Katherine's POV
I slam the folder down on my desk, hard enough to startle myself.
"Useless," I hissed under my breath.
Nothing sticks to that girl. Eva Sinclair—bright-eyed, smooth-talking, always perfectly polished. I've tried everything short of dragging her out of the building myself, and still, she's here. Thriving. Smiling. Climbing.
The name Eva Sinclair lingered like a stain on everything. No matter how I moved my pieces, she kept showing up-- poised, composed, untouched by every trap I set.
I have planted mistakes, timed delays, even used that pathetic accountant to send her to the wrong quarterly report. She should've stumbled. But she didn't. And that irritated me more than I wanted to admit.
My heels click loudly as I pace the length of my office, each step sharper than the last. The glass walls make me feel exposed, so I pull the blinds closed with a rough tug. I need to think. I need her gone.
I sit down and flip open the folder again. Inside are the fake financial documents I had my Nico prepare—carefully doctored spreadsheets showing discrepancies, misreported funds, errors that don't look like accidents. I double-checked the numbers myself. It's not perfect, but it's enough to raise red flags.
I pull up my email and type a message to Arthur Lowell, the head of the board. He still thinks women should be grateful to have a seat at the table. He's never liked Eva's confidence. He'll believe what I want him to.
*Subject:* Concerning Behavior from Sinclair
*Body:*
Attached are reports that appear to have been manipulated by Eva Sinclair. Thought you should see this first before escalating. Let me know how you'd like to proceed.
– K.W
I attach the files and hit send.
Let's see how she talks her way out of this.
I lean back in my chair, exhaling slowly. My office is silent except for the soft hum of the AC. But my thoughts are loud—boiling.
Damien assigned her another high-level project yesterday. Financial modeling for a pending merger. That's not entry-level work. That's not "assistant" material. She's getting too close to him.
I've watched him. The way he looks at her, the way he softens, hesitates. It's not professional. He's slipping. Again.
I've spent years keeping him in check—steering him, cleaning up his messes. I know how to protect the company. I've done it longer than she's even been alive.
This isn't just about Eva.
It's about control.
Damien thinks he's immune to manipulation, but I've seen the way Eva tilts her head, lowers her voice. She plays innocent, curious, eager to learn. But behind those wide eyes is something else. Cold. Calculating.
And he's falling for it.
A soft knock on my door pulls me from my thoughts.
"Come in," I say sharply. Miranda steps inside, dressed in a tailored navy dress and heels sharp enough to kill. Her lips curl into a smug smile.
"She's still here," she says, voice low.
"No thanks to you," I mutter.
She sits across from me without being asked, crossing one leg over the other.
"She's good. Too good," Miranda says. "I thought she'd crack under pressure."
"She's got a strong backup," I reply, reaching for my glass of water. "No one plays this clean unless they have got a strong backup."
Miranda raises an eyebrow. "Like who?"
"I don't know yet. But I intend to find out."
She leans forward, her voice a whisper. "I know a guy. Discreet. He can dig deeper. See what your PIs missed."
I hesitate for a second, then nod. "Do it."
"I'll make the call tonight."
Miranda stands and heads to the door, but pauses just before leaving.
"You sure Damien isn't already in on it?" she asks.
I shoot her a glare sharp enough to slice steel. "He's not that stupid. He should have reacted."
She gives a little shrug. "Men usually are when they're in love."
The door clicks shut behind her, and I'm alone again.
I have my doubt, but I am sure that Damien would have confronted us.
Or at least I wish he wasn't.
What if he already fall into her trap already, all in the name of love
My hands shake slightly as I pick up the glass. I drain the water and stare out the narrow slit between the blinds. Below, people move like ants—so small, so predictable.
That's what Eva was supposed to be. Predictable. But she isn't.
And that terrifies me.
I opened my email again. The message I sent to Arthur is still sitting in the sent folder. Good. But something about it nags at me. I clicked it, and re-read it. Everything seems fine.
Still… I can't shake the feeling.
My phone buzzed. A message from an anonymous source.
"You should check your folder. Not everything stayed buried."
I freeze.
Quickly, I check my email. The message I sent to Arthur-- forwarded again. Not to comply. To an unknown domain.
I switch to the IT security dashboard I've kept bookmarked—just to peek. And that's when I see it.
An alert. Unauthorized access attempt flagged on my email account. Logged five minutes ago.
What the hell?
Someone's watching me.
I slam the laptop shut and sit there, frozen. Was it Eva? Has she been ahead of me this whole time?
My eyes narrowed. No. No, it can't be her. She wouldn't know how.
But someone is helping her. Someone in this building. Someone good and that makes this more than personal.
My chest tightens.
I grab my phone and text Miranda.
*We have a bigger problem. Get that guy. Now.*
I look around my office like the walls might start whispering. The space suddenly feels too small, too quiet.
I've underestimated her.
But not anymore.
This was supposed to be a game. I make the moves, and she loses.
But now?
Now it's war.
And I don't lose wars.