Chapter 1: Office Confrontation
The door to Tess Mercer’s office didn’t so much open as give up, the lock mechanism sparking and yielding to the furious weight Lois Lane threw against it. The metallic groan was swallowed by the vast, cold silence of the penthouse. The only light came from the city itself, a thousand pinpricks of white and gold bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Tess didn’t look up from her tablet. She was a silhouette against the sprawl of Metropolis, seated behind a slab of black marble that was less a desk and more a tombstone. “The security deposit for that door is coming out of your paycheck, Lois. If you still have one.”
Lois crossed the acre of polished concrete floor, her boots marking sharp, angry echoes. She tossed a crumpled file onto the marble. It skidded, coming to rest against a crystal tumbler of amber whiskey. “Explain it.”
Finally, Tess lifted her gaze. In the low light, her green eyes were chips of frosted glass. She took a slow sip, her movements infuriatingly deliberate. “It’s a manila folder. Generally used for storing paper. I believe the Daily Planet still uses them.”
“Don’t,” Lois spat, planting her hands on the cold stone. She leaned in, close enough to smell the expensive scent of Tess’s perfume, something with sandalwood and an edge of frost. “The encrypted data trail. The shell companies. All of it funnels back here. To this tower. To you.”
Tess set the tablet down with a soft click. A smile, thin and razor-sharp, touched her lips. “You broke into a LuthorCorp server.Again. Your uncle may be a general, Lois, but even he will run out of favors to call in for his reckless niece.”
“It’s not a server. It’s a graveyard.” Lois’s voice dropped, low and charged. “Missing whistleblowers. Disappeared engineers. All of them connected to projects your ‘board’ supposedly shut down. But they didn’t shut them down, did they? You just moved them. Where?”
Tess rose, smooth and unhurried. She circled the desk, not towards Lois, but towards the window, as if surveying her kingdom. “You have a fevered imagination. And a terminal case of confirmation bias. You want a villain so badly you’re trying to sculpt one out of smoke and shadows.”
“The shadows are real, Tess.” Lois followed her, the anger a hot pulse in her throat. “And you’re standing right in the middle of them.”
Tess turned, suddenly close. Too close. The controlled mask slipped, just for a second, revealing a flash of pure, unadulterated irritation. “You are a gnat. A persistent, buzzing gnat that keeps flying into the window of a speeding car. One of these days, the glass won’t give.”
The dismissive arrogance was the final spark. Lois’s hand shot out, grabbing Tess’s forearm. The silk of her blouse was cool under Lois’s fingers. “Talk.”
Tess looked down at the hand on her arm, then back up at Lois’s face. Her expression was one of mild, academic interest. “Or what?”
It was the tone, the absolute, glacial certainty of it, that broke the last of Lois’s control. She shoved.
It wasn’t a hard shove, but it was unexpected. Tess stumbled back a single step, her heel catching on the edge of a plush rug. The composure shattered. Something wild and feral flashed in her eyes. She surged forward, her own hands coming up to slam into Lois’s shoulders.
Lois grunted, the impact driving her back. Her spine hit the cold, panoramic glass of the window with a dull thud that vibrated through her entire body. The city spun dizzily below her feet, a vertiginous drop into nothing.
Tess was on her, one hand planted on the glass beside Lois’s head, caging her in. Their breaths clouded the window, fogging the glittering view. “You think this is a game? You think you can just force your way in here and make demands?”
“I think you’re hiding corpses,” Lois shot back, gasping. The cold from the glass seeped through her jacket. The heat from Tess’s body pressed against her front. The contrast was maddening.
“You have no idea what I’m hiding.”
The words were a hot whisper against Lois’s cheek. The fight wasn’t about leverage anymore, or space. It had condensed into this electric inch between them, a current of pure, mutual fury so intense it had nowhere to go.
Lois moved first. She didn’t think. Her head tilted up, her mouth capturing Tess’s in a kiss that was all collision and teeth. It wasn’t romantic. It was an attack, a continuation of the shove by other means.
Tess stiffened. For a heartbeat, Lois thought she’d pull back, deliver a slap that would crack like thunder. Instead, a low sound, almost a growl, ripped from Tess’s throat. She kissed back.
