Weeks had passed, and here I was—sitting behind a desk stacked with documents, drowning in paperwork.
The office walls felt smaller than they were, suffocating under the weight of whispers and stares. News travels fast. Apparently, the collapse of my publishing empire had finally reached the ears of many.
I was surprised it took this long—probably thanks to my mother, who must have done her best to keep the scandal under wraps.
Unfortunately, Nirel Natalia wasted no time in using it against me.
She had already marked me as an enemy the moment I walked through these doors. Why? Maybe she saw me as a threat, or maybe she just enjoyed kicking people when they were already down.
Either way, today was no different.
"HA! You can't even keep your files safe. No wonder the documents to your publishing company got stolen. "
Her voice was dripping with mockery, loud enough for anyone passing by to hear.
The sting of her words hit deeper than I cared to admit. But I would not let her see it.
I kept my face blank, my expression unreadable—like her words meant nothing.
Because the moment you let your enemies know they've struck a nerve, they've already won.
But luckily for me, where I had made an enemy, I had also gained a friend—Myrel Ethan.
He was the one who greeted me on my first day, the same guy with that bright, disarming smile. Since then, he has been nothing but helpful—showing me around, guiding me through my tasks, even covering for me when needed.
A genuinely nice guy.
Too nice.
And that's what made me suspicious.
People aren't just kind for no reason—especially not in this world. There's always a price, always an ulterior motive lurking beneath the surface.I couldn't shake the feeling that Myrel Ethan was playing a game of his own.
But until I figured out what it was, I had no choice but to play along.
Knock, knock.
"Come in."
The door swung open, revealing a woman dripping in quiet luxury.
Gold jewelry adorned her wrists and neck—not flashy, just enough to whisper wealth. Her tailored Louis Vuitton dress hugged her frame with precision, the fabric speaking of status and exclusivity. On her feet, versatile yet elegant flats—a deliberate choice. She didn't need heels to command attention.
Everything about her screamed old money. Not the loud, attention-seeking kind. The dangerous kind. The kind that never has to prove itself.
Who is she? And more importantly—what does she want from me?
"Have a seat," I said, keeping my tone neutral.
She moved with the kind of grace that only came from years of privilege, settling into the chair as if she owned the place.
The air shifted.
Something told me this wasn't just a casual visit.
She crossed her legs, her eyes scanning the room before finally settling on me.
"I've heard a lot about you," she said smoothly, her voice as polished as her appearance.
I leaned back slightly. "I wish I could say the same."
Her lips curved into something between a smirk and a smile. "That's because people like me don't get talked about. We talk about others."
Interesting.
I kept my expression unreadable. "And what exactly are you saying about me?"
She folded her hands on her lap. "That you're a woman who lost everything—but somehow, you're still standing."
A flicker of irritation sparked inside me, but I didn't let it show. "That's one way to put it."
She tilted her head slightly. "I prefer to call it resilience."
I narrowed my eyes. "Flattery is nice, but let's skip to why you're really here."
She let out a soft, knowing chuckle. "Straight to the point. I like that."
Then she leaned forward, her gaze sharp.
"I have an offer for you."
"An offer? What kind of offer?."
She leans in, the soft clinking of her gold bracelets the only sound in the room.
"Michael Grien stole from you."
I don't flinch. I already know this.
"He ruined your name, took your empire, and left you with nothing."
My jaw tightens. "If you're here to remind me, save your breath."
She chuckles, low and amused. "Oh, I'm not here to remind you. I'm here to fix it."
I stay silent.
She slides a sleek black folder across the desk. I glance down but don't touch it.
"Inside, you'll find exactly what you need—funds, legal connections, and every resource necessary to rebuild what was taken from you."
Tempting. But I know better. Nothing comes without a price.
I finally looked up. "And what do you want in return?"
She exhales, as if this is the part that truly matters. "Three things."
I fold my arms. "I'm listening."
She lifts a perfectly manicured finger. "First—loyalty. You don't question me, you don't betray me, and you don't walk away when things get messy."
I already don't like this.
"Second—you take a position at my publishing company. Officially, you'll be running one of my divisions. Unofficially?" Her smirk sharpens. "You'll be keeping an eye on certain people. Gathering information. Moving pieces when I say so."
Something cold snakes down my spine.
"And third?" I ask.
She sits back, her eyes gleaming like she's been waiting for this. "You help me destroy Michael Grien."
I freeze.
"Not just financially," she continues. "Not just his reputation. I want him completely and utterly ruined. And you're the perfect person to do it."
The air in the room thickens.
She watches me, waiting.
This is everything I want—a chance to rebuild, a chance to rise, and a chance to ruin the man who burned my world to the ground.
But is it worth the cost?
"Interesting. Your offer sounds… tempting, but I'll have to keep it as a last resort. I'm not agreeing to your deal, lady, but I'll keep in mind that there's someone else who also wants to destroy Michael Grien."
She scoffs, clearly unsatisfied with my answer, yet a hint of being impressed lingers behind her expression.
"Hopefully, you'll be back," she says, though her confident smile tells me she knows I will.
She stands, smoothing out the folds of her designer dress, and starts toward the door. Just before stepping out, she glances back at me.
"My business card is in the folder. Contact me when you've made up your mind."
With that, she turns and leaves.
The moment the door clicks shut, I exhale, finally releasing the breath I didn't realize I was holding. My fingers hover over the folder she left behind. A heavy silence fills the room as I pick it up and open it.
Inside, a single photograph slides onto my desk.
I freeze.
It's a picture of Michael Grien… sitting in a dimly lit restaurant, clinking glasses with my ex-assistant.
My stomach dropped.
I had trusted her. She had access to everything—my schedules, my documents, my personal life. She was the one who handled my accounts, and made sure everything ran smoothly.
Had she been working with him all along?
At the bottom of the folder, in bold red ink, is a single word.
"CHECKMATE."
My blood boiled.
Another person I trusted—another person I saved—had betrayed me.
It was an inside job.
I had given her that job, knowing how unprivileged her family was. I felt pity for her. And this is how she repaid me?
A sickening feeling curled in my stomach.
Who else was in cahoots with him? How many more had he planted in my business? People I worked with everyday… smiling in my face while they stabbed me in the back.
I had too many questions—but no answers.
This ran deeper than I thought. Much deeper.
But there was one question that burned hotter than the rest, a question that refused to leave me.
Why me?