shattered by a new message on your laptop.

user20809: sweetheart, you’re still not telling me what you’re wearing.

Damn it. You had momentarily forgotten that you were chatting with your online friend. Could you even call him a fuck buddy? You weren't sure, considering you had no idea what he looked like. All you knew about him so far was his name: Mark. Simple, yet intriguing, much more captivating than any man you had ever encountered in your life. Oh, and let's not forget that son of a bitch at the indoor shooting range. A week had passed since he got your number, and here you were, met with absolute silence.

user21407: sorry, i was thinking about something.

You sent it before taking a quick look of your clothes.

user21407: cotton sweater and shorts.

It’s weird how you were talking to an anonymous man through a website. But in a world where humans constantly wasted your time, there was nothing inherently wrong with it. Especially the so-called "legendary dominants" who became downright offensive the moment they discovered your career. It was almost too perfect how Mark aligned with you—mentally, emotionally, and sexually. It wasn't just about indulging in some wild encounters; sometimes, you both simply vented to each other. It was therapeutic. He listened without judgment to everything you shared, no questions asked. And you reciprocated the same. Perhaps it was exchanging small, daily stories or sharing a good laugh over a funny mishap. Neither of you ever broached the topic of your professions, and strangely enough, you were perfectly content with that.

user20809: you’re distracted, aren’t you? and who were you talking to, with that disrespectful tone?

You glowered. Disrespectful? What did you say? “cotton sweater and shorts.” Very succinct, and troublesome.

user21407: oh i’m sorry.

user20809: sorry what?

Don’t ask why you have complete no clue about his information. Despite your attempts to hack into his information several times, you remained clueless. The website itself was heavily encrypted, but that posed little challenge for your skills. The true hurdle lay in the fact that Mark seemed to possess no identity, no social network presence, no discernible IP address. Or perhaps he intentionally obscured his digital footprint. Regardless, trying to identify someone with only their first name proved futile, even with your access to the comprehensive residents database.

Had the thought of meeting him in person crossed your mind? Absolutely. Yet such a meeting would have to wait until you completed your mission involving Two/Eight and Lee Corp. There were pressing matters at hand, and once those were resolved, only then could you entertain the possibility of unveiling the enigmatic man who had captured your heart.

user21407: i’m sorry sir.

You pondered the title for a few seconds before sending your text. It’s hard to conjecture what he wanted to be addressed as, sometimes “daddy” was perfect, sometimes “sir” was the preference. But judging by his demanding tone, you assumed the second option was better.

Another ten seconds passed before you heard a chime from your device again.

user20809: you have been a bad girl and bad girls should be punished. don’t you agree?

You gulped nervously as you typed on your keyboard.

user21407: yes sir.

user20809: yet we’re not doing it today. keep that for another time.

You absentmindedly stared at your desktop while the dots were moving in the chat box, indicating that Mark was typing. What on earth made he so kind today? Regularly, he would not let you come for at least an hour straight. Practically you could do it yourself, because obviously no one was watching you. But he would know, somehow miraculously only by texts. You had tried it once. The first and also the last time.

user20809: i have a surprise for you, and don’t forget to take your vitamins.

With that he went offline, leaving you in befuddlement. Okay, you entirely had no idea what he was talking about. Surprise? What surprise? Did he discover your identity?

You closed your laptop with a huge sigh. Usually talking with Mark helped relieve your stress but somehow this time he stressed you out more than the hack itself. You did not even know what you’re feeling. Anxious, expectant or scared? Most likely all of them.

“Y/L/N, Ms Doubleday is here.”

One of your colleagues announced while you were analyzing some data on the white board. This conference room held the secretive repository of information pertaining to Two/Eight—everything from potential causes and damages to the list of suspects. It was all meticulously documented, either in print, saved on computers, or even scribbled on this whiteboard. The sensitive nature of this case restricted access to only a select few agents.

"I'll be there in a moment," you replied, not bothering to glance in the man's direction. But he continued lingering, and confusion knitted your brows together.

"Is there something else?"

"She insists on having her bodyguard present during the interrogation," he informed you.

You scoffed, deepening the grimace on your face. Is this a joke?

It was understandable for her to have a bodyguard, considering she was the Chief Technology Officer of Lee Corp and also the CEO's only daughter. However, demanding the presence of a guard to babysit her during an FBI interview posed a bit of a problem.

"I'll speak to her. You can leave now.”

Your coworker nodded and hurriedly exited the room. Turning your attention to the schematic representation next to the whiteboard, you glared at it. It depicted the intricate connections between the suspects and anyone directly involved in the hack. The CEO of Lee Corp resided at the center, a logical choice. And right below her was Hazel Doubleday—the CTO. It made sense, yet studying this diagram gave you a headache more torturous than navigating the Tokyo subway system.

With a final frustrated toss, you discarded the black marker into a nearby basket. Retrieving your blazer from the chair, you slipped it on while treading to the interrogation department.

From a distance, you spotted a woman clad in the typical office attire of a white blouse and pencil skirt. Honestly, you had encountered countless female leaders, but it was rare to witness someone with such a mundane sense of style. She resembled more of a junior receptionist than the Chief Technology Officer of the largest technology corporation in the United States. No, you weren't criticizing her fashion choices—far from it. She simply possessed an air of peculiarity, which often attracted certain judgments.

Nevertheless, the man standing opposite her, his back turned towards you, exuded undeniable attractiveness. That figure triggered a sense of familiarity within you, as if you had met him before.

"Ms. Doubleday, right?" you inquired, closing the distance with your composed steps.

Once again, you couldn't fathom how this woman had ascended to such a high position within a colossal empire. It wasn't that you doubted her capabilities or talent—if she had any. However, her nails were at least three inches long, an extreme impracticality for someone in her line of work, constantly typing away on keyboards under an immense workload. You were certain she had a lot on her plate at this very moment. That is, if she was indeed the one responsible for the job.

"Yes, that's correct," she replied, nodding her head in agreement.

You mustered a polite smile. "I'm Special Agent Y/F/N Y/L/N. But Y/F/N is fine." Pausing for a split second, you continued, "Rumors have circulated that you insisted on having your bodyguard accompany you. Is that true?"

She confirmed your suspicion with a nod. "I don't feel safe without him."

You fought to suppress a laugh. Did she think that FBI was going to abduct her? And hell if this field office was not one of the safest places in the country.

“Where is he then?”

“Here.”

And there it was. The attractive man standing by her side. But why did his voice sound so familiar? Of course, it made sense. Your eyes widened in astonishment as you glanced to the side, locking eyes with the bodyguard. He was none other than the man you had encountered at the indoor shooting range. Was this coincidental?

A sly smile graced his thin lips as he observed your surprised expression. Not just anyone could elicit such a visual response from you, and he knew it.

You cleared your throat, realizing that you had overreacted. It was an embarrassing display of emotion. Clutching the plastic folder tightly in your hand, you redirected your attention to Hazel.

"Alright, he can accompany you, but only if he has followed the instructions," you stated, trying to regain your composure.

"He has," Hazel confirmed with a nod.

With a nod of acknowledgment, you walked past them, unlocking the designated room, and gestured for them to enter. Closing the door behind you, you found yourself still in a state of bewilderment. Inhaling deeply, you attempted to calm your nerves. You’re not a high school teenager to easily be flustered, you reminded yourself.

Pressing the record button on the camera positioned in the room, you took a seat on the opposite side of the table. The isolated space exuded an air of peace. Before uttering a word, you took your time studying their faces, their body language. The smallest details held immense significance and were not to be overlooked.

"Ms. Doubleday, I'll get straight to the point. First of all, have any of your employees installed unauthorized applications?"

You finally spoke up. One, two, three...eight seconds passed. It was amusing how she stared back at you with confused eyes. Your speculation seemed to be on the mark. Someone else was pulling the strings while she merely played the role of a puppet, a figurehead.

With a heavy sigh, you drew in a breath, intertwining your hands on the desk.

“"You know, it's painfully clear just how devastating this hack has been," you began, your eyes flickering between the woman and her guard. Suddenly, you became acutely aware of the intensity in his gaze as he observed you. There was something behind those eyes, something familiar. It reminded you of the conversation you had with him before, but this time, it held a heightened level of intensity, especially as you mentioned Two/Eight. You made a mental note to delve deeper into that later.

"Not only for the United States, but if there is even the slightest potential threat to other countries, I'm afraid Interpol will have to intervene if—"

"You work for Interpol?" Hazel interrupted, her voice betraying a tremor of fear. The poor girl must have believed that the damage had spread to an international scale. You were merely speaking hypothetically.

"Yeah. And if you think we're going to come banging on your doors, well, that's not how it works. What you see in movies is just media invention. There are no Interpol agents out there, armed and busting down doors to make arrests. We mostly work with mundane emails, digital documents, and paperwork," you explained, sensing her concerns and feeling a sense of responsibility to clarify. But the primary culprit here was Hollywood, which seemed to have an addiction to putting so-called Interpol agents in harm's way.

"That's not the point, though," you continued, your tone unwavering. "What I'm trying to convey is that time is a luxury we can't afford. Once Interpol steps in, I won't be able to help you. I didn't come here just for a casual Q&A session. So, it would be greatly appreciated if you could be more... open and honest."

"What do you mean?" she muttered, attempting to feign confusion. Someone needed to inform this woman that she possessed no talent for acting. Her entire life seemed to be exposed on her face.

You absentmindedly brushed your knuckles, your eyes keenly examining the pair sitting across from you.

“Do you two fuck?”

you asked abruptly, your question seemingly irrelevant. The shock on their faces and the questioning scowl directed at you were the expected responses. The small room descended into what felt like an eternity of silence, stretching for over thirty seconds in reality. You were comfortable with silence; it was inconsequential when they continued to stare at you with blank eyes. It provided you with the opportunity to observe their reactions.

"How do you know?" Hazel finally spoke, and you couldn't help but wonder if the CTO herself was aware that she had subtly confirmed your deduction.

"Your guard does a decent job of concealing it. However, it's not difficult to discern," you unfolded. “Your knee continually brush his, your hair is long blonde but you have short black hair on your collar-“

Hazel lowered her head, noticing the hair on her shirt.

"—your lipstick is patchy, and both of you have plump lips."

"That's incredible," she exclaimed, her amazement genuine.

You knitted and unknitted your hands. Hazel was undeniably an adorable girl but she’s wasting your precious time. Her sex life held no interest for you; you simply needed a verbal confirmation to address the doubts lingering in your mind.

“To summarize,” you lowered your eyes, “My career path started as a detective inspector. After two years, I joined the Bureau. Another three years in the CID and now have been the Executive Assistant of the Cyber Division. Interpol Criminal Intelligence Analyst is the cherry on top. Do the math.” You finished with a tight-lipped smile.

"I began my career as a detective inspector, then joined the Bureau after two years. Spent another three years in the CID before becoming the Executive Assistant of the Cyber Division. And now, I'm an Interpol Criminal Intelligence Analyst. Do the math." You finished with a tight-lipped smile.

Your implication was clear: there was no possible way she could deceive you. You knew how a person's relationship status could be revealed by the subtle adjustments they made to their jewelry. Whatever facade she was attempting to maintain was far too superficial.

"What's CID?" she asked, in a seemingly respectful manner.

"Criminal Investigation Division," her bodyguard answered before you could even respond.

Leaning back in your chair, you observed as Hazel remained silent. "Alright then. Enough with the introductions. Since this is our first interview, I won't force you against your will. You may leave now."

Surprisingly, she glanced over you, clearly not expecting you to let her off the hook so easily. Keeping her here any longer would be meaningless. You were not auditioning for a criminal investigation documentary. She was supposed to provide you with information, not the other way around. And if she couldn't fulfill that role, someone else would.

"It's been a pleasure meeting you. Feel free to contact me if there's anything I can assist you with," she said, rising from her seat, her hand gripping her bodyguard's shoulder, signaling him to leave with her.

"I said you may leave. Not him," you clarified, your voice firm.

The girl shot you a perplexed look. "What? Wait—"

"You can wait outside until we're finished. It'll only take ten minutes.”

Your attempt at reassurance fell flat, and there was no hint of warmth in your tone. Hazel glared at the man, who returned her gaze with a mild nod. Why did it feel like he had more authority than his own client? Reluctantly, Hazel walked out, leaving you alone with him in the interview room.

The air grew thick, almost suffocating, but you ignored the tension, focusing on calming your racing heart. Just breathe, you reminded yourself, taking a fucking breath.

"So," you beamed, though the smile failed to reach your eyes. "I need your name for communication purposes."

“Mark. Mark Lee.”

Again. What the fuck?

Your eyes widened as you met Mark's gaze. His expression remained unreadable, concealing whatever emotions were stirring beneath his heart-stopping, perfect face. Instinctively, your ankles crossed under the table. It was a common name, sure. But out of countless names, did it have to be Mark? This was only coincidental, wasn’t it?

