Chapter 2 — Cracks in the Facade

Alex

Alex leaned against the mirrored wall of the elevator, his arms loosely crossed, the flickering fluorescent light above casting uneven shadows on his reflection. The woman standing a few feet away radiated precision—her tailored suit unwrinkled, her chestnut brown hair neatly styled, and her sharp green eyes focused on the glowing screen of her phone. She exuded control, from her upright posture to the faint scent of lavender that lingered in the cool, metallic air.

Her phone screen suddenly went dark. She pressed the power button, but nothing happened. Her lips tightened, her expression barely shifting, though the faint grimace that flickered across her face betrayed her annoyance. She slipped the phone into her sleek leather bag, her fingers brushing the gold fountain pen clipped to her blouse pocket as though its presence steadied her.

Alex couldn’t help but smirk. “Let me guess—you’re the kind of person who never lets her phone die.”

Her head snapped toward him, her green eyes narrowing with a sharpness that could cut glass. “Excuse me?”

He held up his own phone, its screen faintly scratched, the edges worn. “Your phone,” he said, his tone casual, almost teasing. “You don’t strike me as the type who’d let it drop below fifty percent. You probably have a whole charging routine.”

She stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then, with clipped precision, she replied, “It’s been a long day.”

Her voice was smooth and professional, yet tinged with exhaustion. Alex noticed the subtle tension in her shoulders, the way she seemed to hold herself together through sheer will. He shrugged, pulling his own phone out fully and extending it toward her. “Want to borrow mine? It’s not fancy, but it works.”

She hesitated, her gaze flicking to his phone and back to him. Her fingers grazed the fountain pen again, as though debating whether to accept the offer might unravel her carefully maintained composure. Finally, she shook her head. “I don’t need your phone.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, sliding it back into his pocket. “Thought I’d offer. You know, since we’re stuck in here and all.”

Her eyes shifted toward the elevator panel, where the emergency call button glowed faintly. Earlier, a crackling voice had assured them that maintenance was on its way, but it had been over twenty minutes, and the faint hum of the fluorescent lights, punctuated by the occasional creak of the cables, was beginning to feel oppressive. The confined space seemed to amplify every sound—the rustle of clothing, the faint tap of her heel on the floor, the metallic scent of the air.

Emma—he didn’t know her name yet, but she looked like an Emma—shifted her weight almost imperceptibly. Her fingers tightened briefly on the strap of her bag, the only sign that she wasn’t as unaffected as she appeared. Alex decided to press on, sensing that silence wasn’t her friend any more than it was his.

“So,” he said, leaning casually against the wall, “what’s your name?”

She glanced at him, her sharp gaze assessing him as though deciding whether engaging in conversation was worth the effort. “Emma,” she said at last, her tone clipped, the word delivered with the same precision as everything else about her.

“Emma,” Alex repeated, testing the name like it was part of a melody. “Nice to meet you, Emma. I’m Alex.”

She didn’t respond, her attention darting back to the elevator doors as though she could will them to open. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head, strategies forming and dissolving as she mentally tried to control the uncontrollable.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” he asked, tilting his head.

“It’s not going to get us out of here any faster,” she replied, her voice cool, though not entirely dismissive.

“No, but it might make the time pass a little easier,” Alex countered, his tone light. “Unless you’d rather stand here in silence and glare at the doors.”

Her gaze flicked to the mirrored walls, where her reflection stared back—composed, professional, untouchable. She pressed her lips into a thin line, as though realizing how rigid she looked. Then, with a sigh, she turned back to him. “Fine. What do you want to talk about?”

Alex grinned, sensing a small victory. “Why you’re still at the office this late. Let me guess—you’re some kind of corporate big shot, right? Lawyer? Banker? Something like that?”

Her hesitation was brief, but telling. “I’m an attorney.”

“Knew it,” Alex said, snapping his fingers. “You’ve got that ‘I’ll see you in court’ vibe.”

Emma arched a brow. “And what exactly do you do, Alex?”

“Used to be a travel journalist,” he said, his tone casual. “Now I’m... between things.”

“Between things?” she echoed, skepticism laced in her tone.

“It’s a polite way of saying unemployed,” he admitted with a wry smile. “But hey, it gives me plenty of time to hang out in elevators like this, so I guess I’m doing something right.”

Her expression remained neutral, but Alex noticed the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth. She quickly suppressed it, but he caught it. Progress.

Her gaze flicked over him—his worn leather jacket, faded jeans, and scuffed boots. “You don’t seem like the corporate type.”

“That’s because I’m not,” he said easily. “Suits and ties? Not my thing. Too constricting.”

“Not a fan of structure, I take it?”

“Depends,” he replied, his tone nonchalant. “I like structure when it means I don’t fall through a roof. Beyond that? Nah.”

Emma’s sharp eyes lingered on him for a moment, as though trying to decide if he was worth her time. Almost unconsciously, her fingers brushed the gold fountain pen again. Alex caught the movement.

“That’s a nice pen,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “Looks fancy.”

“It’s functional,” she replied curtly, her tone making it clear the subject was closed.

“Functional,” he repeated, a teasing note in his voice. “Looks more like one of those things that says, ‘I’ve got my life together.’”

Her fingers stilled on the pen, and for a moment, something flickered in her eyes—something unguarded and fleeting. Then it was gone, her professional mask snapping back into place. “It’s just a pen.”

“Right,” Alex said, leaning back against the wall. “Just a pen.”

He let the silence settle between them, watching as she shifted her focus back to the elevator panel. “You know,” he said after a moment, “this isn’t the worst place I’ve been stuck. Once, I got trapped in a bus station in Myanmar during a monsoon. Now that was an experience.”

Emma glanced at him, curiosity flickering in her gaze despite herself. “What happened?”

“Well,” Alex said, a mischievous glint in his eye, “let’s just say it involved a pack of stray dogs, a very angry ticket agent, and a tarp that wasn’t nearly as waterproof as it claimed to be.”

Despite herself, Emma found the corners of her mouth twitching. “And how did you get out of that?”

“Luck,” he said with a grin. “And maybe a little charm.”

She rolled her eyes, but this time, the almost-smile lingered a moment longer. The intercom crackled to life, a faint voice assuring them that help was on its way. Emma sighed, leaning back against the opposite wall. Her posture was still rigid, but something in her stance seemed to loosen slightly.

Alex watched her, his smile softening. “You know, you’re not as scary as you look.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Scary?”

“Yeah,” he said, grinning wider. “You’ve got this whole ‘don’t mess with me’ vibe. But underneath all that? I think you’re probably pretty nice.”

Emma didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on the elevator doors. But Alex thought he saw it again—the faintest flicker of a smile, just for a moment.

Maybe, he thought, this long night wouldn’t be so bad after all.