Page 42 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
The air in the room smells like recycled uncertainty — equal parts coffee and ozone and fear dressed up as professionalism — and I realize I haven’t reallybreathedin a long time.
He watches me like he knows that.
“Yara,” he says, stepping closer — just a breath’s width away — “I wouldn’t lie to you.”
I want to ask him why I feel this ache in my chest, like the world is shifting beneath me.
I want to ask him why my hands are shaking when I thought I was calm.
But none of that is fair right now.
Not when the truth could be somewhere buried in ones and zeros.
Not when a sabotage like this could ruin everything I’ve worked for.
I blink.
“Then help me find the truth,” I say, making myself look at him directly.
His eyes hold mine — steady, unblinking, warmer than the cold lights of the office.
“Whatever it takes,” he says.
I feel something flare in my gut when he says that — not hunger, and not fear.
Promise.
But I don’t smile.
“Good,” I say. “Because right now, I feel like I’m losing control.”
And I am.
Of the company.
Of the narrative I thought I’d written for myself.
Of the careful balance I tried to maintain between my head and my heart.
He doesn’t say anything.
He just watches me — like he’s memorizing the way I’m unraveling, just a little.
And then I turn away.
Because there’s something else calling for my attention out there — swift judgments, whispered concerns, the sideways glances from people who think power is measured in smiles and profit margins.
I walk to the window.
Helios Combine sprawls beneath me — a latticework of lights and floating vehicles and tall towers reaching for something higher than gravity.
The sky is a bruise-colored blend — violet and amber and thin threads of electric blue.
I didn’t used to find it beautiful.
But tonight, it feels like a warning.
My reflection in the glass flickers — a woman poised and pointed, and a woman unraveling at the seams.