For a full second, your breath caught as you detected a subtle curl at the corner of his lips.

"Okay, Mr. Lee," you withdrew your hands from the table, placing them in your lap. "Tell me about Ms. Doubleday's schedule."

Wait. Why did you even ask that?

Was it helpful? Maybe.

Did you want to know about it? No.

You sighed quietly, waiting for Mark to respond. Addressing him by that name felt strange. You couldn't recall how many Marks you had encountered in your life, but this Mark felt different. Likely giving the similar vibe to the Mark you knew. Not exactly ‘knowing’ but yeah, you still technically knew him. Right?

"She sticks to a strict schedule," his low, dark voice drew you back to reality. "Mornings, she goes to the company until 4pm. Then she heads home, takes care of her own business. After 8pm, it's her personal time, and it marks the end of my workday. I'll work extra hours if she goes out."

Okay. You had to admit, that wasn't really helpful at all. It didn't seem like you would gain any useful information from him either.

"Well, um... I know this may sound a bit personal, but is it normal to sleep with your client? Like, is it part of the job under a contract or something?" you asked, feeling nosy and intrusive.

What the hell Y/N? You were playing a huge major role in solving the hardest cybercrime case ever and now you’re here to question about a random dude’s sex life. You fought the urge to bang your head on the table and tried to remain calm like you didn’t just ask such an embarrassing question. “It’s fine,” you told yourself, “maybe he could give you some data that you could use for the future, let’s stay optimistic and cool.”

He took a moment to contemplate something before responding. "Isn't it my duty to fulfill my client's desires?"

His savage answer, delivered with an indifferent tone, caught you off guard. So, it was fine then... you supposed. Fidgeting with the hem of your blazer, you tried to come up with another question. It better be useful.

"Honestly, she seems unwilling to actively provide me with information. Do you know the reason behind that, considering you're close to her?"

Finally.

"Agent Y/L/N," the intensity of his gaze sent goosebumps across your skin, causing you to subconsciously gulp down a lump of air. "My job is to protect my client and fulfill the assigned tasks. Not be a fucking therapist. I don't know shit."

So this is where we end up, huh?

To be honest, you couldn't help but acknowledge that Mark was more than just a bodyguard. There were numerous clues that supported your suspicions.

Firstly, his presence in the room. It was clear that individuals unrelated to a case should never be in an interview room. Hazel Doubleday had been informed and asked to accept the terms and rules before the interrogation began. Yet she still insisted on having him here.

Alright, maybe it wasn't directly relevant to the hack, but it indicated a connection between them, a situationship or whatever they wanted to call it. And you believed it could potentially lead you to something hidden behind the curtains.

Thirdly, if it was true that she was merely a figurehead, Mark surely knew. He was the closest person to her. Perhaps, he even knew who was truly pulling the strings.

Lastly, he refused to provide you with details. All his answers had been vague. He wasn't lying, but he clearly understood that revealing too much wouldn't be a smart move. It demonstrated that he was more than just a bodyguard, at least in terms of his cleverness.

"Alright," you nodded. "Then we can wrap things up here. Thank you."

Standing up, you turned off the recorder. Mark didn't say anything, simply silently making his way towards the exit.

"Oh, sorry. Can I ask one last thing?" you stopped him midway, his hand tightening on the door handle. He turned around to face you. "Yeah?"

"Is it classic or acoustic?" you tilted your head slightly, folding your arms across your chest.

Mark furrowed his brows, trying to comprehend your sudden question. "What?"

"Your guitar, is it acoustic or classic?" you repeated, watching his facial expression intently.

"Acoustic," he replied. "Why?"

"You have short nails on your left hand, but they're slightly longer on your right hand."

“And what does that information for?”

You shrugged, “Nothing, just pure curiosity.”

Unexpectedly, he grinned at you, his smile vibrant and oddly soothing. Yet, what he was about to say probably wouldn't bring you any comfort.

“I’m surprised, about everything. I hope that my surprise didn’t disappoint you.”

And fuck your life if this was once again coincidental.

Your fingers ceased their dance across the keyboard as a plastic folder landed with a thud on your desk, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Mark Lee. Joined the Navy, rose to the highest rank of MCPO in just five years. The youngest in history."

“Master Chief Petty Officer? Only five fucking years for that?”

“Yeah.” Lillian said, her voice tinged with surprise. She had clearly been taken aback by her own findings. Now it was your turn to delve into this revelation.

Were you surprised? Indeed shocked.

MCPO, a rank only three levels below MCPON—the Navy's highest enlisted position. Taking the folder into your hands, you nodded at your colleague and left your office. Jaehyun had granted your request for a small workspace. But it still baffled you how the entire FBI Cyber Division was helpless with this case. Did they merely want to pass on their headache to you? At this point, you doubted whether your return here would make much of a difference.

Two/Eight itself had been troublesome enough let alone a Mark Lee. How much secret did this man hide? He’s literally your cybersex buddy. If this was not the most embarrassing scenario in your life, you didn’t even want to know how worse your life was going to be.

Jaehyun raised his head slightly to take a glance of the person that recklessly stomped into his office without knocking. Couldn’t be anyone besides his dear friend.

“How many time do I have to remind that you report to me? Learn some manners.” He lowered his head and focused on his work again.

You took a seat across from him. "Were you in the Navy or something?"

"The USMC," he corrected, his voice laced with a touch of irritation. "Why do you ask?"

You offered a nonchalant hum in response. "Do you happen to know anything about a guy named Mark Lee?"

"No," he replied, almost too quickly.

"You don't? Wasn't he the Navy's MCPO?”

"The higher their rank, the more they tend to keep a low profile. And for the record, I served in the Marine Corps. How would I know anything about a Navy guy?"

"Bullshit," you muttered under your breath, earning a stern glare in return.

Jaehyun's voice pierced the air, breaking the silence that had settled between you two. "What is all of this about?"

“He is Lee Corp CTO’s personal bodyguard. They acted quite suspicious.” You explained, voice laced with exhaustion. A realization struck you, so glaringly obvious that it made your brows furrow in frustration.

“Hey!” Your boss let out a tired breath as you called him again. "Why is it called Lee Corp? Could it have any connection to Mark Lee? It's literally his last name."

Your words dripped with a sense of delight, as if you had just uncovered a significant clue. But Jaehyun's response shattered your enthusiasm, tossing confusion your way in the form of a perplexed look.

"Y/L/N," he said, addressing you by your last name, a sign of his seriousness. "He's not the only one with that last name. He's just a bodyguard who happened to be a former Navy MCPO. What does his surname have to do with a technology business? Are you crazy?"

He was right, of course. It was likely just a coincidence—a meaningless connection. Yet, it was astonishing how many coincidences seemed to surround Mark's existence. Then again, maybe you were overanalyzing things.

“Hey you have no right to insult me looking like a peach.” You argued defensively.

“That’s not nice! You can’t say that because I’m handsome!”

“Since when I’m a nice person? And in my opinion, one of the reasons we haven't cracked this case is because your looks are a major distraction to our colleagues.”

You suppressed a laugh as the image of Jaehyun speechless replayed in your head. Quickly, you refocused your attention on the document in your hands.

Six months after leaving the Navy, Mark had been directly hired by Phillip Doubleday, the CEO of Lee Corp. He had served as a personal bodyguard for nearly three years, with Hazel Doubleday being his first and only client thus far. It seemed he had no intention of switching jobs. What drove him to remain in such a mundane role? He was a remarkable individual, having achieved numerous accolades during his time in the Navy, rising to the rank of MCPO in just five years. His official profile was pristine, but there was something unsettling about what lay beneath the surface. Particularly his enigmatic background—there was no record of his life prior to joining the Navy. Having never worked for the US Armed Forces, you were unaware of their practices. If they intentionally erased or confidentially archived their personnel's past records, it would prove nearly impossible for you to unearth them.

You grabbed a sticky note and scribbled on it with a marker.

"MARK LEE."

You glared at the new note on the whiteboard one last time and left the conference room.

It had been two weeks since the last time you chatted with Mark. He hadn’t been online ever since. What’s now? Did your appearance disappoint him? Or it’s your voice? Or did it shock him to his core that you’re an ex-detective inspector, a FBI agent, an Interpol criminal intelligence analyst?

But that last possibility seemed illogical. It was more plausible that the situation worked the other way around. Besides, you had no inkling of what he was truly capable of—both in the past and the present.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you realized you couldn't afford to dwell on him any longer. The hack remained your number one priority.

"TWISTED FATE"

The words echoed in your mind. Someone had purposefully left that note for you. It felt familiar, but you couldn't recall where you had encountered or heard that phrase before.

Fuck. You groaned irritatingly. Coding an entire domain seemed like child's play compared to dealing with this nonsensical riddle. Maybe you should've chosen a different career, one that didn't involve being a detective inspector or a federal agent. Your Computer Science degree felt irrelevant to the job at hand. Why had you opted for such a challenging path? All of the Sherlock crap was a fraud.

With frustration coursing through your veins, you shut down your laptop, determined to give yourself a damn break. The documents could wait. If you stared at them for another minute, you feared you might strangle yourself out of sheer exasperation. Thoughts of murder swirled in your mind, an unwelcome companion.

Glancing at your reflection in the full-length mirror of your room, you adjusted your hair. All you needed was to slip on a bra and a jacket, and you'd be decent enough to go out.

You began walking aimlessly, your mind devoid of thoughts. Like a lost bird in an endless sea of people, you meandered through the cityscape, feeling utterly alone and pathetic. But strangely enough, you found solace in that fact. It was a relief that no one cared about your inner turmoil.

Eventually, you turned into a secluded alley, seeking refuge from the cacophony of car honks, celebrity advertisements, and distant chatter. As you reached the riverbank, the noises gradually faded, leaving behind an almost eerie silence.

"You definitely lack the potential to be a stalker," you murmured, leaning your forearms on the cold metal rails. The night breeze caressed your skin, offering a soothing respite. This place held a special significance for you. Before you, a river stretched out, its undulating waters shimmering under the moon's gentle glow. Not many were aware of this hidden gem. You had stumbled upon it by chance—a serendipitous discovery.

"I believe it's more about your sensitivity than my talent," a voice responded, breaking the silence.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You clasped your hands together, tilting your head slightly to catch a glimpse of Mark, who mirrored your posture. The cigarette smoke that was slipped from under his coat snaked around your throat, threatening to close it if you didn’t inhale. God, you had missed the illicitness of the scent, your nose akin to a bloodhound, detecting others who hadn't given up on the habit as easily as you had and taking advantage of the free rush. You gave into it, let its tendrils inside your lungs with a deep, calm breath. It undid the months of quitting you had endured, but it was worth it as the mint and nicotine wormed their way through your nervous system, releasing the cyber bombing stress that had accumulated. Your shoulders were still tight, but you could breathe again.

It’s funny how carbon monoxide and hydrogen cyanide made that more possible than clean, fresh oxygen and a peaceful scenery surrounding you.

It was ironic how carbon monoxide and hydrogen cyanide seemed to offer more solace than clean, fresh oxygen and a tranquil backdrop.

"Do you have it here?" you asked in a hushed tone, your gaze fixed on the river, boredom laced within.

Without a word, Mark turned his body, leaning against the barriers. His hand delved into his pocket, retrieving the small foil box that you had yearned for just as much as the habit itself.

There it was. His crooked smile, on full display. You always wondered what a guy like Mark was doing with Hazel Doubleday. They were polar opposites, not in the "look-how-much-better-we-make-each-other" kind of way. He was rugged, unkempt. She looked like an airbrushed Instagram post even when she went to check the mail. It’s not your business, nonetheless. They’re not even officially in an exclusive relationship. But their relationship wasn't your business; it was merely deduction. Because if they were in a relationship, he wouldn’t have reach out to you on that website in the first place.

Lowering your head, you redirected your attention to the river's flow. A mocking smile graced your lips, a self-inflicted embarrassment. At least they had physical intimacy. Taking a moment to collect yourself, you glared back up at Mark, who was already extending the small pack in his hand.

“Never knew you smoke.”

He lit the cigarette that was pressed between your lips, his gaze meeting yours. Your stomach lurched unexpectedly, sending a wave of heat through your chest and straight down to your sex.

“I quit a long time ago, but you know, with the load of work, it helps.” You said bluntly despite the sudden bewildering feeling.

He lit his own cigarette, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes in a moment of bliss. Exhaling slowly, he stared directly at you, peering through your facade of nonchalance and recognizing the anguish simmering within.

"I get it," he said, his voice calm and understanding.

You tapped your cigarette lightly, watching the ash fell into the river and disappeared in the darkness. A half-hearted smile plastered across your lips. “You do, and choose to be a huge obstacle anyway.”

“Everything has its own reasons.” The calmness of his voice was maddening.

