Deadly Silence ||Black Noir x Reader||

Chapter 21

The following day, Black Noir couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about Y/N. He replayed the events of the previous night in his mind. It gnawed at him, this unease that he couldn't quite put a finger on.

Back at Vought Tower, he moved through the halls with his usual silent precision, but his thoughts were anything but calm. He'd always trusted his instincts, and right now, they were telling him that Y/N was more than she seemed. He started paying closer attention to her movements, watching her interactions with others.

She had an uncanny ability to blend in, to be just another face in the crowd, but Noir had trained himself to notice the little things—the way her eyes lingered a fraction too long on certain files, the way she always seemed to be around when something significant was happening.

He recalled the locked office door in her penthouse. Every time he had visited her house that door would be locked. What was she hiding in there? The thought bothered him more than he expected. He knew he could break in and find out, but something held him back. Maybe it was the memory of her sleeping face, so vulnerable in the dark.

Still, Noir couldn't ignore the growing suspicion. He started following her more closely, sticking to the shadows where he was most comfortable. He watched her when she didn't think anyone was looking—how she would slip into quiet conversations with Maeve, how she seemed to know more about Vought's inner workings than a simple journalist director should.

One day, as she sat in the lounge, reviewing some papers with a furrowed brow, Noir stood in the doorway, just out of sight, observing her. She looked tense, like she was carrying the weight of something far heavier than an article deadline.

His eyes narrowed behind his mask. There was something she wasn't telling anyone, and the more he watched her, the more certain he became. Whatever it was, it could be dangerous. But Noir was torn—between the duty to his team and this strange, protective feeling he had developed toward her.

As Y/N gathered her things and left the lounge, Noir melted back into the shadows. He would keep watching, waiting for her to slip up, to reveal what she was really after. And when she did, he would be there, ready to act.

A part of Black Noir wasn't doing this for Vought's sake. The usual loyalty that drove him to protect the company and its secrets was still there, but something else had taken root in his mind. 

Y/N wasn't like the others. She wasn't an open book, like most people he encountered. Noir was used to seeing through people, understanding their motives with a glance, but she was different. She was a mystery, and it intrigued him.

Every time he watched her, it wasn't just suspicion that fueled his actions. There was an interest in uncovering what lay beneath her exterior. She was like a novel with a tightly bound cover, and he found himself wanting to open it, to turn each page and discover more about her, bit by bit.

The idea of unraveling her secrets, of being the one to truly know her, stirred something inside him. It wasn't just about figuring out if she was a threat to Vought. It was about the challenge, the thrill of getting closer to her, of peeling back the layers she so carefully kept hidden.

In the quiet moments when he was alone, he thought about her—about the way she looked when she was lost in thought, the way she laughed. He found himself drawn to her not just as a potential adversary, but as a woman who was anything but ordinary. She was someone he wanted to figure out, to understand in a way that no one else could.

And so, Noir's surveillance of Y/N became something more personal. He wasn't just watching her for Vought's sake. He was watching her because he wanted to. Because the more he saw, the more he wanted to know. And that desire, the need to uncover her dirty secrets, all of them, all her filth and dirty.