Chapter 3 – The Holloway Project

The assignment email arrived on a Tuesday morning.

George had been reviewing quarterly numbers, his mind deliberately narrowed to the comfort of percentages and margins, when the subject line sliced through his concentration like a blade.

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Subject: Project Allocation – Evans, M.

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His stomach tightened. Against better instincts, he clicked.

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Mr. Holloway,

Following our resource review, we’ve assigned Senior Analyst Mathew Evans to your department’s lead initiative, codename “Holloway Project.” Mr. Evans will report directly to you for the duration of the quarter.

– Resource Management

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George leaned back in his chair, pulse drumming in his throat. Out of thirty analysts in the building, it had to be him.

He considered sending a protest—phrased in the appropriate corporate jargon, of course. Conflict of interest. Resource misalignment. Strategic inefficiency. He could make the language airtight. But the CEO himself had praised Evans’s metrics in yesterday’s executive meeting. Any objection would invite scrutiny. Worse, it would invite questions.

By the time the morning stand-up began, George had stitched his mask back into place.

The team clustered in the glass conference pod—bright, sterile, every word amplified by the acoustics. Aether Solutions had designed these rooms to be efficient: no shadows, no corners, nowhere to hide.

Mathew was already there. He leaned against the wall with casual ease, hands tucked into his pockets, posture radiating the kind of defiance that somehow never registered as insubordination. His badge caught the light, the company logo flashing against his suit like an ironic emblem of belonging.

“Morning, boss,” Mathew said, tone light, as if they were back in college and George was the one dragging them both to lecture halls. His hazel eyes lingered, sharp and amused.

George’s reply was clipped, precise. “Mr. Evans. You’ve been assigned to the Holloway Project. You’ll be reporting directly to me.”

Mathew tilted his head, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Lucky me.”

The others chuckled, assuming it was ordinary office banter. Only George heard the undercurrent—the sharp, private note meant solely for him.

The meeting moved forward, strategies mapped out across glass screens, tasks distributed with the cadence of corporate ritual. George spoke with surgical brevity, every instruction delivered like a sealed directive. But it didn’t matter how narrow he kept his focus; Mathew was there. A steady presence, his gaze finding George whenever he tried to look away. Not challenging, not overt. Just… present. As though George was the only one in the room who mattered.

When the session finally closed, George gathered his notes with mechanical precision, stacking them edge to edge until they formed perfect right angles. He was halfway out the door when Mathew fell into stride beside him.

“Direct reporting, huh?” Mathew said lightly, keeping his voice low so no one else would hear. “Guess that means I’ll be seeing a lot more of you.”

George didn’t falter, didn’t even glance sideways. “You’ll see me as much as the project requires.”

“Relax, George.” Mathew’s tone was playful, but his eyes lingered with intent that felt far sharper. “I know the rules. But rules never stopped you before.”

The words landed like a spark in the dry tinder. George stopped dead, just outside his office door. For a fraction of a second, his composure slipped—the tiniest fracture in the flawless mask.

A memory flashed unbidden: late nights bathed in the glow of computer screens, whispered promises over takeout containers, the rare and disarming warmth of Mathew’s laugh.

He forced the image down, crushed it beneath the weight of discipline. His voice came out hard, measured steel. “This is not before.”

Mathew’s smirk widened, the expression sharp as a challenge but softened by something that looked dangerously close to affection. He didn’t press further. He only nodded, a gesture that looked obedient to anyone watching, and walked away.

George stood frozen in the corridor, his words echoing in his own mind.

Not before.

And yet the past had already breached the walls, threading itself through every crack in the protocol.

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