You hummed. “Makes sense.“

Taking another drag and blowing the smoke out into the chilly abyss. You felt it release a knot deep inside your chest, like the oxygen you had been breathing in and out the past few months was toxic, not the habit you had tried—and failed, apparently—to quit.

"So, why were you following me?" you asked, your tone laced with curiosity.

"Maybe I just wanted to see you.”

"Bullshit," you scoffed, unconvinced by his response.

Mark bit his lip, flicking his ash into the wind.

"Shit, sorry," you quickly apologized, realizing your joke might have struck a nerve. "I didn't mean any harm, alright?" The sudden seriousness etched across his face made you uneasy. You hadn't intended to anger him.

He shook his head, took a step closer to you. When his hand reached out and brushed your cheek, your body erupted in flames. His skin was softer than you expected, especially given the amount of time the man spent in the Navy and the brutal nature of every career he had ever done.

"I know the cyber bombing has been taking its toll on you, but it's true that I've always been serious about you, even in our texts. I genuinely want to spend time with you," he confessed.

Your skin felt branded where his had grazed it. You wondered what that touch might do to the rest of you.

“Ha. Who said I don’t like it?”

“Touché.” He laughed, and hell if it didn’t sound genuine. He stubbed out his cigarette, tossed it over the rails. You did the same with yours. “I’m done. You?”

“I am, but…” You let your words trail off, not sure how to finish them.

Like a magnet, you didn’t want to be pulled away from Mark just yet. His earnest drew you closer, but once there, his musk—smoke and mint—changed the terms of your attraction to him. You wanted him, plain and simple. Your chest swelled with lust, each breast aching independently of the other.

It had been a long damned month since you last touched yourself. Maybe that’s why you kept imagining Mark’s hands on your body. Especially after you met him for the first time. That and his scent.

“But you don’t want to go home, yet, do you?”

“Not yet.” You admitted honestly.

“Then let’s not.” He pulled out two more cigarettes and handed you one. You grinned. The conspiracy you shared added to the pull you felt towards him. He drew in closer to you than he had before, this time bracing an arm over your shoulder. He flicked the lighter, the small flame not near as hot on your skin as his breath.

Fuck, you wanted to taste the menthol on his lips, swirl your tongue around his mouth and suck the smoke right from his lungs. Kill two birds, one stone.

He didn’t push back after lighting your cigarette. His proximity reminded your body of each day you hadn’t had a man’s hands, breath, lips, on it.

The tension in the air wrapped around both of you, wove between the mere inches that separated your faces. It was cold with the night air and occasional wind, but the chill that shuddered through you had nothing to do with the weather.

You didn’t know who made the first move. You honestly didn’t. You only knew that one minute you were taking a pull from the cigarette, and the next his lips were on yours. His tongue teased your mouth open, and smoke wafted around you, a blend of both your exhalations. He tasted exactly like he smelled—exactly like you had hoped. Like mint and smoke and desire.

The kiss was hot, just mouths exploring, while your hands still held the lit cigarettes by your sides.

Then it was over, the inches back between you, feeling more like miles now that you had tasted him. It hadn’t alleviated the craving, but rather made it worse. An ache settled on your still-damp lips, tingled your tongue. You wanted to know more, wanted to know everything about this man, off-limits or not.

Your underwear was wet with proof of everything you wanted. When your vision cleared, you noticed a bulge in Mark’s pants that pretty much told the same story. Then why had you stopped? Besides the obvious, of course.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Your name rolling off his tongue was like a thumb pressed to your clit—you flooded with moisture thinking what else his tongue might be capable of making you feel. “I know you can’t be involved with me, regarding your professionalism. It’s just that when I walked around and saw you tonight, I thought maybe everything would be okay. Then out here, I just, you know. Lost control. I’m really sorry.”

Well, the lid was already off the can, so to speak. No use in only sinning halfway. It was that driving thought—that and the desperate need to taste the rest of Mark—that had your body pressed against his, your hands fisted in his hair before you could overthink the whole thing.

You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth to nibble on and sate your ache. The moan that followed had your hips rocking into his.

“Jesus Christ. Can we really do this?” His voice was breathy and uneven.

It’s not a matter to you that you were in public. Nobody would want to dart their eyes at this corner anyway. Neither was your job requirement. It’s going to remain confidential between you and him. Just once.

You nodded into his neck, trailing your teeth along the sensitive flesh beneath his earlobe. He groaned quietly before pulling you with him by your wrist.

“My car is nearby.” He muttered before you could question.

He led you to his car, was parked a couple blocks away. Unlocking the door quickly, he pushed you into the passenger seat and entered his driver seat.

“Can we go to your place?” He asked while starting his car.

You nodded eagerly and then instructed him the way to your condo. Time suddenly became longer as the red number on the elevator monitor screen switched from G to 18. It took both of you everything to not run hands on the other, well aware that there’s a camera. Being with Mark alone had already looked suspicious enough.

As soon as you locked your door, you were picked up by him. He flopped you on the bed, onto your belly and faced the strategically placed wall mirror. Everything flashed before your eyes like a thunder. You shirt was off before you could comprehend everything. He was quick and brutal, beyond anything you could possibly imagine through his messages.

Suddenly, he was on you, holding you down from behind as he pulled down your pants, threw it on the floor and ripped your panties off. He inhaled them deeply, forced you to do the same, and then stuffed them in your mouth before undressing your upper body too.

“I remember you still have a punishment.” Mark said.

Forcing your face down and ass up, he spanked you three times, hard. You gasped through your panties gag. It hurt, a little more than you were expecting, more than you thought you could tolerate. And it was exactly what you had been hoping for. Your clit pulsed harder than ever and in spite of the initial shock, you found yourself wiggling your ass back toward him for more.

“Such a little slut. You love this, don’t you, gagged with your own wet panties, offering your ass to me.”

Slowly rubbing your slit, he gently pushed into your pussy with two fingers.

“Don’t make a noise or I will add two more spanks.”

You wiggled a little more, unsure of how hard you wanted to push.

“On your back,” he instructed you again and freed your mouth, wiping the salvia with the flimsy fabric. This time you complied.

You watched Mark stretched his long arm out, finding something in your nightstand drawer. Certain enough, you knew what’s inside.

“How do you know?” You asked breathlessly.

“You told me once.”

Did you? Goddamn it. You couldn’t even recall what you ate for lunch let alone a message you sent long ago. What currently on your mind was Mark. Everything about him.

“Do you remember I offered a bet when we met for the very first time?”

You’re amazed how you actually spent time to ponder his question before nodding your head in response. He hummed approvingly and sat down between your legs.

“I want to make it happen, now. Listen carefully. I have to make a phone call to report my situation therefore I need you to be quiet for me. You can’t come until I give you permission. If you can do that, you’ll be rewarded. Am I clear?”

You squirmed underneath him, your inflamed skin irritated by the messy bedding. “Yes, daddy.” You whispered sweetly, knowing how much he loved to hear you say it.

He turned on the vibrator and began roving around your various sensitive zones. Your mind began traveling along with the vibrations as you sunk deeper into your arousal. A moan escaped your lips subconsciously.

“Shut up,” Mark scolded, admiring your beautiful body. He slapped your clit, eliciting a sharp gasp before pulling out his phone from his pocket with his free hand.

You clammed your lips shut, watching him making his phone call. The other side picked up almost immediately, after the second ring if your calculation was right.

“Hi. I would like to check again if you have any late schedule tonight.” He said calmly into the phone.

A smirk lingered on his lips mischievously as he pushed the toy right into your clit. He began to draw little circles around it and your breathing came faster, your cheeks burning a little pinker. Your eyes closed again and your were deliciously pathetic.

“No Miss. I just have some work that has to be done. You can ask Masen if you want to go .”

His eyes examined you intently while he talked. You whimpered, overwhelmed with the pleasure. And he flicked your clit hard. You released an incomprehensible torrent of swears in whispers.

“Miss, you must have mistaken something.”

He had you in your zone and you were getting close. You were certain that he had already have felt the few little tremors but he had graciously let them slide. You knew that was gonna gush, but when and how you got there was up to him. You were at his mercy.

He changed the setting to pulsate and kept on exploring your pussy. You exhaled slowly, trying to control your orgasm.

“Goodnight Miss.”

Mark carelessly threw his phone away on the mattress and stopped the vibrator, earning a desperate whine from you.

“What did I say?” He asked in an authoritative tone.

“You- you asked me to be quiet.”

“And were you quiet?”

“N-no daddy...” You trailed off nervously, shivering under his sexy charm. You noticed how hard his cock was, straining underneath his jeans.

He then made you flipped onto your belly again, lifting your hips so he could slip a pillow underneath, propping your ass up higher for him. “You lost the bet. I suppose you should expect for punishment baby.”

Then your punishment resumed, and the harder he spanked you the more wetness you felt between your legs.

“Tell me you’re sorry.” He instructed, and you obeyed at once.

“I-I’m s-sorry.” You breathed.

“For what?”

“For being such a d-dirty… insatiable girl…”

“Mmm, that’s right you are.”

His hand stroked you everywhere, soothing the aching pain. Your ass, thighs, between your legs. You shuddered with the need of wanting him.

“Give me a safe word, baby. A word you’ll say if I push you too far, and you feel uncomfortable…” He cooed.

“Um... “ You scanned your room unreasonably, looking for help. “Execute?”

It’s a perfect turn-off because whenever you breaking someone’s door off, it’s necessary to count to three and repeated “execute” out loud for three times.

“Good. Now what that means is, I won’t stop if you say ‘no’ or even ‘stop’. I will only stop if I hear you say ‘execute’. Is that understood?”

“Yes daddy.”

“Such a quick learner.”

You felt him undressed himself and tossed his clothes away behind you. He reached up and gently pressed your head down, until your face flushed against the mattress. At this angle, your ass and dripping pussy are laid completely bare, for him to do with as he pleased.

“Do you want me inside you, baby?”

“Oh, yes…”

“Beg for it.” Your ass wriggled and he smacked it again, hard. “I said, beg.”

“P-please… please, I want you inside me…”

“And what will you do for me?”

“Anything…” It embarrassed you how easily and quickly you gave him that answer, but it seemed to please him.

“I’m clean. Can I go raw?”

You nodded in eagerness. And with that, Mark slid his hard cock inside you, thrusting slow and deep, building your rhythm as he went in. He gripped your hips and thrusted in and out. In the midst of your fervor, you were utterly euphoric.

“Is this what you want, whore?”

He buried yourself in you and reached for your clit. The circles he made hit you exactly right, and he applied just enough pressure. You’re so hot and bothered, it’s almost instantaneous. Leaning over you, he pressed your face close to yours.

“Are you coming for me already, slut?”

“Oh god… yes…”

“I didn’t give you permission, did I?”

Startled, you stumbled over an apology, but it’s far too late to stop yourself. He chastised you, but mercilessly he didn’t stop. He played with your clit and pounded into you nonstop until your orgasm peaked and subsided.

Mark allowed you to rest your entire body on the bed, spent and breathless. After a few moments, when you had collected yourself, he pulled you up by your hair, until you’re on your knees.

“Turn over and crawl to me.”

You gulped as he purred into your ear. Hearing him shifted behind you, you obliged his command and got in between his legs.

Stroking your hair back tenderly, he looked you over and smiled.

“Suck it.”

Starting slowly, you licked him from his base to tip, tasting yourself on it and loving the effect you had on him. Adding your hands to help, you used your lips and tongue to slather his cock with your saliva. He let you minister to him on your own for a little longer, but ultimately he took control.

“Grab your elbows behind your back.”

Doing as you’re told, you’re left with his cock in your mouth as he straightened his back and gripped you by the hair. After a few hard thrusts, he pulled back for a moment.

“Open your mouth. Wider. Tongue out. That’s my good girl…”

He started to fuck your mouth, relentless. You don’t have much of a gag reflex, but when he used your mouth like this, choking on his cock was inevitable, as was drooling all over yourself. Mark was making a mess of you, and he loved every second of it.

Your breasts bounced as he rammed into you, and when he commanded you to look up at him, you saw how much he’s enjoying you in this compromised, worshipful position. Pulling back again, he caressed your face with his cock.

“You good?” He checked on you endearingly.

“Yes...”

Without another word, he renewed his assault on your mouth with vigor. When he made you try to say “Thank you, Sir” with your mouth full of his cock, it pushed him over the edge. His cum filled your mouth, but he pulled back at the last second and let some of it drip all over your lips, cheeks, and tits.

Running his fingers along your face, his look of satisfaction was the greatest gift. He collected his cum with his thumb and shoved it into your mouth, waiting for you to lick it clean.

“You did so good.”

He leaned down to kiss you on your lips and carried you to the bathroom. You tiredly nuzzled your face into his bare chest, earning an adorable chuckle from him.