It was devastating.
Her mouth was relentless, a counter-assault that stole the air from Lois’s lungs. The hand beside Lois’s head slid into her hair, gripping tight, angling her face to deepen the kiss. Lois’s own hands scrambled, fisting in the impossibly smooth silk of Tess’s blouse, pulling her closer until there was no space at all, just the hard line of the desk at her back and the punishing warmth of Tess against her front.
The city lights blurred into streaks. The only sound was the ragged symphony of their breathing, the soft, damning rustle of fabric. Tess’s other hand found the waistband of Lois’s jeans, fingers slipping beneath her shirt to dig into the soft skin of her hip. The touch was possessive, rough, leaving a brand that felt like it would last for days.
Lois broke the kiss, gasping. “The file—”
“Forget the damn file,” Tess muttered, her mouth trailing down Lois’s jaw to her throat. Her teeth scraped over Lois’s pulse point, a promise and a threat in one.
Then, with a sudden, shocking shift of weight, Tess spun them. Lois’s world tilted. The hard edge of the marble desk hit the back of her thighs, and then she was falling backwards, caught only by Tess’s iron grip on her arms. She landed sprawled across the cold, pristine surface, papers scattering like frightened birds.
Tess loomed over her, her sleek hair falling forward to curtain their faces. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, all pretense of control incinerated. She didn’t speak. She just looked at Lois—at her heaving chest, at her parted, kiss-swollen lips, at the defiance still burning in her eyes—and something in her gaze shifted from triumph to a kind of hungry desperation.
Her hands went to the front of Lois’s blouse. There was a second of hesitation, a silent question in the tightening of her fingers on the buttons.
Lois answered by arching her back off the desk, a silent, furious consent.
The fabric gave way with a sharp, rending sound. Buttons pinged across the marble, spinning into the dark. Cool air washed over Lois’s skin, followed immediately by the heat of Tess’s stare. A moan escaped Lois, part shock, part surrender, all need. Her legs came up almost of their own volition, wrapping around Tess’s waist, anchoring her there, pulling her in.
Tess’s breath hitched. The victory in her eyes was gone, replaced by something raw and unguarded. She braced her hands on the desk on either side of Lois’s head, leaning down until their foreheads nearly touched. The air between them was charged, trembling.
“It’s not a graveyard,” Tess whispered, the confession torn from her, harsh and quiet. “It’s a lab. And he’s still alive.”
The words cut through the fever in Lois’s blood like a splash of ice water. She went still, her grip tightening on Tess’s shoulders. “Who?”
But Tess just shook her head, a minute, fragile movement. She closed her eyes, as if she could shut out the consequences of what she’d just said. When she opened them again, the shutters were slamming back into place, but it was too late. Lois had seen it. The crack. The fear.
The story had just begun, and it was already more dangerous than either of them had imagined.
The story had just begun, and it was already more dangerous than either of them had imagined.
Lois’s mind, fogged with anger and a shocking, unwelcome desire, scrambled to process the words. He’s still alive. The confession hung between them, more intimate than the kiss. It changed everything. The fight drained from her muscles, replaced by a journalist’s cold, focusing thrill.
“Who?” she demanded again, her voice a rough whisper. Her legs were still locked around Tess’s waist, but the gesture was now an act of detention, not passion.
Tess’s eyes cleared, the raw flash of fear smothered by a veneer of instant regret. She tried to pull back, but Lois held her fast. “Get off me, Lane.”
“Not until you finish that sentence. Who’s alive? One of the engineers? Which project?”
“You’re not listening.” Tess’s voice turned to steel. She shoved against Lois’s shoulders, breaking the hold with a sharp, forceful movement. Lois’s back slammed against the hard marble, the air rushing from her lungs.
Before Lois could sit up, Tess was on her again. This wasn’t about kissing anymore. It was reclamation. A re-establishment of dominance. Her hands, elegant and vicious, grabbed the torn edges of Lois’s blouse.
“You wanted a story?” Tess hissed, her breath hot against Lois’s skin. “This isn’t a story. It’s a suicide note. And you are not writing it.”
