Elise arrived at Maya's penthouse just after eight, her heels clicking across the polished marble like an announcement of her mood. She dropped her bag on the couch, bypassed the offered wine, and went straight for the armchair opposite Maya.
Maya didn't ask what was wrong — she only raised one perfectly arched brow. "So… how did it go?"
Elise let out a sharp laugh. "How do you think? He cut me down like I was a nuisance. Then he walked right out and picked up Layla — in front of me."
That made Maya's fingers still against her glass stem. "Picked her up?"
"Like they were…" Elise searched for the word. "…comfortable. Familiar. He didn't even glance my way."
A slow, dangerous smile curved Maya's lips. "So it's worse than I thought."
Elise frowned. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," Maya said, setting down her drink, "Damian is allowing himself to get… attached. And that's unacceptable."
She rose and crossed to her desk, where her phone and a small stack of leather-bound folders waited. "My father didn't invest millions into his company for him to be distracted by a secretary. And Damian knows it. If he's forgetting, we'll remind him."
Elise leaned forward. "What are you going to do?"
Maya's tone softened into something almost sweet — the kind of sweetness that made Elise's pulse quicken in both excitement and fear. "I'll speak to my father. He has ways of… influencing decisions. If Damian's judgment is slipping, we'll make sure certain pressures force him back on track."
She turned, eyes locking on Elise. "In the meantime, you keep at him. Don't back off just because he's cold. Get under his skin. Make Layla's presence look like a liability, not an asset."
A chill ran through Elise, but she nodded. "Understood."
Maya's smile returned — polished, practiced, lethal. "Good. By the time I'm done, Damian won't have the luxury of protecting her."
Damian had just set his phone on silent when it lit up with a name he didn't often see during business hours: Mr. Winston
He answered without changing his posture. "Good morning, sir."
The deep, measured voice on the other end was calm, but every word carried weight.
"Damian, I've been hearing things. About you. About… a certain employee."
Damian's jaw tightened slightly. "Layla."
"I don't know what you call it," Mr Winston continued, "but my investments are tied to your company's image. Attachments like this can cloud judgment. I'd hate to see personal matters undermine business."
There was a pause — not because Damian was unsure, but because he didn't rush for anyone.
"My judgment is fine," he said evenly. "And my personal life is mine."
"Then keep it personal," Winston replied, his tone cooling further. "Out of the boardroom. Out of the public eye. Or I may have to reconsider how my capital is positioned."
Damian's eyes narrowed, his voice dropping a degree. "You do what you feel necessary. So will I."
The line went dead.
Outside the Office, Days Later
Layla noticed the change almost immediately.
Damian still called — sometimes late at night, his voice low and quiet, asking if she'd eaten or telling her about some ridiculous thing that happened in a meeting. He still texted, short messages that somehow said more than paragraphs.
But in the office? He was distant. No lingering glances, no casual check-ins, no reason for anyone to think they shared anything more than work.
At first she told herself she was imagining it. But then she caught him walking past her without the faintest flicker of recognition, only to call her ten minutes later from his car just to ask if she was free that evening.
She didn't understand why — and Damian wasn't explaining.
.