“Let’s get yourself clean up then we can sleep.”

Mark pulled up to his covert apartment, time ticking away relentlessly. He had to be quick, as his window of opportunity would close at 10 am. He had a mere hour left.

Retrieving his phone, he settled in front of his computer setup. By now, FBI agents would surely be swarming Lee Corp. He had discreetly planted a femtocell on their floor that fateful day. What exactly was he up to?

Hacking the FBI.

It was the beginning of Stage 2, a daring move considering that Two/Eight alone couldn't completely bring down Lee Corp.

Mark had already scanned your badge number while you slept, enabling him to infiltrate their servers. He knew it. He knew he was manipulating you but after he completed his mission, he vowed to protect you from the fallout. Hopefully.

Sure, what he was doing might sound impossible but he’s here to tell everyone, he were capable of anything.

Step 1: identify the target and its flaw. There were always flaws, Mark learnt that early in life. His first hack, the local library. A vulnerable FTP server and its AS/400. A far cry from the android zero-days he’s using to own the FBI standard-issue smartphones. The library was a test to see if he could even get into the system. He had since set greater goals.

For instance, step 2: build malware and prepare an attack. At his fingertips, the zero-day was wrapped in code like a Christmas present and became an exploit. The programmatic expression of his will. He lived for this shit.

Step 3: a reverse shell, two-stage exploit. The ideal package. Load the malware into the femtocell delivery system, his personal cell tower that would intercept all mobile data. Similar to his first time, when he found yourself staring at late book fees, employee names, member addresses. Everything was revealed. The secret of the perfect hack? Make it infallible. Hidden within the kernel is a logic bomb, malicious code designed to execute under circumstances he had programmed. Should the FBI take an image of the femtocell, all memory would self-corrupt or explode.

Step 4: write the script. Why did it himself? Because that’s how he learn, and know exactly what, when and how it’s going to run. He didn’t do anything harmful his first time. Just looked around, but he felt so powerful. Eleven years old and in complete control of the Washington Township public library. Today was different, he hacked the world.

Final step: launch the attack. Once he did, he would own the android phone of every FBI agent in that building. He would own Lee Corp’s networks, applications, everything. domain admin. This. The thrill of owning a system, this was the greatest rush. God access. The feeling never got old.

The backdoor had a hard-coded C2 domain pointing to a listener on your machine which he had injected.

#ls

sent.

waiting for connect...

All he had to do left was hack the registrar and change the name server configs.

connect from k6f7241/192.251.68.242:36268apc_hw05_aos_640.bin

Once he hijacked the domain he could shut down their access to the paper data delivery before the FBI noticed.

rwwwshell-2.0.pl

#shred-f -n 3 *

sent.

Now. He had officially owned the FBI, keeping track on their investigation and Lee Corp’s database recovery. And no one could notice.

As you analyzed lines of code, your phone buzzed incessantly on your desk. Normally, you would ignore it during work, but the persistent vibrations began to grate on your nerves. This better be important, you thought, not in the mood to entertain another damn sales call peddling life insurance.

Unknown: 3 missed calls.

Unknown: 1 new message.

You swiped to open the message.

Unknown: Meet me at the staircase.

With a swipe, you opened the message, your brows knitting together in a slight scowl. Was this some kind of prank?

You: Who is this?

Unknown: Your daddy.

Startled, you instinctively glanced around the office floor, a sense of caution washing over you. Although you weren't doing anything illegal, the idea of being caught in the act made you uneasy. When you woke up that morning, Mark had already vanished, leaving no trace of his presence, not even a strand of his hair.

You: How do you get my number?

Oh shit. You had forgotten that you gave it to him at the shooting range. Placing your phone back on your desk, you absentmindedly scanned the sea of code on your monitor. Something felt off, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it. After a few seconds, your phone vibrated against the solid surface, but you ignored it for a full minute. Eventually, you allowed your computer to sleep and grabbed your personal device before stepping out through the wide glass door.

Unknown: I expect you to be here around 10:30.

Your eyes briefly flicked to the small digital clock at the top of the screen. It read 10:28.

Taking the elevator would take forever. Casting furtive glances over your shoulder to ensure your actions went unnoticed, you tread your way to the staircase. You didn’t know why Mark wanted to see you all of a sudden but judging by his tone through the texts, you supposed it’s about something significant.

As soon as you made a turn on the stairs, Mark glared up at your rushing figure as he’s leaning on the wall. Wordlessly, he walked away, tilting his head in gesture to tell you to follow him. He led you to the men restroom and locked the door afterward.

"What is this? We shouldn't be seen—"

"Together," he finished your sentence, his grip tightening on your wrists, pinning them above your head. "Can't you just relax for a moment? Why can't I see you?" he questioned.

"Because I'm at work," you quipped, attempting to reason with him.

He squinted at you, his face inching closer to yours. "What's with the nonchalance?"

With a forceful yank, you freed your hands from his grasp. He may be strong, but you were a fucking FBI agent—no simple handgrip could hold you down. Mark released you and placed his hands on his hips, waiting for an explanation for your demeanor.

“Listen, I don’t have time to play whatever stupid game you’re having on your mind. I suggest you should think about last night as a sweet accident, plain and simple.”

Okay, you knew you were being kind of rude but practically Mark was still a suspect. Rules had been broken, and it couldn't happen again—for both your sakes. You couldn't bear to prolong this situation, not until Lee Corp found a viable solution for their recovery and the mastermind behind Two/Eight was unmasked.

“What was that even supposed to mean?”

Mark questioned with a scoff, obviously angry with your coldness. How could you just brush everything off easily like that? Had you ever had any true feelings toward him? Or that’s it, an accident?

You sighed heavily. “I understand what you’re feeling.” Of course you did, your job was to read people. “But there’s nothing I can do about this until this hack is completely over.”

It amazed Mark how quick you could change into an entire different person after one night. One moment, you were on your knees, submitting to him, and the next, you were a relentless Federal Agent, spouting cyber-bombing jargon. He couldn't even fathom the extent of your transformation once you discovered everything.

“Fine.” He finally relented. “But I can still see you, right?”

“Only afterwork.” You decided.

The restroom fell into a depressing silence. You’re confused. Mark hadn’t backed off, you couldn’t get out here if he didn’t fucking move.

“Is there anything else? I can’t be away for too long.”

He stared at you in silence, his gaze piercing through your very being. Anxious, you clenched your hands, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. It was as if he could read your mind. His eyes briefly glanced at your hand by your side before returning to your face.

"Be honest. What do you feel about me?" he inquired, catching you off guard.

Your lips parted slightly at his unexpected question. You’re at loss of words and it had to be right at this moment. What should you say? Should it be a lie or a truth or something vague?

Drawing in a deep breath, you were enveloped by Mark's scent. It was musky, the unmistakable aroma of cashmeran, a potent blend of woody-ambery notes. There was also a hint of camphor, a sharp and cooling scent reminiscent of camphor laurel. And beneath it all, a faint trace of Jean Patou Joy, a luxuriously rich perfume laden with rose and jasmine, likely belonging to his client.

That was the best you could discern. It was a stark contrast from the first time you had caught a whiff of him. This time, there was no comforting fabric softener, and the absence of cigarette smoke indicated that he refrained from smoking at work, a scent difficult to erase.

You raised your gaze, meeting Mark's impatient stare once again, his raised eyebrow demanding an answer. Damn, how much time had you wasted? Sometimes, you wished you could silence your overactive brain. Why were you even examining his fabric softener?

"Uh, I think..." you muttered hesitantly, "I'm attracted to you."

"That's it?" Mark pressed, his voice filled with expectation.

You shrugged, uncertain about your response. "Perhaps I do like you. That's the best I can manage, at least for now."

He locked eyes with you for a brief moment, searching for something, before stepping back. "I'll call you later," he stated, opening the door for you as he spoke.

"You should expect a call too. We'll arrange another interview, but only after we're done with the others," you informed him, your mind already racing ahead.

Mark nodded easily, his gaze lingering on you as you walked away, your footsteps accompanied by the subtle adjustment of your blazer. It was a pity that by the time you could arrange an interview with him, he would have already completed Stage 2, and any trace of Two/Eight would be completely erased.

Rather than heading straight back to the 23rd floor, you took advantage of the situation, engaging in casual conversations with some employees along the way. You asked them questions about the corporation, gaining insights into its functioning. What perplexed you was that the CTO never personally assigned tasks; it was always her assistant who verbally conveyed the instructions. Little did they know, the person they believed to be her assistant was, in fact, her bodyguard.

Your certainty grew that Hazel Doubleday was nothing more than a figurehead. But why Mark Lee? It made no sense how he could handle the actual responsibilities of a CTO, even if he was being paid for it. Mentally noting the puzzling information you had gathered, you strolled back to the Bureau office.

Unexpectedly, you met Mark on the 23th floor. He was engrossed in something on the computer with another agent. A frown etched across your face as you discreetly positioned yourself behind a corner, ensuring that you remained unnoticed. Only after Mark disappeared through another door did you enter the office.

"What was that? You do realize this floor is off-limits to non-Bureau personnel, right?" you questioned assertively, standing beside the fellow agent.

She widened her eyes in bewilderment, stumbling through her explanation. "Oh, it's a kernel security check failure. I don't know how to fix it. He just happened to come by and saw me struggling, so he offered to help."

Placing your hands on your hips, you glared at her. "How is it possible that you don't know how to fix such a simple error?"

The girl averted her gaze, feeling the weight of your accusation. You had to be strict. After all, the entire building was under investigation, and there was no room for mistakes. Moreover, it bothered you on a personal level. You were striving to maintain professionalism, while your coworker seemed to be shamelessly flirting with Mark, practically eye-fucking him right then and there. While you were dedicated to your job, she was busy cozying up to a potential suspect.

"Jeong!" you snapped your fingers when your boss emerged from a conference room. He had insisted on working in there, claiming he needed a private and quiet space.

His eyes immediately landed on you, and he quickened his pace, inspecting both you and the nervous agent. "What's going on?"

"How did you train your employees?" you glared back at him.

Confusion clouded his brows. "My job is to monitor them, not-"

“Give her a code test, doesn’t have to be too hard. I suggest building a malware.”

"What's happening?" he repeated, utterly perplexed by the unfolding situation.

"She let a non-Bureau personnel inside and allowed them to use the computer. Her excuse was that she didn't know how to fix a kernel failure."

You explained assertively. Technically, as the Executive Assistant, you had the authority to remove her from the case entirely, but that would be overly dramatic.

"And who is that?" Jaehyun asked.

"Mark Lee."

A momentary silence fell over him before he called someone else to escort the agent to a private room. "If her results are satisfactory, you can send her back here," you added.

Afterward, you turned your gaze back to your boss, deliberately staring at him as you blurted out, "You know about this, don't you?" He nodded, causing a sigh to escape your lips. "Care to explain?"

"I requested to meet him. There's something to discuss with Doubleday, but she hasn't arrived yet."

“All right,” you muttered easily, “you should get going.”

Jaehyun looked at you questioningly but he stalked off anyway. Once he exited through the main entrance, you took a seat at the computer. The desktop still displayed lines of code. You scrolled and typed on the keyboard. It appeared to be a security code, albeit in a slightly different form. Yet, they all served the same purpose. Your brow furrowed as you meticulously analyzed it once more. It seemed perfectly normal, yet something felt off. How could Mark even know about coding?

You hated how you’re all riled up because Mark didn’t make a mere contact with you since that day at Lee Corp. You ran your fingers through your hair annoyingly, feeling upset with yourself. What’s wrong with you? You’re the one that demanded this. And when he’s giving exactly what you wanted, why was it ridiculously irritating you?

This was good. This was right. But it didn’t feel right, neither good. It actually felt a little off. Like you’re missing something important. You didn’t even know whether it’s about the cyber bombing or about Mark. Or both of them.

The sound of your phone rang out of the blue drew your attention. Staring at the device for a moment, you picked up the call. “Agent Y/L/N.”

You pulled up at the mansion at nearly midnight. There were some police cars surrounding the house, the peaceful neighborhood must be stirring up by now. You took your time to make an observation around the residential area before stamping inside.

“It’s a bullet on his back.” An officer immediately informed you as he walking on your side.

“You didn’t call me to investigate his death cause, did you?”

“Nah.”

“Then why exactly I’m here?”

You stopped at the sliding glass door. There were a lot of officers walking around, collecting evidence. You eyes deliberately inspected the body laying on the ground, blood gushing out from his back, soaking his shirt with the scarlet red.

“I think you may need his hard drive. It could be helpful, he’s the CEO anyway.”

You glanced back at the officer. “Where is his office?”

“Upstair, the last room on the left hall.”

