Yazmina had no interest in lingering any longer than necessary. The main entrance was loud, crowded, and suffocating, and she had already fulfilled her purpose.

The boy—Jack—was back with his parents, and she had nothing more to do here.

She turned, intent on making her way back to her dormitory to grab some notes before heading to the lab.

But just as she stepped forward, something—or rather, someone—collided into her.

The impact wasn’t forceful, but it was unexpected. Yazmina stumbled slightly, catching herself before she could fall.

A strong, steady hand reached out instinctively, grasping her arm just above the elbow.

“Whoa there,” a smooth voice said.

Yazmina blinked up at the man in front of her. He was tall, his frame lean but strong, his posture effortless yet commanding. Tousled dark hair framed sharp features that struck an unsettling balance between boyish charm and something far more dangerous.

His deep-set green eyes glinted with amusement, but there was an unmistakable sharpness lurking beneath—a predator masked by charisma. He looked like he belonged in an expensive tailored suit, drinking whiskey in a high-rise office, rather than stalking the halls of Playtime Co.

His grip was warm, firm—not unkind, but undeniably possessive.

She coldly pulled her arm away and straightened her coat. “Watch where you’re going.”

The man’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk forming. “Could say the same to you, doc.”

Yazmina narrowed her eyes. “Do I know you?”

“Harley Sawyer,” he introduced himself, crossing his arms in a manner that was both casual and self-assured. “Head of Special Projects. And you must be Dr. Yazmina. The elusive scientist who never leaves the lab.”

Now that she saw the real Harley, she could tell there was something undeniably unsettling about him. She pegged him to be in his early thirties.

His sharp features, the ever-present smirk that barely hid the cruelty beneath, and those eyes—calculating, predatory, as if he were constantly assessing his surroundings for weaknesses to exploit.

“I’ve heard about you,” he continued, his voice smooth as silk, as if he were savoring the opportunity to speak to her.

“I’m sure you have.” Her voice was impassive, unreadable. “And I assume this is the part where I’m supposed to return the sentiment?”

He chuckled, tilting his head slightly. “You wound me, Doctor. I was hoping for a more… pleasant introduction.”

“Pleasantries are a waste of time.”

His smirk didn’t falter, but something in his expression shifted—curiosity sharpening into something more calculating. “Spoken like someone who knows exactly how things work around here.”

Yazmina was about to snap at him when she realized the noise in the entrance hall had changed.

The hum of chatter had turned into panicked voices. People were running, employees scrambling.

Something had happened.

Harley turned his head toward the commotion, his expression darkening. “The factory tour,” he muttered. “Something’s wrong.”

Yazmina exhaled sharply. She didn’t need to ask—she already knew. The incident she had anticipated had finally come to pass.

Jack.

She glanced at Harley, who was already moving toward the noise. For a moment, she considered simply leaving. This wasn’t her concern. She wasn’t part of the tour, and whatever had happened was inevitable.

But before she could get far, his voice called out again.

“A shame, though,” he said lazily, as if they were merely discussing the weather. “About the little boy.”

She stopped, but only for a second. Just long enough for him to notice.

“Jack, wasn’t it?” Harley continued, his voice casual but laced with something darker. “Such an unfortunate accident. But then again, accidents happen all the time in places like this.”

Yazmina slowly turned her head to look at him, her expression unreadable. “That’s none of my concern.”

“Of course not.” He gave a slow, knowing nod. “You’re a woman of science, after all. Facts. Logic. Efficiency.” His smirk returned.

“Still, I do wonder… why were you in the main entrance today, Doctor Yazmina? You don’t strike me as the type to take tours.”

Her gaze remained steady. “If you’re so curious, then perhaps you should add stalking to your list of responsibilities, Head of Special Projects.”

His chuckle was low and amused. “You’re sharp. I like that.”

“I don’t care what you like.”

For the first time, the amusement in his eyes flickered into something else—something intrigued, something entertained. He stepped slightly closer, lowering his voice just enough to make it feel like a secret between them.

“I think you and I are going to get along just fine, Doctor.”

Yazmina didn’t dignify him with a response. Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Harley Sawyer standing in the middle of the hall, watching her retreat with an unreadable expression.

The game had begun.

Harley watched her go, his smirk deepening as she disappeared into the crowd. There was something almost hypnotic about the way she carried herself—cold, untouchable, like an ice queen reigning over a world of fire.

Most people in Playtime Co. were either frightened, desperate to please, or too dull to be of interest.

But Yazmina?

She was something else entirely.

He ran a hand through his tousled dark hair, exhaling a quiet chuckle. The way she had looked at him—disdainful yet unshaken—only made him more interested.

It wasn’t often he met someone who didn’t shrink under his gaze.

If anything, she challenged it.

Harley had built a reputation for himself, and not without reason. He was ruthless, meticulous, and always three steps ahead.

His position as Head of Special Projects wasn’t just a title—it was power. And power meant control.

Yet here she was, slipping through his fingers like sand.

He likes the challenge.

Turning away from the chaotic scene unfolding in the entrance hall, he adjusted the cuffs of his coat and walked with calculated ease in the opposite direction. There was work to be done, after all.

And now, a new curiosity to indulge.

Yazmina returned to her quarters and shut the door behind her, exhaling as she leaned against it.

Harley Sawyer.

She’d have to watch him carefully. She knew his type—charming, ruthless, and endlessly manipulative.

He wouldn’t leave her alone now. Not until he figured out whatever it was he thought he saw in her.

He wasn’t like the other scientists—stiff, dull, burdened with guilt over the horrors they enabled.

No, Harley carried himself like a man above consequence, his sharp features accentuated by that ever-present smirk, as if the world itself was his playground, and he was always ten steps ahead.

And now, she had caught his interest.

Not in a romantic way, of course. He wasn’t a man drawn to people—only to what they could offer, what they could be molded into. His fascination with her was no different.

That amused her.

Yazmina smirked to herself, her pace steady as she wove through the halls. If Harley Sawyer wanted to play, then so be it.

She could be the mouse in his little game—timid, oblivious, scurrying exactly where he wanted her to go.

But she knew something about mice that men like him often forgot.

Sometimes, the mouse had teeth.

And sometimes, the mouse led the cat straight into the trap.