Lyra's POV
The strategy call was routine, budget realignment, quarterly forecasts, Michael moderating with his usual calm. But somewhere between the performance benchmarks and vendor audits, it happened.
Her name was said aloud.
"…Elmont's projections from Q3 suggest we'll undercut the margin swing if we hold that marketing segment."
The voice came from a director on another floor, one she'd only emailed, never met. His tone wasn't pointed, not quite. But the pause after her name was. A half-second too long. Just enough space for subtext to settle in.
Lyra kept her face still, fingers hovering over her trackpad. Her heart had already spiked.
No one else commented. Michael moved the meeting forward. But the damage was done.
She was no longer invisible.
When the call ended, she stayed seated in the quiet of her small remote workspace. Her hand hovered over her tea. Still warm. Untouched.
Someone had noticed. Someone who had the power to say her name in a room full of high-ranking employees, and make the air feel heavier for it.
---
Letizia's POV
Letizia Dorne read reports like other women read perfume labels, carefully, with memory, and always with a sharp understanding of who wore what, and why.
This one, from her contact inside the legal branch of Virelux's internal affairs, said enough between the lines. The board was beginning to circle again.
Too much attention on one name. Elmont.
She took off her glasses, ran a hand through her silver hair, and called her lawyer.
"I want all binding clauses Cassian's role as CEO offers for protection. Whistleblower, family leave, extended NDA shielding, anything that grants cover to an employee associated with him."
"You think they'll go after her?"
"I don't think," she said calmly. "I know."
---
Cassian's POV
He watched the message board light up with internal chatter and clipped reports. Strategy this. PR that. Nothing concrete. Nothing obvious.
But patterns formed fast when you were trained to read between the words.
Lyra's name came up twice today. Once in a performance thread. Once in a private meeting invite he wasn't included in.
He could address it.
He could call a departmental summit, issue a firm, neutral statement, remind everyone about Virelux's confidentiality clauses and HR protection for all wellness cases.
But he didn't.
Because naming it would only confirm it. And any confirmation might shift the scrutiny from whispers to fire.
So he stayed silent. For her.
The protection strategy wasn't elegant, but it was old. If you can't disprove, don't acknowledge. Let the tide pass. Or crash on you first.
He stared at his screen for a long time. Then at her personnel file.
He missed her scent. The sound of her laugh when she thought no one heard. The way she curled one leg under the other when she was thinking too hard.
He hadn't seen her in person for nearly five days. Not since the remote work began.
It was the longest week of his life.
---
Executive Office
The text came from Letizia.
> Looks like your silence is running out of time.
You protect her officially, or someone will ruin her unofficially.
He read it twice.
Then closed his laptop, leaned back in his chair, and pressed his knuckles to his mouth.
It wasn't a threat. It wasn't even a warning.
It was the simple truth, spoken by the one woman who never played court politics. Because she knew how to burn kingdoms down if necessary.
He didn't reply.
His desk drawer was empty now. The velvet box was gone, back where it belonged. Her grandmother's earring returned to her hand, quiet and whole.
He'd already given it back.
And now he had to figure out how to do the same with everything else that mattered publicly, deliberately, without losing her in the fallout.
He opened a blank file.
And started drafting a new protection strategy, not from instinct this time.
From intent.