With a brutal, sideways yank, she tore the ruined blouse completely open, then off Lois’s shoulders and down her arms, trapping them briefly. The fine cotton and silk gave way with a sound like a gasp. It was discarded, a white flag tossed to the dark floor.
Lois lay there, exposed from the waist up in the cold, sterile air, clad only in her plain, practical bra. The shock of it wasn’t in the nudity; it was in the violence of the act, the absolute dismissal. The city lights painted her skin in cold neon colors. She felt utterly, terrifyingly seen—not as a woman, but as a problem to be dismantled.
Tess stood over her, clutching the fabric in one white-knuckled fist. She looked from the cloth in her hand to Lois on the desk, her chest rising and falling rapidly. A flicker of something unreadable—triumph, shame, horror—crossed her face.
“Get out,” Tess said, the words flat and final. “The next thing I throw off this building won’t be a coffee mug.”
She turned her back, a clear, devastating dismissal, and walked to the window, staring out at the city she supposedly controlled. She didn’t look back.
Lois pushed herself up on trembling arms. The cool marble bit into her thighs. She didn’t bother covering herself. There was no point. The vulnerability was the point. Tess had carved it into the moment and walked away.
Sliding off the desk, her boots hitting the floor with a solid thunk, Lois reached for her jacket, which had fallen over the back of a chair. She shrugged into it, the familiar weight a small comfort. She left the torn blouse on the floor. A trophy for Tess. A receipt for herself.
She paused at the shattered office door, turning only her head. Tess remained a silhouette against the infinite glow of Metropolis, utterly still.
“This isn’t over,” Lois said, her voice surprisingly steady.
“It is for tonight,” Tess replied without turning around. “The elevator is still working. For now.”
Lois walked out, the hum of the servers fading behind her, replaced by the lonely echo of her own footsteps in the hallway. Her skin still burned where Tess’s hands had been. Her mind raced, already constructing paragraphs, chasing the ghost of a name. He’s still alive.
The clothes were torn off. The real work was just beginning.
The real work was just beginning.
The elevator descent was a silent, humming purge. Lois leaned against the mirrored wall, watching the numbers bleed from penthouse to lobby. Her reflection was a mess—hair wild, mouth smudged, eyes holding a storm she couldn’t name. The cool silk of her jacket lining felt alien against her bare skin. Every nerve ending still crackled, remembering the scrape of marble, the bite of fingers on her hip, the shocking heat of a mouth that tasted like whiskey and victory.
She got out into the empty, overlit lobby, her footsteps echoing. The night air outside was a physical slap, crisp and smelling of rain and diesel. She hailed a cab, sliding into the backseat with a grunt.
“Where to?” the driver asked, not turning.
“Just drive,” she muttered, fishing her phone from her jacket pocket. The screen lit up her face in the dark. No calls. No messages. The ordinary silence felt like a taunt.
She stared out the window as the city slid by, but she wasn’t seeing the streets. She was seeing the look in Tess’s eyes in that final second before she turned away—not triumph, but something hollow. Something like fear. He’s still alive.
Who? The question was a drumbeat in her skull. It connected to nothing and everything. The file was a skeleton, but Tess had just whispered a name to the bones.
The cab drifted through a neon-lit district, the glow washing over her in pulses of pink and blue. Her skin felt too tight. The memory of Tess’s body pressing her against the glass was no longer just an adrenaline spike; it was a live wire, buzzing in the base of her spine. Anger and a brutal, unwelcome thirst twisted together until she couldn’t tell them apart. She’d gone in for a fight and had come out… unsettled. Hungry.
“Stop here,” she said suddenly, her voice rough.
The cab pulled over next to a dive bar she knew, a place with sticky floors and no windows. She needed a drink that didn’t cost fifty dollars a pour. She needed to think where no one could see her.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and classic rock. She found a stool at the far end of the bar, ordered a double bourbon, neat, and downed half in one burn. It didn’t calm the buzz; it just fed it.
Her phone buzzed on the bar. A blocked number. She stared at it for three rings before answering. “Lane.”
“You left something.” Tess’s voice was a calm, digital thread in the noisy room.
Lois’s grip tightened on the glass. “What?”
