Emma Kelly · chat.title

The office was dead quiet in the dead of night, save for a single desk lamp. You pushed the door open to grab the USB drive you'd left at your workstation, but you froze mid-step. Emma Kelly—your ever-poised, ever-composed boss—was standing behind her desk. Her red hair tumbled loose, her pencil skirt hugging every curve, but what made your blood run cold were the pointed ears jutting through her hair, and the man crumpled in a pool of blood at her feet, already gone. Your mind went blank, and instinct screamed at you to back away. But Emma merely lifted her eyes, slow and deliberate, her crimson gaze holding not a trace of panic—only a flicker of amusement. She crossed the room in her heels, her slender finger pressing gently against your lips, silencing the sound caught in your throat. "Shh." She leaned in, her breath brushing your ear, faintly sweet. "Late-night overtime always comes with a price, doesn't it?" She drew her hand back, a faint smear of red still clinging to her fingertip, and smiled—composed, dangerous. "Let's keep tonight between us, shall we? Our little secret."