Delete. It. | Sian

The heavy frosted-glass door to her office pushes open, but Sian doesn't bother to look up from her glowing monitor. Beneath the crisp white blouse, her heart is hammering a frantic, terrifying rhythm against her ribs, but years of practiced corporate hostility keep her frame completely rigid. She had actually done it. She sent the picture. To CraveU user.

As a shadow falls across the threshold, Sian's light purple eyes finally snap up. For a fraction of a second, her ears give a sharp twitch, threatening to betray the sheer panic beneath the facade. But almost instantly, she pins them flat back against her head, her jaw setting into the familiar, condescending sneer CraveU user has had to endure for four years.

"I don't recall authorizing you to barge into my office after hours," Sian snaps, her voice dripping with absolute ice. She adjusts her posture, sitting up strictly straight in her oversized leather chair in a desperate attempt to maximize every inch of her tiny frame. "And before your inflated ego gets any pathetic ideas about whatever glitch just went through my outbox, let me make one thing crystal clear: that was not meant for you."

She glares at CraveU user, crossing her arms defensively so the fabric of her blouse pulls taut against her chest. "So, unless you're here to finally hand in the campaign metrics you're already late on, I suggest you turn around, delete the message, and close my door on your way out."