“Your dignity. It’s on my floor next to your blouse.” The words were meant to cut, but Lois heard the strain underneath.
“Keep it. I have plenty.” She took another swallow. “Who’s alive, Tess?”
A long pause. Lois could hear the faint hum of Tess’s office, that tomb-like quiet. “You’re not safe,” Tess said finally, and the statement was flat, absolute.
“I’m never safe. That’s the job. Now answer the question.”
“Come and get it.”
The line went dead.
Lois sat frozen, the phone pressed to her ear. An invitation. A trap. It was the same damn thing. She finished the bourbon, the fire in her gut mirroring the one Tess had lit an hour before. This wasn’t over. It was circling back.
She threw cash on the bar and went back out into the night. She didn’t hail a cab. She walked, her mind racing. Tess wanted her to come back. Why? To finish the conversation or to finish what they’d started?
The LuthorCorp Tower speared the sky ahead, its apex lit like a cold, distant star. Lois’s pace quickened, her heart hammering against her ribs. This was insane. This was exactly what she shouldn’t do.
She used a service entrance, a code she’d lifted months ago from a tipsy security consultant. The freight elevator groaned its way upward. This time, there was no dramatic entrance. The penthouse foyer was dark, the door to the office slightly ajar, a blade of yellow light cutting across the floor.
Lois pushed it open.
Tess was waiting. She’d changed. The silk blouse was gone, replaced by a simple, black tank top. Her hair was down. She stood in the middle of the room, no desk between them, holding two fresh glasses of whiskey. She offered one.
“No more games,” Lois said, but she took the glass.
“No,” Tess agreed, her eyes dark. “No more games.”
They drank. The silence was heavier than before, charged with everything unsaid. Lois let her jacket fall from her shoulders. It pooled on the floor. Tess’s gaze tracked the movement, lingering on the line of her bra, the exposed skin of her stomach.
“The project was called ‘Recovery,’” Tess said, her voice low. “It wasn’t about weapons. It was about retrieval. From the Phantom Zone.”
Lois went cold. Myth. Scientific heresy. “That’s impossible.”
“He made it possible.” Tess took a step closer. “My… predecessor. He found a way to crack it open. Like a egg. They sent probes. Then they sent a person. A test pilot. He went in. Nothing came out. The project was scuttled, buried under a mountain of legal tape and dead ends.” Another step. “The energy signature they monitored… it never fully vanished. It flickers. Like a heartbeat on a dead screen.”
“You’re saying someone’s trapped in there? Alive?” Lois whispered.
“I’m saying the door they opened never fully closed.” Tess was right in front of her now. The scent of her was overwhelming. “And I’m saying that certain people, powerful people, are very interested in who—or what—might finally come back through.”
Their glasses found a side table, forgotten. The space between them was a vacuum, pulling them together.
This time, the kiss wasn’t about anger. It was a confession. Tess’s mouth was hungry, seeking, her tongue sliding against Lois’s with a desperate urgency that made Lois’s knees weak. Lois moaned into it, her hands coming up to tangle in that sleek black hair, pulling her closer, erasing the last inch of distance.
Tess’s hands were at her waist, then sliding up her back, fingers fumbling with the clasp of her bra. It gave way. Tess broke the kiss to look down, her breath catching. “Fuck,” she breathed, the word full of awe and hunger.
She bent her head, taking a nipple into her mouth, sucking hard, her tongue circling the tight peak. Lois cried out, arching into the wet heat, her head falling back. Sensation, sharp and bright, arced through her, obliterating thought. This was what she needed—to be consumed by this, to feel something so brutally physical it chased the ghosts from the room.
“Tess,” she gasped.
Tess looked up, her lips glistening. “Tell me to stop.”
“Don’t you dare.”
A fierce grin touched Tess’s mouth. She backed Lois towards the desk again, but this time, there was no violence in it. Only intent. When the edge hit Lois’s thighs, Tess dropped to her knees.
Her hands hooked into the waistband of Lois’s jeans and underwear, dragging them down in one rough, relentless motion. The cool air hit Lois’s skin, followed by the blistering heat of Tess’s gaze. She was completely exposed, legs bare, open to the woman kneeling before her.
