Chapter 3 — The Rooftop Sanctuary
Clara
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing a corridor that stretched endlessly toward the glass walls at the other end. Clara stepped out, her heels clicking against the polished marble floor, the sound swallowed by the vast, sterile silence of Wolfe Tower after hours. She had stayed late, her mind tangled with the day’s findings—anomalous financial reports, peculiar employee behaviors, and Alexander Wolfe’s unnervingly perfect control over every aspect of his empire. The weight of it all pressed heavily on her, each discovery adding another layer to the mystery she couldn’t yet unravel.
Her laptop bag hung heavily on her shoulder, but it wasn’t just the physical weight that pulled at her. The air felt different up here—denser, as though laden with an unspoken tension. Earlier in the day, she had noticed something strange: a passing comment from an employee about “the sanctuary” coupled with Alexander’s brief disappearance during a critical meeting. It had piqued her curiosity, a thread she couldn’t resist pulling. Now, with her thoughts clouded and her emotions raw, she felt an almost desperate need for clarity, for air.
The lights of the city sparkled beyond the glass, their reflection dancing on the walls, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere inside. She paused mid-step, her gaze drawn toward the door at the end of the hall. A simple brass plaque marked it with a single word: *Sanctuary*. Her pulse quickened as hesitation gripped her. Was this overstepping? But the nagging pull of unanswered questions and the weight of the day’s discoveries urged her forward.
Pushing the door open, she was met by a rush of cool night air, carrying with it the faint scent of jasmine and earth. She inhaled deeply, the contrast to the cold, clinical interior of the tower striking in its serenity. The rooftop stretched before her, an oasis of greenery and quiet. String lights hung in lazy loops above, casting a soft, golden glow over the hidden garden. Dark wooden benches lined the edges, their surfaces worn and weathered, and in the center stood a small fountain, its gentle burble breaking the stillness. For a moment, she stood motionless, her breath catching at the unexpected beauty of the space. It felt personal—intimate, even—and entirely out of place atop a corporate skyscraper.
Her heels sank slightly into the gravel path as she ventured farther, the sanctuary drawing her in. She had expected solitude—perhaps even welcomed it—but she froze mid-step as her eyes landed on a figure seated on one of the benches near the fountain. Alexander Wolfe.
He wasn’t in his usual polished, imposing form. His jacket lay discarded beside him, his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his hands clasped loosely as he stared at the ground. The sharp angles of his face were softened in the dim light, but there was an intensity about him that made Clara hesitate. His presence here, raw and unguarded, felt like a glimpse behind the mask he so carefully maintained.
She considered retreating, but the crunch of gravel beneath her foot betrayed her presence. His head snapped up, gray eyes locking onto hers with a sharpness that made her breath hitch. For a moment, neither of them moved.
“Ms. Bennett,” he said finally, his voice low and even, though there was a rough edge to it she hadn’t heard before. “I didn’t realize I had company.”
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Clara replied, her tone more defensive than she intended. “I was curious about the rooftop. I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”
His gaze lingered on hers, steady and unflinching, before he leaned back slightly, his posture relaxing though his eyes lost none of their intensity. “It’s not a usual place for company meetings, I’ll admit.”
Clara stepped closer, her eyes scanning the space. “It’s surprising, seeing this side of you. I wouldn’t have guessed someone like you would create a place like this.” Her voice was softer now, almost tentative.
His lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Even the most disciplined minds need a reprieve. This is mine.”
She stopped a few feet away, her gaze dropping to the bench beside him. It was then she noticed the faint, jagged marks carved into the wood, as though something sharp had raked across its surface. Her brow furrowed, and she reached out, brushing her fingers over the grooves.
“Interesting design choice,” she said, lifting her eyes to meet his.
For a split second, something flickered in his expression—surprise, or perhaps unease—before he masked it with his usual calm. “A consequence of… restless moments, I’m afraid.”
Clara tilted her head, studying him. “Restless moments? From you? Hard to imagine.”
He chuckled softly, though the sound was devoid of humor. “Even the most controlled individuals have their moments of weakness, Ms. Bennett.”
There it was again, that subtle crack in his façade. Clara didn’t know if it was deliberate or if her presence had simply caught him off guard. She stepped closer, lowering herself onto the edge of the bench opposite him, her movements slow and deliberate. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the jasmine in the air, stirring something she couldn’t quite name.
“You make it sound like control is a burden,” she said, her voice cautious, probing.
“Isn’t it?” he countered, his gaze steady on hers. “You would know better than most, wouldn’t you? A lawyer navigating a world that demands perfection at every turn.”
Clara felt the sting of his words. He wasn’t wrong, but there was something unnerving about how easily he seemed to see through her, how precisely he could articulate the thoughts she rarely allowed herself to dwell on. Her grip on her laptop bag tightened, a physical reminder to keep her composure.
“It’s not about perfection. It’s about focus,” she replied. “Keeping emotions in check so they don’t cloud judgment. You’d know something about that too, wouldn’t you?”
His smile returned, sharper this time, as though acknowledging the challenge. “Touché.”
For a moment, the silence between them stretched, filled only by the distant hum of the city below and the gentle trickle of the fountain. Clara found her gaze drifting to his hands, the way his fingers curled tightly together, as though he were holding something back. Her pulse quickened, and she forced herself to look away.
“You’ve created quite the empire,” she said, breaking the quiet. “But I can’t help but wonder… what drives someone like you? Is it ambition? Or something else?”
Alexander’s gaze darkened, and for a moment, she thought he might deflect. But then he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees once more, his expression unreadable.
“Survival,” he said quietly, the single word heavy with meaning.
Clara’s breath caught. There was something in his tone—an undercurrent of vulnerability, of something raw and unspoken—that made her chest tighten. She wanted to press, to ask what he meant, but the intensity in his eyes stopped her. For the first time, she felt as though she was standing on the edge of something vast and unknowable, and it both terrified and intrigued her.
Instead, she nodded slowly, her own walls lowering just enough to let a sliver of honesty slip through. “I suppose we’re all just trying to survive in our own way.”
His gaze softened, and for a moment, the tension between them shifted, replaced by something quieter, deeper.
“Indeed,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Clara wasn’t sure how long they sat there, the city lights twinkling around them like distant stars. But when she finally stood, she felt the weight in her chest ease just a fraction.
“Goodnight, Mr. Wolfe,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
“Goodnight, Ms. Bennett,” he replied, his eyes following her as she walked toward the door.
As she stepped back into the elevator, the cool air of the sanctuary fading behind her, Clara couldn’t shake the feeling that she had glimpsed something rare and unguarded in Alexander Wolfe. And for reasons she couldn’t yet explain, it both unsettled and fascinated her in equal measure.
