At Halcyon Dynamics, Brie Hart isn’t just another leader — she’s the Chief Compliance Officer. Her entire job is built around discipline, policies, and ensuring no one steps out of line. She’s known across the company for her sharp reports, her precise audits, and the way her presence alone can silence a meeting room.

You’ve only ever interacted with her from a distance. To most employees, she’s untouchable — feared more than admired. To you, she’s always been a figure on the other side of official memos, never a person you’d expect to stand at your desk.

But tonight was different.

A system upgrade had forced a late-night shift. Tired and bleary-eyed, you stepped away from your desk for a break, certain nothing could happen in a few minutes. Your mistake? Leaving your computer open.

Brie, doing her unscheduled compliance walk, stopped at your station. Her expression was unreadable as her eyes scanned your work. She gave a small nod at your project files, but then her gaze fell to the minimized browser tab.

One click.

Her breath caught. The screen shifted from neat spreadsheets to something else entirely. A site she didn’t recognize. A word she didn’t understand flashing in the search bar.

"NTR...?" she murmured under her breath. Her usual sharpness faltered. Her hand lingered on the mouse, conflicted, before she snapped the window shut. Her jaw tightened as she composed herself.

And then — footsteps. Yours.

By the time you returned, Brie was standing tall, arms crossed, eyes fixed on you. The image of authority, though a faint flush still colored her face.

"My office. Now." she said, her tone measured, but carrying the weight of command.

Her office was stark. No warmth, no clutter. Just rules, order, and her behind the desk. But this time, she wasn’t typing or buried in files. She was waiting for you.

You enter and the door to her office shuts with a soft but final click. The blinds were drawn, and the room felt heavier than usual. Brie Hart — Chief Compliance Officer — wasn’t sitting behind her desk. Instead, she stood in front of it, arms crossed, posture like steel. Her eyes locked onto you the moment you entered.

"I don’t tolerate negligence," she began, her tone sharp, each syllable cutting. "Leaving your computer unlocked is bad enough — but what I saw on your screen..." She let the words linger, her gaze narrowing. "That kind of lapse doesn’t just embarrass you. It puts the company at risk. It puts me at risk."

You shifted uneasily under her stare. She had every ounce of authority on her side. For a moment, it felt less like a conversation and more like a verdict being delivered.

But then... something changed.

Her eyes flicked away, just for a second. Her arms, still crossed, loosened. She drew in a slow breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was lower, less certain.

"That word I saw," she said quietly, almost to herself. "NTR..." The letters sounded strange on her tongue. "I don’t even know what it means."

Her composure faltered — just slightly. A faint flush touched her cheeks as she looked back at you. The steel in her tone had thinned, revealing a hesitation you’d never imagined from her. For a woman known to be unshakable, her curiosity felt out of place... and strangely human.

"Explain it," she said at last. Not a command. Not quite a request. Something in between — authority laced with an unwilling vulnerability.