You mumbled a quick “thank you” and jogged toward the luxurious staircase. This mansion had an absolute outstanding design but you didn’t have spare time to scrutinize it. You put on your gloves before stepping inside the spacious room. It was decorated in classic French style. There were bookshelves everywhere, towering over you. Intently, you inspected the furniture, the electronics and documents inside the cabinets. Everything looked right, for a businessman’s life. However no one is perfect. There must be something else. Something that was hidden.

You walked around the room. You drew the curtains. You looked under the cabinets. You knocked the walls. There was still absolute nothing. Pursing your lips, you mentally analyzed everything again.

Phillip Doubleday was a CEO of the largest technology company of the country. He had abundant responsibilities. His only daughter was a superficial airhead with no valid capacity. And it burdened him more, certainly, so he had someone else do the job for her. He had ADHD, judging by the methylphenidate inside his drawer. Your brows pulled slightly as you discovered something else. He’s also an addict, there was fucking oxycodone. However it’s weird. It’s estimated that more than 25 percent of adolescents with substance use problems fit the diagnostic criteria for ADHD. He used methylphenidate— a medicine licensed for the treatment of ADHD but why also used oxycodone? Because he’s an addict before he’s diagnosed with ADHD which also meant he no longer used drugs.

You fished out your phone and searched for the familiar contact. “875, Archer Crescent St. Be quick.”

Hanging up the call, you then picked up the small oxycodone bottle and as expected, there was a memory card inside.

“Y/N?”

You almost flinched. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart drummed fast against your ribs. Casually, you shoved both of your hands inside the overcoat pockets to hide the drug bottle.

“I thought the police has isolated you from the scene.”

You turned around to look at Mark, who was also staring at you, and shirtless. It’s embarrassing how you found yourself shamelessly checking his well-built torso. But why the hell was he even shirtless?

A frown displayed on his face. “Uhm not really. We’re in the first room of the corridor. I saw you and you didn’t come back out. What are you doing?”

“Well, we’re collecting his hard drive. Probably be helpful.” You said nonchalantly as you slowly walked outside. “And why are you here?”

He moved from the doorway to allow you space and then walked beside you. “Hazel, she doesn’t want to talk to the police. I don’t know what to do, maybe you could help. I guess.”

“Since when you call her by her first name?” You glowered.

“I always do.”

You rolled your eyes in annoyance at his casualty. You didn’t know why and what made you so mad. It felt like a motherfucker just stole your Christmas present. Unfocused on your way, you suddenly bumped into something. A 5’9 wall.

“What the fuck?” You exclaimed. Exasperation colored your voice as Mark blocked your sight.

“You’re jealous? Aren’t you?”

You gaped in surprise but swiftly masked your facial expression with indifference again. Unfortunately, it was notable enough that Mark had already noted it.

“The only thing that makes me jealous right now was that people are peacefully sleeping on their cozy bed but I’m fucking here-“ You walked passed him into the bedroom opposite the staircase “-dealing with a miserable sobbing woman.”

He scoffed at your rudeness. “No doubt. You’re jealous.”

You ignored him and stepped further inside. Hazel Doubleday was all crying hysterically with a bathrobe wrapped around her petite figure. You darted your eyes at Mark again. Now you could partly guess what they were doing. No, you fucking knew exactly what they were doing.

With a heavy sigh, you sat down on the chair opposite her bed. Mark subsequently mimicked your movement but he sat on the mattress, next to the girl. She nuzzled her face in his bare chest and continued squealing. You were irritated badly but still, sharing some empathy with the poor woman. She just lost her dad. She’s completely on her own now.

“Ms Doubleday.” Your voice came out quietly. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” She murmured yet all you heard was utter gibberish since her voice was muffled.

During your time doing these jobs, you had dealt with countless alike situations. Whether it’s the victims’s families or the agents that sacrificed while doing their mission, you were always being there. And tragically, it numbed you. Of course, you’re a decent human being but you’re a Federal Agent, not a therapist. You’re trained for this, keeping your composure in any certain circumstances.

“Listen.” You spoke again in a tender tone and after a moment, she finally stopped crying. Mark patted her head in a reassurance. “I know it’s a huge loss and I understand what you’re feeling right now. But I need you to tell me what happened. Like what were you doing at that time?”

She separated her head from Mark’s arms, her eyes were red and swollen. “We were- we...” She stammered, nervously looking at you and then at him.

“You were in the middle of a sexual intercourse. I gathered that.” You impatiently finished her sentence.

Her eyes widened shockingly, bewildered by your coolness. “Yeah... and dad was sitting in the patio reading books as usual. But all of a sudden, when I was about to go to bed, I heard a gunshot. And that’s it.” She cried again.

You nodded in acknowledgment. “And where was he?” You asked, implying Mark.

“He was taking a shower.”

You stood up and walked to the bathroom. The floor was wet. You even could smell the fragrance of his body wash. You knew she wasn’t lying since she’s a bad liar. Nonetheless, you still wanted to check again, just to make sure.

“Agent Y/L/N.”

You turned your head back as the girl called you. “Yes?”

“I think my dad is-“

“Is what?”

“Is-“ she stuttered, “is murdered.”

Her baseless conjecture made you scowl. “Miss, how did you come up with that accusation?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s his rivals, a lot people hate him. I- I don’t know, I just guess so...” Her voice trailed off and you took your time to penetrate her words.

He did not look like he’s murdered. The bullet was not aimed to kill, it was on his back, lower about inches from his right shoulder. He died from blood loss, it was fact. Anyhow, you still weren’t able to be certain whether that bullet was purposely shot or not at this current point. They had to examine his body first.

“What makes you even think about that? Is he involved in any illegal activities? Did he do something wrong?”

It’s rare for people who only did legal business to kill each other only from envy. It’s not a good enough motivation for a standard homicide. If it was, it had to be pure hatred. But why hated someone to the point that you wanted to shoot them?

As Hazel remained silence, probably realized that she had said something she shouldn’t, your eyes flitted on Mark. His eyes were glinting with something virtually undetectable, like a candle fire flaming in the darkness. Most people probably wouldn’t have picked up on that, but it’s your job to read people, notice the tiniest of changes in their demeanor. It briefly disappeared after seconds before he decisively stood up and walked out of the room.

“If you feel unsafe, I’ll leave some officers here tonight.” You mustered before following Mark outside.

The FBI agents had already here to collect the hard drive. You greeted them with a nod and jogged down the stairs to find Mark. Turned out he’s leaning against your car, already put on a plain t-shirt. There’s a cigarette between his lips.

“Shouldn’t you be with her now? Poor girl is probably traumatized.”

“Nope.” He blew the smoke out. “I’m not paid to listen to her cry.”

You watched the thin smoke vanished into the air. He’s gazing at the night sky, he seemed to have a lot on his mind. Peaceful outside, chaotic inside.

“Then are you paid to fuck her?”

A low chuckle escaped his lips. He threw the cigarette on the ground and stepped on it. “Technically I can say it’s a yes. But for the record, I don’t give a shit about money.”

And he did actually look like he didn’t care about wealth.

“I don’t do hookups, neither relationship. You’re the only one I’m serious with.” He continued, seeming to know what’s on your mind.

Unreasonably, you felt a weight lifted off your chest and a warm feeling pooled inside. Honestly, you didn’t expect this. It’s clear that you were interested in Mark too. You would be more than delighted to take things further with him, nonetheless, there’s still a thing between you and him. You could not do that until this case was over.

A curl tugged at the corner of your lips at his genuine remark. “You should get inside. It’s late.”

He shook his head slightly. “No. I want to be with you tonight.”

“You can’t. Go inside.”

“Yes I can.”

You ignored him and his stubbornness. He just really splashed cold water on the flame flickering inside you. Fishing your keys out, you walked pass him to get into your car. But he’s quicker to catch your wrist and snatched your key. As you’re still lost in confusion, he opened the passenger door and pushed you inside before getting into the driver seat.

“What the fuck? You can’t do-“

You’re halfway cut off by a rough kiss on your lips. Mark wrapped his hand around your throat to pull you closer to him. The bitter taste of cigarette coated your tongue addictively. You stared at him with wide eyes. His mouth was still passionately sucking on your lip.

“I can do this, I can’t do that. Can you just shut up because I’ll fucking do whatever I want to.” He murmured against your swollen lips, hot breath fanning your skin.

“But-“

“No but.” He scolded. “Just fucking forget about how a cryptoviral extortion caused Two/Eight or how terrorists are usually cowards. Enjoy your night.”

You were befuddled by his sudden behavior. Though, you gulped and fastened your seatbelt as Mark started the car. His hand occasionally squeezed your thigh while he’s driving. It slowly climbed up until he merely near your core. He kept his hand there, hot and threatening. The best you could do were remaining quiet.

It’s beyond your comprehension how one minute you were witnessing a dead body, the next minute you’re sucking Mark’s face.

When his hand left the doorknob, he traced it up your arm and over the slope of your shoulder. You didn't stop him. You just closed your eyes and shuddered. His hands gripped your waist and he pulled your hips into his. You let your body relax against his, one of his legs settled between your thighs.

You breathed in and when you exhaled it was almost a moan. You had to stop your hips from instinctively working against his leg. It had been a while since you’d had anything besides her hands and depraved thoughts about him. That was fucking embarrassing.

You gently pushed his shirt up over his head and ran your hands over his chest.

"You should tell me to stop." You mumbled under your breath.

Mark laughed this time. As though you were the one out of control. He would kill for that to be the case.

"Sure," he lied before he kissed you again.

If kissing you before had been life-altering, then kissing you now was earth-shattering. Mark kissed the way he talked - wide and loose.

His calloused hands cupped the delicate skin along your jawbone. He guided one of them between your legs and, at his touch, the floor slanted beneath you. The kiss grew messy, all lips and teeth. Warmth spread down your limbs and pooled between your legs where he cupped you, his fingers and palm working against the fabric of your pants.

You took off your coat and your blouse by yourself, tossing them somewhere on the couch. Mark paused for only a second before starting to work at your bra strap. He left a trail of hot wet kisses down your shoulder as the straps fell. You raised your arms so he could pull your top off completely.

You kissed him again, your bare chests pressed together. Your nipples hardened as they brushed against his skin. You broke the kiss to take a step back. Mark made a noise in protest and reached for you again.

"Come here."

He smiled, pulling you with him toward your desk, sitting easily onto the desk. He wanted you to straddle him but there were papers everywhere. "Why is your desk so messy?"

He stared at it, doing sex Tetris in his mind to try and triangulate a position that wouldn't knock everything over.

"Because I work." You whispered back. Towers of papers slid off the desk. Cups of paperclips and pens spilled onto the carpet.

The body-positive mantras you shouted at yourself every morning in the mirror were helpful, but their efficacy paled in comparison to his hands grabbing your ass and thighs with such sheer appreciation.

With your knees finally having something to work with, you used the edge of the desk and his shoulders to grind against him desperately. The friction between fabric and crotches and the shape of his cock underneath you lit you on fire. You were about to come just from dry humping him, something you hadn't done since high school. You had forgotten this was even an option.

Mark fondled your breasts and squeezed your nipples. As soon as he pinched, you cried out.

“Do you like that?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes more...” You implored.

He let go of the sensitive nubs and chastised you, just a little.

“I’m going to need you to ask nicely.”

You whimpered again and looked up at him with eyes full of longing. “Please… please, daddy?” You begged.

“Hmm… I don’t know,” he teased, “We’ll see how good you can be.”

Biting back your whimper this time, you did your best to look contrite.

“Pick up those papers off the floor.” He ordered. Obediently, you did as you were told. You stacked up all the papers and then held the pile out to him.

“On that shelf, please.” He said, and immediately wondered if politeness was a buzzkill for you.

If it was, you showed no sign of it. You simply followed his instructions and then presented yourself to him, your exposed nipples still standing at attention. He took you by the waist and pulled you back to him.

“Such a good girl.” He whispered and you let him guide you to the other side of the desk, where there was a bit more room.

“Bend over.” He commanded you.

Slowly, deliberately, he pulled your pants and your underwear down and helped you step out of the clothing. For a few brief moments, he simply savored the sight of you. Your naked body, bent over the stupid desk, waiting for him to touch you, to taste you.

Running his hand up the inside of your right thigh, he prompted you to open your legs for him. He slipped his fingers between your legs and groaned out loud at the dripping wetness he found there.

“What a slut,” you could hear the smirk in his voice, “you are so fucking wet.”

Teasing your clit, Mark worked his way around your eager pussy. Leaning forward, he spoke softly in your ear with a crucial reminder.

“Now, remember. You can’t be too loud, or I’ll have to stop. Are you going to be a good, quiet girl for me?” He taunted you. It clearly wouldn’t be easy. You were already squirming and clamping your mouth shut.

“Y-yes… yes, daddy…”

You kept pressing yourself against his hand, until he practically had no other choice but to thrust his fingers inside you. You gulped back a moan that threatened to be much too loud, and you stilled your movements until you quieted down. Then he found your sweet spot.

