A cold dread seized Anya, clutching at her throat. Roman’s gaze pierced through her, an unsettling mixture of curiosity and accusation. His question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. What exactly was she hiding? "Hiding?" Anya forced a laugh, brittle and thin. "Nothing, Mr. Thorne. Just… the usual corporate secrets, I suppose. Proprietary information." She met his eyes, her own a desperate performance of indifference. He didn't move. Roman merely tilted his head, a predatory glint in his irises. "Is that so? Because I have a distinct feeling you're hiding something far more interesting than market projections, Ms. Petrova." Sweat beaded on her upper lip. Anya swallowed, the dryness in her mouth unbearable. "Perhaps you're projecting, Mr. Thorne. I assure you, my secrets are strictly Thorne Corp's." His lips curved, a slow, unnerving smile. "We shall see." Roman finally broke eye contact, turning to the window. The tension in the room remained, a live wire humming with unspoken threats. Relief washed over her, momentarily weakening her knees. Anya clutched her desk, her knuckles white. She needed to escape, to breathe. Just as she composed herself, her phone buzzed. A text message, stark against the screen. *Anya, your father is on his way to your apartment. ETA 15 minutes. Urgent.* Panic, raw and immediate, seized her again. Her apartment. Her lab. The eco-tech prototypes, half-assembled, wires exposed, circuit boards glinting under the work lights. They were everywhere. "Excuse me, Mr. Thorne," Anya blurted, already halfway to the door. "An urgent… family matter. I need to leave immediately." Roman turned, a brow arched. "Family matters can wait. We haven't finished our conversation." "This can't wait." Her voice was sharper than intended. She didn't wait for his permission. Anya bolted from the office, the scent of his expensive cologne still clinging to the air. Running through the polished halls, she punched the elevator button repeatedly. Her mind raced, a terrifying montage of her father's stern face and the exposed energy capacitors, the water purifiers, the entire proof-of-concept for her revolutionary, unpatented technology. The elevator doors finally hissed open. Anya burst out, practically sprinting through the lobby, ignoring the bewildered stares of Thorne Corp employees. She hailed a cab, her voice strained as she barked her address. "Fast as you can, please!" Traffic was a nightmare. Every red light seemed to stretch into an eternity. Her hands trembled, clutching her bag. She pictured her father, a man of precise habits, arriving exactly on time. He would find her sanctuary, her hidden world, completely exposed. *He can't see it.* The thought hammered in her brain. Not now, not ever. Her eco-tech wasn't just a passion project; it was her rebellion, her future, and a direct challenge to Thorne Corp's energy dominance. Finally, the cab pulled up to her building. Anya threw a wad of cash at the driver, not waiting for change. She burst through the lobby, bypassing the elevator for the stairs, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Two flights, three, four. Her legs burned, her lungs ached, but adrenaline fueled her. Her apartment door seemed impossibly far away. Reaching her floor, she fumbled with her keys, her fingers clumsy with haste. The lock clicked. Anya shoved the door open, her eyes darting to the workshop area, barely concealed by a flimsy screen. It was worse than she imagined. Tools lay scattered. A glowing energy cell sat on the main workbench, connected to a spiderweb of wires. Diagrams covered the wall, detailed schematics of her breakthrough. "Oh, God," she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs. No time. No time at all. Suddenly, a polite knock echoed from the doorframe. Too late. "Anya, my dear? It's your father." His voice, calm and measured, sent a fresh wave of terror through her. "Coming!" she yelled, her voice hoarse. Frantically, Anya snatched a large, old blanket from a nearby chair, throwing it haphazardly over the glowing energy cell and the main prototype. It barely covered anything. She grabbed a stack of blueprints, shoving them under a pile of laundry. The smaller components, the circuit boards, the specialized sensors – she swept them into an open toolbox, slamming the lid shut. Her hands shook violently. Another knock. "Anya? Is everything alright? You sound… breathless." "Just… tidying up!" she gasped, stuffing a half-eaten sandwich and a coffee cup into the sink, trying to create an illusion of normalcy. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Anya forced a smile onto her face. She smoothed her hair, straightened her clothes, and walked to the door, trying to appear nonchalant. Her father, Elias Petrova, stood in the hallway, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, a brief smile on his lips. His eyes, however, were sharp, missing nothing. He scanned her disheveled state, then glanced past her, into the apartment. "Father! What a surprise!" Anya hugged him quickly, attempting to block his view. He embraced her briefly, then stepped inside. His gaze immediately landed on the workshop area, the lumpy blanket, the half-closed toolbox. He walked towards it, his steps deliberate, unhurried. Anya's blood ran cold. "It's just… some old projects," she stammered, following him, her mind scrambling for an excuse. "You know, for relaxation." He paused at the workbench, his fingers trailing over the edge of the blanket. Her breath hitched. Any second now, he would pull it back, revealing her entire life's work. Elias looked at her, then back at the covered lump. A small smile touched his lips, softer than she expected. "You've always had a knack for tinkering, my dear, unlike your brother."

Chapter 9: A Near-Miss Exposure