“Look at you,” Tess murmured, her voice thick. She ran her hands up the trembling insides of Lois’s thighs, pushing them wider. “So fucking relentless. So fucking maddening.” She leaned in, her breath a hot promise against Lois’s core. “Let’s see how loud you get when you’re not asking questions.”
Her mouth was on her then, no teasing, no gentle preface. It was a deep, claiming lunge of tongue, a filthy, wet kiss that made Lois shout, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the slick marble. Tess held her hips firm, pinning her in place, and ate her like she was starving, like this was the answer to every one of their arguments.
Lois bucked, overwhelmed. The sensation was too much—the slick friction of Tess’s tongue circling her clit, the soft pressure delving inside her, the obscene, wet sounds that filled the silent office. It was crude and magnificent and it tore down every last defense she had. She came with a shattered gasp, her body seizing, waves of pure, mindless pleasure racking her.
Before the tremors even subsided, Tess was on her feet, kissing her again, letting Lois taste herself on her tongue. Lois’s hands went to Tess’s pants, her fingers clumsy, tearing at the button and zipper. She pushed them down over Tess’s hips, along with the scrap of black lace beneath. She needed to feel her, skin to skin, needed to return the devastating favor.
She spun them, pushing Tess back onto the desk. Tess went willingly, her eyes burning with a dark fire. Lois didn’t kneel. She climbed onto the desk, straddling Tess’s hips, her own need roaring back to life, fresh and insistent. She reached between them, her fingers finding Tess wet and ready, and sank down onto her in one slow, agonizing slide.
They groaned in unison. The fit was perfect, a tight, hot clutch that stole the air from the room. Lois braced her hands on Tess’s shoulders, beginning to move, a slow, rolling grind that built into a frantic, driving rhythm. Tess’s head fell back, her neck corded, her hips rising to meet every thrust.
“Is this—” Lois panted, sweat dripping between her breasts, “—is this still a power play?”
Tess’s hands gripped her ass, fingers digging in hard, pulling her deeper. “Shut up,” she gasped, “just shut up and fuck me.”
Lois did. She fucked her with all the pent-up frustration, the rivalry, the searing curiosity. The desk rocked against the window with their momentum. The city lights were a smear. There was no CEO, no reporter. Just two bodies chasing a fever, trying to burn out the truth they couldn’t speak.
Tess came first, a silent, arching convulsion, her inner muscles clenching around Lois with a fierce, rhythmic pulse. The sight of her—composed, impeccable Tess Mercer coming utterly apart beneath her—tipped Lois over the edge again. Her own climax ripped through her, a white-hot crash that left her trembling, collapsed onto Tess’s heaving chest.
For long minutes, the only sound was their ragged, merging breaths. The heat of their bodies steamed the cold glass beside them.
Lois finally lifted her head. Tess’s eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. The hollow look was gone, replaced by a weary, satiated clarity.
“The pilot’s name,” Tess said quietly, her voice raw, “was Major Christopher Kelvin. My predecessor sent her husband into hell. She’s been waiting for him to come home for seven years.”
She shifted, easing Lois off her, and sat up. She found her pants, pulled them on, movements pragmatic in the aftermath. “The flicker on the screen is getting stronger. Someone else knows. They’re watching the rift. And they’ll kill anyone who gets too close to the truth.”
Lois found her own clothes, her mind already stitching the new data into the framework of the file. A name. A motive. A ticking clock.
“Why tell me now?” Lois asked, stepping into her jeans.
Tess looked at her, and for the first time, it felt like they were seeing each other, truly seeing. “Because I can’t stop it alone. And because…” She trailed off, running a hand through her ruined hair. “Because you left your damn blouse on my floor. You’re already in it.”
She walked to the shattered door, a queen returning to a broken castle. “The service elevator is still running. For now. Next time, Lane, call first.”
Lois dressed, the ghost of Tess’s touch still on her skin, the weight of a major’s name in her mind. She looked at the desk, at the city beyond, at the woman silhouetted in the doorway.
The work wasn’t just beginning. It had just changed shape entirely. She had a source. She had a secret. And she had a trail of torn clothing leading right back to the lion’s den.
She walked out, and this time, she didn’t look back.