You cried out, unbridled. He couldn’t help but thrust a few more times, but eventually he took his hand away from you. A threat is no good without follow through.

“No, please… please don’t stop…” You begged. The sound of it sent a thrill from top to toes. He was feeling pretty fucking heady from the way you responded to him. The ache in your voice, the pleading in your eyes.

He walked around to the front of the desk, but you didn’t move. You stayed bent over, legs spread apart, and kept begging.

“Clearly that isn’t true.” He shook his head and sighed, doing hid best to convey disappointment in your lack of self-control. “Open your mouth.” He instructed.

You obeyed, and he gently stuffed your panties, which he was keeping inside his pocket, until it filled your mouth. You looked up at him, eyes wide, and nodded when he chastised you again.

“There, we’ll see if this helps stifle all that naughty moaning of yours.”

Returning to his position behind your bare ass, he landed one sharp smack that made you cry out in muffled surprise.

“If you’re going to get the orgasm you crave, you need to be punished for your disobedience another way.” He spanked you again. Twice. “Don’t you agree?”

You whimpered a little through your gag, and then nodded your consent.

He told you as much, and then resumed his exploration of all the delights between your legs again. You had been wet before, but after all those spankings, you were an absolute mess.

“Oh, fuck… look at you.” He teased in amusement. “Apparently my dirty girl really, really enjoys her punishment. Is that right?”

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then nodded.

“Yeah? You liked being spanked, didn’t you, my filthy, dirty girl…”

As he talked, he slid his fingers back inside you, taking a little time to get back to where he knew you wanted him to go. Your hips wriggled, your soaking wet pussy rubbing against his hand, the volume of your moans suppressed by the makeshift gag filling your mouth.

He finally landed on your spot again, and your cries grew louder, but not loud enough to conquer the gag.

“That’s much better,” he praised you. “Making me gag you so I could fuck you properly was a very good idea.”

While he stroked your walls, he reached around and started to torment one of your perky nipples. And he did his job, working you into a frenzy by caressing your g-spot and fondling your nipple until you bucked and writhed under his touch.

“Tell me,” he directed you. “Tell me when you cum.”

Mark pulled the cloth out of your mouth and you cried out instantly.

“Oh god- I’m cumming...”

Unrestrained, you was yelling so loud anyone on that floor probably heard you. As the waves of your orgasm subsided, he kept my hand in place while he pulled her back and cradled you against him, smiling.

“Now everyone next door definitely knows what a dirty slut you are.” He proceeded to stick his fingers in your eager, willing mouth, one by one. You luxuriated in licking and sucking each finger, slowly, letting him play with your lips and sticking out your tongue for me when he told you to.

Withdrawing his fingers from your mouth, he pinned you on the desk and squatted behind you. You felt hot breath against your exposed slit, couldn't help but mewling and wriggling where you bent. Then you felt his warm, wet muscle take a tentative taste. And another. Then a much longer exploratory lick, causing you to keen softly as your heart raced. Unable to resist, he buried his head in between your thighs, greedily lapping away. And you loved every second of it.

A gasp escaped your lips once you felt Mark swirl his tongue around your clit. Arching your back in response to the wonderful stimulation, you began to grind against his face, forcing him to hold you still with his large, powerful hands.

It was impossible to tell how long he had been at this. Could have been minutes? Perhaps an hour? It didn't matter, only that he had been sloppily devouring you, his silky mane spilling over your legs as he did. He intended to enjoy himself, using his warm, wet muscle to explore your velvety inner walls and tease your clit. Then just as you were about to reach your peak... it ceased.

You whined, desperately trying to listen to what Mark was doing. You could feel his figure shift; come to think of it, he was probably standing up. For a brief moment, you felt his warm fingers against your bottom lip; he was telling you to quiet down.

Obediently, you did as ordered, although it did nothing to ease the needy, growing ache in your now empty cunt. You saw him sit down on the desk before his hands grabbed your waist and let you straddle his lap. He had taken off his pants as now you’re staring at his hard cock. You lifted yourself up a little for him to slide inside your walls.

"Holy shit," you groaned.

You laced your fingers behind his neck for leverage as you sat down down him, inch by inch.

You gasped when you’d taken him to the hilt. "God, you feel good." You said breathily with his hands gripped at your hips.

Mark grabbed your cheeks with one of his hands and your lips puckered in a fish face.

"How good?"

You felt his cock twitch inside you and you clamped down with your kegels. "Really fucking good."

You moved against each other slowly at first while his thumb traced over your clit. Your grip on his neck tightened as you clenched around his cock. You panted, open-mouthed and silent. Mark pressed his face into your neck, his teeth against your pulsing jugular.

It turned into fucking, his thrusts wide more than a little desperate. He held your waist firmly in place and rammed into you now. This wasn't something he was letting happen to him. He was doing this with you.

He pushed off the desk and held you up by your ass. His shoulders flexed and this brought some kind of sound out of you. You held onto him midair. Mark put you down on the desk again and, as you lay flat, you could feel him go deeper inside you with the new angle. Your fingertips grazed his sternum.

Without warning, Mark gave one solid thrust. Your knees came up to your shoulders and your grabbed them, pulling your legs apart, wide and open. You heard a devilish laugh from him, obviously amused by your greediness. “Is this what you want? Hmm fucking slut.”

You wanted to rip yourself in half at the seam so he could fuck you all the way to your center. You stared over the slope of your body, between your breasts and over your stomach. You wanted to frame this image. Mark gripping your hips, hair falling in his handsome face while his entire body worked toward where your hips met. Every other function eschewed for this.

Then there it was, that moment you realized your orgasm was coming. You sat up and pulled yourself up toward him. One, two, three times he crushed into you, mouth open and teeth bared as he came. Your chest rose to meet his thrusts each time, your body taking in everything it could give you. He reached between your legs and barely had to touch your clit before you came so hard you astral projected.

It took several breaths before your soul returned to your body. When it did, there was only enough of you to notice small things.

The feeling of his leg muscles on the inside of your thighs.

The smell of his hair.

Your bodies slick with sweat.

Mark kissed you again and there was that feeling of being branded, pieces deep inside you unfurling.

After cleaning both of you with a shower, he let you sleep on your bed. Yet, he’s fully awake. His eyes intently stared at you in your peaceful sleep. He could be like this forever, having you in his arms. Only if he could.

He shifted slightly on the mattress. After making sure that you’re deeply asleep, he got up and looked his clothes in the darkness. Subsequently, he wandered around your apartment, trying to be noiseless. There it was, your coat.

Collecting it from the ground, Mark dived his hand inside the pocket. As soon as he found the thing, the lights suddenly lit up the room.

“So this is what you’re after.”

You knew he’s planning on something else. Something that was going to make Lee Corp collapse entirely. An overkill after Two/Eight.

And the fastest way to track it was through an account inside Lee Corp domain.

You waltzed around the building in hurry. You couldn’t break down a department door with a FBI badge and request to check their computers. It would cause a media panic. People in the building glanced at you while you’re running. What were you doing? You’re still attracting attention. It wasn’t going to work.

You would have to get someone off their work station. Here. She’s the perfect candidate. The old lady, around sixty, sitting at the cubicle in the corner.

“Hi, Edie. I’m Cheryl from I.T.” You approached her with a friendly smile.

She glared up at you. “Hello.”

“We’ve detected you using some unauthorized remote access software to connect to your computer work station from home.” You improvised.

“Oh my. That can’t be true.”

“Don’t worry, I’m just gonna take a look at your machine and perform an assessment to make sure you don’t have an unauthorized desktop sharing device installed.”

“Well, I’m gonna have to contest that. I’ve hardened my install further than the standard configuration including a restrictive host base firewall rule set and white listing to block unauthorized apps from running.”

You might’ve chosen the wrong candidate.

“I think I know your culprit though.” She quickly added. “Fred over there, using GoToMyPC all the time. Let me introduce you.”

She led you to the other row of cubicles and you followed wordlessly.

“Fred.” The woman knocked on his desk to grab his attention from the music blaring loudly inside his earphones. “This nice lady is checking your machine.”

“Not again.” He groaned frustratingly.

Nonetheless, he moved from his chair and strolled away. You managed a friendly smile before sitting down and logged in his computer. You could easily guess his password based on the calendar on his table. It’s his child birthday.

So this was what Mark was doing. He wanted to sign his own firmware and bypass your patch. If he did that, he would blow up the downtown recovery building. Your only chance to stop it was to get to the hardware security modules, the HSMs. They’re on the 21th floor.

Grounding your heels, you pushed the swivel chair and got up. You were in a rush yet life still wanted to test you. The elevators were full, it would take decades waiting. With the fastest speed you could possibly reach, it took you roughly three minutes to run from the 21th floor from the 10th floor.

Your heart was drumming so loudly that you could hear every beat in your ears. And after all of that efforts, the office was locked. You wiped the sweats on your forehead with the back of your hand.

“Federal agent.” You showed your badge to the security standing beside the entrance. “What’s going on?”

“An electric accident occurred yesterday. This floor is in a need of maintenance so,” he shrugged, “temporarily unavailable.”

It really had to be now.

“Alright thanks.” You said before reluctantly stalking off.

Fuck. What are you going to do? You massaged your skull in exasperation. There had to be a way.

Mark laid his head on the desk. You had isolated him in this interview room since this early morning. He had no clue what time it was now and it felt like he had been sitting here forever.

“Get up.”

Your voice echoed into the walls as soon as you opened the door. Despite how much you wanted to put on a cold face and remained nonchalant, seeing Mark in a state like this made your heart twist in pain.

He straightened his back and silently stared at you. You didn’t expect him to talk either, only tread forward to unlock his handcuff. He didn’t understand. What are you doing?

“Come on, I have something to show you.” You stepped back and commanded him to stand up. He was definitely confused but he did as told anyway. “Careful.” Your voice was frantic. He almost collapsed back on the chair, probably from the tingle of his legs, you meant, he hadn’t moved a muscle for approximately four hours.

Of course you were upset by what he did yet it’s undeniable that you did feel the honesty in every word he had ever said to you. Nobody could accuse you of being stupid for this. You had worked with sadistic terrorists, professional hitmen, natural born killers, or pure psychopaths. Mark could not fool you.

With a quiet sigh, you led him out of the room and strolled down the corridor. You made a turn at the corner that gave onto your field office CCRSB department, where some of your colleagues were chatting.

“You think she’s a wack job because she claims she can feel her sister’s anxiety?”

“I never said wack job.”

More accurate, they were debating.

“Actually there maybe a physiological basis for it.” You interrupted them abruptly. “Reversed asymmetry monozygotic eggs split late. Between nine to twelve days. The DNA matches right down to the very last stranded code. And there’s sporadic documentation of shared physiological pain.”

You knew what case they were talking about. The kidnap two days ago. And the victim had a mirror twin.

“And you believe it?” Jason— the 6’2 male agent replied.

You shrugged one shoulder. “Oh I’m just saying it’s possible. I don’t know everything. I mean despite the fact that you think I do.”

“I’ve never said that.”

“Everyday since I met you.”

“This morning at breakfast.” Lillian, who was arguing with him a minute ago, added.

“Yesterday when she beat you at cards.” Now it’s Henry— the rising-star, genius boy. Despite the fact that he had failed the pistol qualification for the third times and wasn’t armed, he’s a formidable nominee for your position when you were not here.

“Anybody ever heard of sarcasm?” Jason muttered in a snarky tone.

The conversation had drawn enough attention that now everyone that happened to be in the office glared at Mark with variety of emotions. Some even put on a shocking face when he realized who he was— you’re talking about his past career. The youngest MCPO in the Navy history. Only a certain amount of them recognized him in a total different way, the ones that were allowed to stepped inside the conference room. You didn’t look but you knew for sure that he was staring back at them, reading their entire life behind those faces. He’s not as good as you but he’s pretty observant to read people at the first sight. You had learned that because you read him too. And so did he.

All of a sudden, the news from the TV hanging on the wall in the center of the office blared out. Countless eyes swiftly left you and Mark to glaze over the wide screen.

“The data dump from Two/Eight was easily the largest and most damning doxxing case in history. While only a small percentage of the documents in the breach has been substantiated at this time, those that have are proving to be accurate. With regard to their source, the intelligence community is cautioning the overall veracity of the data dump and rush to judgment, citing fears or falsified documents-“

“When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” Henry quoted and leaned on of his hip on the copy machine next to him.

“Sherlock Holmes was a fictional character.” You mused and turned your head to look at Mark. “Whoever did this isn’t.”

Before someone could request you to clarify what you just said, you already disappeared behind the the door that led to the confidential conference room, leaving your colleagues in daze as you always did.

