After Hours
There he is… Zane Blackbourne, walking in like he owns the place. Which, technically, he does.
His suit is a deep navy, tailored so sharply it looks sculpted to his tall, toned frame. The fabric whispers money imported wool, soft and expensive, every stitch precise. Probably cost more than my weekly salary, and then some. His dark brown hair is slicked back, jawline sharp, green eyes glinting under the office lights. At thirty-two, he has everything anyone could wish for. And everyone knows it.
“Katherine, are you just going to stare at Zane all day, or get some work done?” Elise calls over the cubicle wall, her tone teasing.
I scoff, furrowing my brows. “I can barely look at him for two seconds without feeling sick,” I whisper back, flipping my long black hair over my shoulder and returning to my data entries.
Elise’s voice comes from the phone, tense. She shakes her head, hanging up.
“Everything okay?” I ask, leaning closer.
“My daughter’s sick,” she says, rubbing her forehead. “I need to pick her up, but there’s so much work…”
“How about I stay late and finish both mine and yours?” I offer, trying to sound helpful.
“Katherine… that’s too much.”
“It’s fine. I’ve stayed late plenty of times. Just go get your daughter.”
She smiles gratefully. “I owe you one.”
“Don’t worry. Just keep me updated.” Grabbing her files from her hand.
She hurries off, and I turn back to my screen. Only six more hours. The after hours drag, the office slowly empties. Everyone leaves, the fluorescent lights humming louder in the quiet.
The janitor passes, wheeling a giant yellow trashcan.
“Late night?” he asks casually.
“Yeah… unfortunately,” I murmur.
“I’ll keep the front door unlocked so I don’t lock you out,” he mutters.
“I have keys, but thanks,” I call after him.
Once the janitor disappears and the last echo of his footsteps fades, the office feels different — darker, emptier, colder than it did all day. Shadows stretch along the walls, cubicles becoming long, ominous corridors.
My fingers ache from typing. I head to the employee lounge for a break. The mirror catches my reflection: flushed, tired, hazel eyes dulled, shoulders sagging. My grey blouse is wrinkled. If Felix, our drama-prone manager, saw me now, he’d have a full meltdown. I chuckle imagining him throwing papers across the office in dramatic rage.
Back at my desk, a faint sound drifts through the silence.
Music?
“What the hell?” I say under my breath, eyes darting across the room. The cubicles are empty, shadows stretching across the floor.
The sound grows as I follow it down the hallway. Nightlights cast faint glows along the walls. My pulse quickens. A floorboard creaks behind me. I jump — probably the janitor, I tell myself, but the hallway is empty.
Finally, I stop at his office door. Zane Blackbourne. His name glares in enormous gold letters — ridiculous, almost obnoxious. I roll my eyes.
Hesitation knots my stomach. I knock. No answer—just the music.
Curiosity, mixed with concern, pushes me forward. The door creaks as I twist the knob. Moonlight spills across his massive desk, papers neatly stacked, a computer, a black landline, and a small lamp.
I flip on the lamp.
A black record player hums nearby. The record: We’ll Meet Again by the Ink Spots. The needle crackles softly as it spins, each pop and hiss stretching the silence, eerie and deliberate.
A small note in black ink sits beside it: “We’ll meet again.” A single black rose rests atop the note, petals dark against the desk.
I pick up the rose, confusion tangling in my chest. Why that song? Why now? When there’s nobody here. The melody sounds — old, fragile, slightly warped.
The sharp scent hits first—smoke. My nose burns, eyes watering as I spin toward the door. A thin curl of gray drifts in from the hallway. Panic rips through me. I press my blouse over my nose and mouth, heart hammering.
The door slams behind me. Locked.
“Hello?” I scream, fumbling at the knob. I run to the the phone but it’s dead, its cord cut.
Smoke creeps along the floor. Flames start to flash in my mind.
I hurry to Zane’s computer, desperate. “Okay… okay… it has to be something obvious,” First attempt: ZaneBlackbourne123. Nothing. Next: Blackbourne123. Of course it isn’t that easy.
I bite my lip. Why do I always overthink everything?
I try a few more ridiculous combinations—birthdays, his name with extra numbers, the classic password123 hoping against hope. Each failure makes the smoke feel thicker, the room smaller, my panic sharper.
Then the screen flashes: No more password attempts. Computer locked.
I need… fresh air. I fling open the window, yelling for help, but the street below is empty. Three floors up—there’s no way out. For a second, cool air brushes my face. Then the draft shifts, dragging smoke toward me.
I collapse onto the black marble floor, gasping. Smoke pours in beneath the door—thick, choking. I cough hard, lungs on fire, eyes streaming. The air tastes like chemicals and ash, every breath burning my throat. I cough again until my ribs ache, tears spilling down my face. The room feels smaller by the second, the air turning heavy and hot.
The heat presses down, suffocating. My vision swims, spots dancing at the edges. Seconds drag as my mind races: How much will it hurt? Is this it? Is this really how I die?
The thought of burning alive steals what little air I have left. Waiting for it… that’s worse. Every heartbeat feels like a countdown. I’m only thirty, and my life flashes before me—unspoken words, missed chances, regrets, the love I’ve never known. And now, here, in Zane Blackbourne’s office, I might end like this.
Then the door crashes open. A shadow cuts through the smoke. Strong hands grab me, pulling me upright.
“Katherine?” The voice is deep, distorted through the haze.
The scent hits me next—Zane’s ridiculously over-the-top cologne. Relief floods through me, tangled with disbelief. Zane Blackbourne is really saving me right now?
“Don’t worry, Katherine.” His voice is low, urgent. “We’re getting out of here.”
The room tilts. I clutch at him as dizziness pulls me under, chest heaving, body trembling from adrenaline and fear. My mind drifts into darkness as I bury my face against his chest.