You gestured Mark to sit down at the desk in the middle of the room. He hadn’t spoken a word to you since he saw you. Silent treatment. Straight-up sedative. Anyhow, the schematic representation in front of him made him exclaim quietly in his head. It was the most insane thing he had ever seen. Even the white board beside was full of handwriting that he assumed to be yours. No wonder you’re always in such an unapproachable state. With this amount of work, who doesn’t?

Photos of people with a summary of their information below, each of them was connected together with lines that he was unable to count exactly how many. Some of the faces were crossed by red marker. There were many theories for that case, perhaps their alibis were valid, perhaps they’re innocent, or perhaps they’re dead. For instance, Phillip Doubleday. Despite all of that matters, he could see clearly that in the middle of the complicated diagram, it’s him.

You gave him a moment to scrutinize before speaking up. “Do you know how many people were there?” You didn’t surprised when he kept his silence. It was rhetorical question nonetheless.

“This is the hardest case so far and probably will be the hardest ever. We’re having 6,392 agents working on it. However, there are precisely 34 agents out there. No one saw you in handcuff and only three of them out there know your face and witnessed that you’re here in this room. With me.”

Mark knew what you were practically implying.

“Disable Stage 2 and you’re free. I promise.”

“When did you find out?”

Both of you were smart enough to understand each other even if everything you uttered out loud was vague. He was not talking about Stage 2.

“20% when I first interviewed you. 99% when you appeared on the 23th floor that day. The kernel security check failure, it was a trap to lure me in. You caused the error and the code that you entered on the machine was to eliminate my honeypot.” If he hadn’t scanned your badge number that day, he wouldn’t have noticed it. And he wouldn’t have stood a chance to start Stage 2. You were crafty enough to cover it perfectly. “And the last percentage of faith I had in you vanished completely not after I caught you red handed. It’s when you accidentally exposed yourself.”

You paused and Mark rubbed his knee with his thumb, waiting for you to continue.

“Cryptoviral extortion,” you spitted out eventually, “when we were on the car you said cryptoviral extortion is the cause of Two/Eight. Nobody ever knew that. The biggest clue we’ve got so far is that it’s a ransomware yet we don’t know what exact technique it is. You admitted it.”

He exhaled. You were right. It was accidental and he only remembered it when you reminded him. But,

“That’s not bad but a little too late. Don’t you think?” He decided to talk finally, in a teasing tone. “I’ve been trying to give you a hint since the beginning.”

You frowned slightly in confusion. Hint? What did he ever give you that was relevant to the hack? Your brain made a flashback in your head, replaying every scene since you came back to the US. And there it was, the missing detail. It’s the note.

“Twisted fate.” Mark muttered.

You let out a heavy breath and leaned your back on the shelf behind you. “You’re going to blow the downtown building up. Mark, this is cruel.”

He bit out a half-hearted smile. There’s a fog of something coated his eyes, it looked like a mixture of pain and determination.

“This world is always cruel. You can’t stop me.”

Yes, you can. There must be a way and you had to figure it out.

You tucked your hand in your blazer pocket to fish out something. “I found this in your wallet.” You showed it in front of him. It’s the resident card of his private condo.

And you didn’t have time for this.

“All right, we’ll see what I can find there.” You mustered coolly and walked toward the door. “I’m not putting you in handcuff again.“

He wasn’t going to run, you knew it. Even if he was, it’s impossible to escape this room let alone this building. Yet little did you know, only after half an hour since you’d gone, the door was opened again.

“She knows about Stage 2.”

You looked around the place as you stepped inside. It was definitely not well-organized but not really messy too. This was a small apartment with no room at all except of the bathroom. A bed here, sofa there, kitchen, TV, bookshelf, and his computer setup. Cozy but lonely.

If there was anything here, it must be on his machine. You sat down on his swivel chair. His desk faced the window that showed the view of the street. A photo frame caught your eyes. It was an old picture of his family, when Mark was a child. His parents looked familiar, like you must have seen them somewhere. But no matter how hard you tried to remember, you’re clueless.

You were running a password cracker on his computer, this was the fastest way. Took you 2 minutes to get in and it would probably be an hour if you attempted to do it yourself. You made a thorough search on it. Nothing looked suspicious. Everyone had a bug. The question was: What is his? You wished you could see yourself through his eyes. Didn’t he wish he could see himself through yours? As you stepped through your code, line by line, debugging it to find the cause of your runtime error. And finally, there it was. An encrypted folder.

You cracked it again. Taking a little more time yet succeeded after all. Your eyes widened as you clicked in a random file. It was an article of the explosion of a hotel 8 years ago. There were roughly 100 victims and 28 people found dead. What’s actually insane here was that you’re the detective inspector of that case.

“Inspector Y/L/N believed that the massive overkill explosion is not a pure accident. However, there’s no evidence to prove that statement to be true...”

Until now, you were still unable to prove it true.

Why the hell did Mark archived all these files? They were all about the explosion. You respectively clicked in every file. Ultimately, you had apprehened what this was all about. Your eyes flitted on the photo frame and back again on the desktop.

“Lee Corp’s CEO and his wife passed away from the hotel explosion in Washington D.C.”

You tediously relaxed on the chair, swiveling it around. No wonder why you found them familiar. Your fingers idly tapped on the desk, your gaze pinned on the computer screen. You did not expect this. When you detected the scene of the hotel that day, the polices said that the cause was the gas leak, which was then proven to be true. Nevertheless, you still had a gut that the explosion was a crime. An organized crime to be exact. That was a five star affluent hotel, gas leak sounded like a superficial excuse.

Mark’s dad was the former CEO of Lee Corp. Actually, he created Lee Corp with his bare hands. You just acknowledged that a minute ago in an article. You had doubted it, only if you spent time to investigate more. Why the fuck that you never reckoned of the empire’s history? You were too focused on the hack to look at the bigger picture. But still, it’s confusing why Two/Eight targeted Lee Corp if it’s his dad’s accomplishment.

You had dug six feet deep in his machine and there’s absolutely no trace of Two/Eight or Stage 2. And it’s obvious that he worked on it here. This was the only place that safe enough for him to commit a massive cybercrime like this. He must have wiped everything. Why not this encrypted file either?

You mulled over everything carefully as question to question came up on your mind. This was Mark’s private apartment. You found his resident card in his wallet. You could use a password cracker on his computer. If he established Two/Eight on his own, there’s no doubt he’s a criminal mastermind. The hack was a perfect infallible organized crime. Why everything seemed to be easy?

Because he fucking made it easy for you. You frantically got up and rushed out of the door. Damn it. This was a distraction.

“How long it’s gonna take?”

“Shut up. You have wasted fucking thirty minutes, knowing damn well time is a luxury and I can’t afford it.” Mark asserted while his fingers still working fast on the script.

He then heard a frustrating sigh beside him. Though, he didn’t have time to look up. “Are you fucking stupid? I have to sneak a laptop for you in front of my employees. You think it’s a piece of cake?”

Mark remained silent for a full second and the room fell into a sole serenity. No more keyboard clicking sound, no more argument.

“I’m done.” He breathed in relief.

“Really? I don’t want to know though, keep your mouth shut. If she comes back to see me like this, she’ll slit my throat-“

“Well, I’m not a murderer.”

The door creaked opened abruptly, drawing the eyes of both men inside the room. Honestly, out of every surprise you ever had, this was the best one so far.

“I’m not hearing you explain, Jeong.” You leaned on the door frame with your arms crossed. “Maybe later.”

Jaehyun only stared at you in bewilderment. One, he didn’t anticipate you to be back so soon as Mark said it would take you about two hours. Turned out you’re smarter than they thought. Two, your calmness shocked him. You weren’t showing any emotion. Sad, upset, angry. There’s absolute nothing. However, you had given him a chance to explain which meant you still trusted him.

“Lee,” your eyes laid on Mark, “come with me.”

Both of the men exchanged confusing look and neither of them knew what’s currently on your mind. Without another word, Mark stood up and calmly approached you at the doorway. You tossed Jaehyun a last glance with narrowed eyes, implying “you better be persuasive with your explanation” before turning you back at him and walked away.

Mark followed your steps, utterly clueless about what you’re doing. As he walked out, your fellows glared up fleetingly and concentrated back to their tasks. You weren’t lying, they were all too busy to give a fuck who he was. As long as he’s with you, no question asked.

You’re about to pushed the elevator button when Mark stopped you all of a sudden.

“When Stage 2 is activated, the entire city will run into an electricity loss.” He scratched the back of his head, infuriatingly adorable. “And if my calculation is right, it will happen in the less than sixty seconds.”

Your lips parted slightly, unsure what you should say. All of the electronics in front of your eyes collectively shut down. The sound of people exclaimed irritatingly filled up the space. You scoffed helplessly as he only stared back at you.

“You’re really a mastermind, aren’t you?” You asked yet it definitely didn’t sound like a question. “Hurry up before you fucking blow up that building.”

You then pulled him with you and ran down the stairs. You must have run 6,000 steps since this morning at Lee Corp. But you could not complain, ever second ticked brought people nearer to death.

“Where are we going?” He asked while you’re driving. He knew this street, of course he did. It led to the recovery building.

“We’re gonna stop it.”

Kill process: when an unwanted process is running and you need to terminate it. You needed to kill Stage 2 before it killed anyone else. The fastest way was getting into the recovery building before it’s blown up.

You were right. Mark got around your patch and signed his own malware with a clone HSM. If you could roll it back, the clean version with overwrite his malware and buy you some time to revoke the stolen keys. If the malware had already loaded, hydrogen was filling up the battery room right now. There were too many factors to predict when it’s going to blow. Could be two hours or it could explode at any second. Why did we always cut these thing do damn close?

“Stop now.” He bit out. This was nothing different from suicide.

You ignored him, pushing harder on the accelerator pedal. Mark looked at you with stern eyes. “I said stop the car. Now.” He gripped your hand on the steering wheel.

Fuck. You should’ve put him in restraint. With sheer reluctance, you pulled over the car on the side of the street, afraid that you’re going to cause an accident.

Pushing your head back on your seat, you drubbed your fist on the wheel in rage. Tears started to streamed down your face. You cried even louder when he cupped your face in his huge hands. The warmth of his palms grazed your skin.

“Mark.” You sniffed. “People are going to die.”

He wiped the tears with his thumb and buried your face in the crook of his neck, letting you cry in his secure embrace. You wanted to get mad at him, you wanted to put him in jail for everything he did. But for the life of you, you could never do that. Because you empathized. Because you understood how broken he was.

“I know about your parents.” You muttered in his ear, feeling his body stiffened. “I know you want to take revenge on the people behind that explosion. I know you want justice back for them and the other victims.”

This was what you’re always good at. Negotiation. Mark was never a bad person, you could swear on that. You only had to fix his bug.

“But you couldn’t repeat history. Another massive explosion is not going to bring justice back to those people. This is what they’ve wanted all along. For us to buy in on our worst shelves. And you just made it easier for them. You didn’t start a revolution. You just made us docile enough for their slaughtering. And you can stand here and blame Lee Corp, and every other conglomerate out there for taking advantage of us. Blame the FBI, NSA, CIA for letting them get away with this. Blame all the world’s leaders for aiding and abetting them. Blame Adam Smith for inventing modern-day capitalism in the first fucking place. Blame money for dividing us, blame us for letting it. But none of that’s true. The truth is— you’re the one to blame.”

You separated your face from his shoulder. Staring into his eyes, you could see the hatred deep down inside him had softened. You only needed to push his button, just a little more.

“Look,” you took his hands inside yours and squeezed soothingly, “I will help you, I promise. The people that were responsible for that explosion, I will make them pay for it. Just please, stop this. You’re going to kill innocent people.”

Mark lowered his eyes. You let him ponder although your inside was stirred up with suspense, not knowing when would the building explode. Your hands didn’t leave his, you wanted to make him feel safe. He should know that he’s not alone, that you’re always here for him no matter what.

“We couldn’t get into the building now. Even if we could, it’s not going to change anything.” He sighed. Whatever on your mind was definitely not a possible solution. Anyhow, before you could burst out in tears again in despair, he quickly added. “The only way to disable Stage 2 is to write a cancel code. But we’re in an energy loss, I can’t work on that.”

“I just need to know you can disable it, let me worry the rest.” You squeezed his hands reassuringly one last time before starting your car again and made a 180 degree turn.

You pulled up to an alley that was near downtown. Mark didn’t know what you’re doing yet you looked confident about it. You unbuckled your belt and got out of the car, causing him to mimicked your actions in a rush.

Holding his hand, you subsequently pulled him to a block on the street. All he could see were the black metal double-door and a guy standing in front of it. You gave him a mild nod and wordlessly, he opened the door, only enough for both of you to walk inside.

As soon as Mark stepped inside, the chaotic noises of people made his head ache. They were literally partying and it’s probably just afternoon. You led him pass the drunk cliques, the flirtatious chicks and the making-out couples to a staircase that gave into another space underneath the ground.

And it’s not any better than the one upstairs. This looked like a place where a certain group of people gathered together. Maybe a mob crew, maybe the addicts, maybe the rebels or maybe undercover cops. Here, they’re all hackers.

“Stay here and don’t move until I come back.” You told him and then disappeared behind the crowd.

A CTF tournament. Capture the flag. It’s like the hacker olympics. Teams around the world compete to solve challenges. Reverse-engineering protocol exploitation, forensics. The entire city is suffering an energy crisis while they’re here, exercising their inner anarchy. It’s times like these he really wished he had a mute button for life.

Mark did as he’s told, standing like a statue in this enormous underground club, or whatever it was. After a few minutes you came back with an obvious frustrated face.

“We’re fucked. All the machines are taken. they’re in the middle of the final round of the qualifier for a CTF. It’s them versus nine other countries and from the scoreboard, the Koreans are ride or die. It’s gonna take forever before this is over.” You tried to speak in a louder volume than you usually used. They’re yelling, hollering and cursing like in a battlefield.

“Or I could just win it for them.”

He mused and glanced around the groups of people gathering around the rows of tables. You followed him as he approached a random guy with round glasses.

“They let you save and load your game, restoring all the mines you found and all the shells you cleared. That’s the weakness. The game trusts whatever data you give in to recreate the board. Poison the data. You could make it run whatever code you want.”

He bent down and talked to the guy while you stood beside and observed.

“Yeah we already thought about that. It won’t work. There’s a server-side key used to verify the game saves.” The boy debated.

“And without it, you just get a checksum error, which is why you play the game until you find the mine first. Once you know the full board, you can derive the key. And you already spotted the code injection vulnerability in the save handler function, right?”

The stranger widened his eyes in realization. “Dude you’re a genius. Okay, just do it.”

He got up from the chair and invited Mark to sit down. Your eyes followed the other guy until his figured disappeared behind the corner. Sometimes you wondered how good Mark actually was. Like he had just been here for about ten minutes and he could already find a way to win the game. Even you were dazzled.

You fidgeted your blazer impatiently. You didn’t know how long would it take to blow up the building. Could Mark do it on time? Damn it, you’re panicking.

“You’re having an attack?” Mark asked while his eyes still fixed on the screen.

“No, I’m good. Just work on it.” You managed in a shaky voice and tread toward the restroom.

As soon as you locked the door, you took off your blazer and unbuttoned the first button of your dress shirt. Your breath was shallow, suddenly felt in a lack of oxygen. You tried to calm your nerve down. In and out. In and out. Gripping tightly on the sink counter, you glared at the reflection in the mirror. Everything is going to be fine, you reassured yourself.

Hot tears ran down your face again. Mark was right. This world was always cruel. It bewildered you how people treated each other under the affluence off wealth and power. Only if you could put those bastards in jail that year, Mark wouldn’t be like this. Two/Eight would never have happened.

“Y/N?”

Abrupt knocks on the door made you frantically wiped your tears off. You recognized the voice.

“I did it.” Mark muttered proudly as you opened the door. “We did it.” He repeated and hugged you tightly.

You started sobbing, your body trembled in his arms. “Hey it’s alright. Don’t cry baby.” He patted your back to soothe you. His other hand stroked your hair comfortably and pressed kissed on your head while you’re still crying.

“I’m sorry Mark.” You mumbled. Your tears had probably wet his shirt.

“It’s not your fault. Don’t be sorry.”

You watched the depressing conversation in front of you. It had drawn out most of the oxygen inside your lungs.

“Before you go, I just have one more question.” The girl muttered in a quiet voice. “My dad... is it you?”

You tucked your hands in your pockets when Mark darted his eyes at you. Honestly, you did have the same thought as hers but clearly, Mark could never do that.

“Ms Doubleday, the gunshot was accidental. The bullet was tragically from a fight of your new neighbor. Nothing more or less.” You remarked in nonchalance and Hazel lowered her head.

It’s sad that she had lost everything but judging by all the things she did, it’s fair. Quietly, Mark got up from the chair and stalked off. Your eyes followed him momentarily and laid back on the drained woman. “Take care of yourself.”

You found Mark leaning his back against the wall at a secluded corner. He couldn’t smoke because he’s currently at your field office. The FBI interview room had become a place to untangle personal conflict for them since Mark refused to go back to that mansion. Neither did he allow Hazel to appear at his residence. So you had to interfere, of course with the help of Jaehyun.

Speaking of the devil, he still owed you an explanation. But that would happen it the next few minutes.

“I think it’s obvious that she had feelings for you.” You blurted out, staring at his emotionless face.

“I think it’s obvious that you’re talking nonsense.”

His defense proved that he acknowledged the truth too. He just did not want to admit it. Hazel was a bitch. Drugs, alcohol and sex addict. You didn’t even want to know how hard it was for Mark to deal with her under daily circumstances. He chose the easiest way to get into Lee Corp without bring suspicious. Phillip Doubleday didn’t care about what his daughter did, he just needed someone to fit her position. Mark was the perfect candidate. Certainly, he did that intentionally and voluntarily but he also had to sacrificed for it, a lot.

He did her job, he made sure the employees completed there tasks, all without appreciation. He also had to buy her drugs, protect her from the predators when she’s drunk in a club, and satisfy her needs. He witnessed they corrupted his dad’s empire, the mental child of the man. They turned Lee Corp into an evil conglomerate, a devil that banked on people. He could only watched in silence and completely feel helpless about it. That’s why he wanted to kill Lee Corp. He rather ended it by himself than letting those motherfuckers ruined it. He did all of that only to fight for his parents, for everyone’s justice. It was an absolute mess, no wonder why he smoked. You definitely needed to seek him a therapist.

“Come on, it’s over.” You wrapped your arm around his shoulder and pulled him with you. “Let’s go see our dear friend.”

Jaehyun suppressed the urge to scold you when you banged into his office abruptly. He did you wrong. He couldn’t get mad at you, not until he gave you an elucidation.

You pulled an easy smile and flopped on the sofa. “So, did you know everything from the beginning?”

“No.” He answered immediately, sitting down opposite you. “I only figured out on our first day at Lee Corp.”

The day that Mark left you the note. So Jaehyun being there was not a coincidence.

“Okay. Go on.”

He clasped his hand, his eyes fleetingly laid on Mark before they stared back at you.

“Mark did a lot for me. Six years ago, the USMC went on a mission and miserably we got some troubles with our ship. Fortunately, we received help from the Navy yet that was a tough time. They didn’t have enough food in storage and we’re middle of nowhere on the Pacific Ocean so we had to share. Mark barely ate, he gave most of his food for me.”

It’s heartwarming how much Jaehyun was grateful for Mark’s little action, that he helped the sick fucker to blow a downtown building up. Alright, you knew that was not nice. Sorry.

“Not only that,” he quickly added as he saw the snarky expression on your face, “we went to the same high school, we were close friends. His parents helped me lot. My family was unable to pay for my college tuition and they did not hesitate to allow me a loan, saying that I didn’t have to pay back. But when I finally earned enough to return the favor, they’re gone.”

Well, this was actually heart-wrenching.

“I know it’s wrong but I can not resist helping him.” He sighed.

“Took me weeks to persuade this douchebag with my backup plan, only for it to return to zero now.” Mark spoke up, his tone mocked you.

“It’s not a zero.” You punched him playfully with your fist and he caught your wrist in his hand, pulling your figure into his embrace. “I never break my promise.” You muttered in his chest.

“Is that so?” He laughed.

Jaehyun glared at the lovey-dovey couple in front of him with sheer despiser.

“Get the fuck out.”

Mark only silently staring at you while you’re working on your laptop. You said you had something to show him and yet he had been sitting here in your boring office for an hour. And it’s embarrassing how he’s turned on by the image of you concentrating with your work. He wished he could throw the stupid device in front of you away and bend you over his lap to spank your ass for wasting his time. Only if the walls of your office were not transparent glass and your colleagues were not out there walking around.

“All right, you’re ready?” You asked finally, looking up at him.

Of course he’s fucking ready.

“Yeah.” He replied quietly and you smiled, turning your laptop around for him to see.

His brows pulled together in the middle of his head. The more he read, the further they went. You grinned widely at his shocking facial expression. His eyes laid on you to ask for a confirmation.

“It’s authentic. Everything Phillip Doubleday owned is now your inheritance. Not only did I find out his testament in that memory card, I also discovered a voice record of the people that happen to be there when they decided they’re going to blow up the hotel.” You mused in delight.

“Why did he do all of this? Doesn’t this prove that he has acknowledged my identity and still not exposed me?” Mark questioned, obviously confused about all of this.

“Maybe he regretted.” You suggested. “Why else did he let you handle the CTO job that easy? Sounds like a fantasy to me.”

You didn’t know either. He’s dead so probably it would remain as a mystery.

“It’s a little too late, don’t you think?”

“We only regret when it’s too late to fix our mistake.” You cocked your head before mustering a radiant smile. “With all of this, including the shares that Hazel Doubleday transferred to you, Lee Corp is yours. It wouldn’t take long to finish with the rest.”

Were we going to the end?

“And what if I tell you that we can reverse Two/Eight?” Mark smiled back at you. It had been years since the last time he was being happy like this.

“I know it’s not hypothetical. You can do it.” You responded. “And you will do it.”

You were right. This was the real revolution. When he launched the cyber bombing, he had encrypted Lee Corp database in an image of his family. In case everything went wrong. When he decoded it, the database would recover. It would be like Two/Eight had never happened.

Once the upper management was on board, he would be on his way to rebuilding the database and the hack would officially be behind us. Didn’t mean that in his spare time, he couldn’t find ways to purge Lee Corp of all their shitbags. You know, your typical subprime mortgage scammers, Ponzi schemers... Pension embezzlers and sexual harassers. That way, when Lee Corp gets back on its feet, they would no longer be evil. Because changing the world was never about tearing Lee Corp down. It’s about making them better. Maybe he fucked up an already fucked-up world, but he’s fixing it now, hitting “undo”. And damn, it felt great.

“The request to reopen the case has been passed.” You tossed the folder on the wide wooden desk, causing Mark to glance up at you. “Thanks me later.” A tight-lipped smile plastered across your face.

“Come here.” He pushed his executive chair back and gestured you to sit on his lap, which you obediently obliged.

“You have questions.” He murmured.

“Nothing about you is coincidental, is it?”

Mark secured his arms around your hips, his eyes locked with you. Gently, he tucked the strands of your hair behind your ear.

“When the explosion happened, I was in the Navy. I only had two weeks break to complete their funeral. I always know it was never an accident. Phillip Doubleday was my dad’s half-brother. He was the result of cheating. Anyhow, he lived with his mother for his entire life until she’s dead and during those years, my family still supported them financially. It was never hidden that he’s jealous of dad for everything he had, even the company that he built up with bare hands. So Phillip worked on his plan with dad’s rivals— the assholes from other tech companies. They bought the shares of Lee Corp’s shareholders over years. And when dad found out he’s behind all of that, he wanted to arrange a meeting. The location was that hotel but when it exploded, Phillip was nowhere to be found. That’s when I realized there’s something off. Nonetheless, I’m absolutely sure about my conjecture when dad’s property was inherited for Phillip. Their death was unexpected, did not have time to write a testament so technically, it was legal. He did not know about me either, the only time he ever visited me was when I was a new-born baby. He probably thought that I was still in the Navy back then. The bastard didn’t even bother to rename the company, which I’m indeed thankful for.” He pressed a kiss on your head. “And you’re the only one that wanted to solve that case. Had my attention since then.”

You hummed and wrapped your arms around his neck, patting his back in empathy for how open he’s being with you. You had partly figured it out yet the story was more crazy than you thought. Mark paused for a second to pull himself together before continuing.

“The only coincidence is when I discovered you on the site. You attracted me by your messages so I hacked you, out of pure curiosity. It was hard work but the effort worth it when I saw the result. I started to research you and you definitely did not disappoint me. An absolute outstanding profile.” He grinned delightedly.

Your lips curled up in a smile in return. You still remained silent as you knew that there’s more he wanted to say.

“Our first night together, it was not a setup. I actually wanted to be with you. But I think you have known that I scanned your badge that night. It was a fortune so I guessed I have to take full advantage of it. Hacking FBI is not a piece of cake and Jaehyun refused to help me.”

Well, you did not know about it. You always wondered why did he find out the honeypot you injected in Lee Corp domain. Only now you understood why people never allowed personal feelings to interfere in their work life.

“That’s all I have to say. However,” he tightened his grip around you, inching his face closer to yours, “You were right.”

You scowled confusingly. “About what?”

“About it’s not a zero.” He kissed you unexpectedly. It was gentle and full of appreciation. “Because I have you now.” He mumbled against your lips.

“I love you.” You beamed.

“I love you too.”

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