Clara stood frozen. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound escaped. Her mind struggled to piece together the words that had just been hurled at her. Her eyes glistened, tears threatening to spill, yet none did. Her expression was blank, calm, almost detached, as if she'd willed herself to become numb.
But her stillness wasn't strength, it was shock.
Mia, standing a step away, watched her with narrowed eyes. Even now, even under the weight of Blake's fury, Clara still managed to look unruffled, serene in that frustrating, effortless way that made Mia's insides twist with envy.
With a sweet, composed voice, Mia turned to Blake.
"Sir, I think there's been some misunderstanding," she said with a soft, professional smile.
"Clara must be feeling tired today. She's been so devoted to her work lately… maybe she just needed a moment to rest. I'm sure she didn't mean any disrespect."
Her tone was smooth, her words wrapped in concern, but the gleam in her eyes said otherwise.
Mia reached out and placed a gentle hand on Clara's shoulder, a gesture that looked affectionate, but Clara somehow didn't feel it so gentle.
Blake's frown deepened. "Tired?" he snapped, his voice cutting across the murmurs in the lounge.
"Do you mean to say that if a staff works devotedly, they earn the right to take breaks whenever they feel like it? Is that how this company operates now?"
He slammed a file onto the nearest coffee table. Jake who was sitting on the sofa, flinched.
"Do you think you're the only one who works hard here, Miss Clara? That the rest of us are lounging around?" His tone dripped with sarcasm. "Tell me, are you the only one paid to work?"
The sharpness of his words sliced through the air like glass.
Clara blinked, her vision blurring. The room tilted slightly. She could barely hear him anymore, his voice became muffled, distant, as if she were underwater. Her heart pounded painfully, her breathing shallow.
Mia noticed it instantly. The faint tremor in Clara's fingers, the pale hue on her cheeks, her defenses were cracking.
Finally.
A small smirk played at the corner of Mia's lips, quickly masked by feigned pity. She gave Clara's shoulder another pat. "Clara, I'm so sorry," she murmured.
"I just wanted to help you… I didn't mean for this to happen."
Her tone trembled with guilt.
Clara looked at her, silent. Mia's expression was painted with regret, her lips pressed in a delicate line. To everyone, she looked like her kind friend trying to shield her. But Clara could feel something not right.
Still, she didn't retaliate.
Instead, she drew a small breath, straightened her spine, and turned toward Mr. Jake, the senior manager of Zephyr, who had been lounging comfortably on the sofa, sipping his coffee, clearly entertained by the scene.
Her voice was faint but steady. "Mr. Jake, I… I apologize. It's my fault entirely. My unprofessional attitude must have caused inconvenience to the team."
She bowed lightly, her trembling hands clasped before her.
A quiet hush fell over the room.
Blake exhaled sharply through his nose. Her humility seemed to cool his anger a little, though not entirely. The situation had drawn attention, and he despised commotion, especially from interns.
By now, a crowd had gathered around the lounge area. Staff from neighboring departments peeked in curiously, whispering among themselves.
"Isn't that the new intern?" one asked, craning her neck.
"Yeah, the one working with Daniel's team," another whispered back.
"I heard she's handling one of the biggest clients. Maybe she thought that made her special."
A few nodded knowingly, while others frowned.
"Honestly," a middle-aged employee said, folding her arms, "this is her fault. Imagine us slogging here till midnight, and she decides she can slack off during office hours? She's lucky the manager's even talking instead of handing her a suspension notice."
That voice, sharp, confident, and tinged with arrogance, belonged to Stacy. She was striking in appearance, with bold makeup and an aura that screamed authority.
Her lips curled in a smirk as she tilted her head, glancing at Mia with a quick, meaningful wink.
Mia caught it and lowered her gaze just slightly, masking her satisfaction. Stacy, her cousin, had always known how to play her part.
"She's just an intern," Stacy continued loudly, pretending to address the crowd. "If she acts this entitled now, imagine when she's a permanent staff. Maybe she'll go on vacations without notice."
A few chuckled at the remark. Laughter rippled through the room, casual yet cruel.
Clara stood still, her hands tightly clasped. Her heart hammered in her chest. Each word felt like a pebble thrown at her dignity. She wanted to defend herself, to say that she had never slacked off, that she had been working nonstop. But her voice refused to come out.
Her throat burned with unshed tears, and the sound of mocking laughter only deepened her silence.
Among the crowd, one pair of eyes hardened.
Austin clenched his fists, his jaw tight. He had been standing near the back, watching everything unfold, his anger simmering.
Finally, he stepped forward. "Enough," he said sharply, his voice slicing through the noise.
The laughter died down.
"She's not like that," he continued, his gaze fixed on Blake and the others.
"I've been working beside her for two days straight. She's the last to leave the office, sometimes even after the lights go out. She's never slacked off once."
A murmur spread.
Austin took a deep breath.
"Even as an intern, she's handled work most of us wouldn't dare take. Maybe before judging her, you should look at her performance instead of making assumptions."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Blake looked momentarily thrown off. Even Mia's confident mask flickered.
Daniel, who had been observing quietly near the back, frowned slightly. He knew Austin wasn't exaggerating, Clara's performance had indeed been remarkable. He remembered assigning her the Zephyr client's case, one of their most complex accounts, and she'd taken it with steady hands.
But then, his memory drifted to the conversation he'd had with Max, the CEO's assistant, just a few hours earlier.
---
Max had been in his office, tall, composed, and cold as ice. His voice had carried a precision that demanded immediate obedience.
"I reviewed the interns' performance logs," Max had said, flipping through the reports. "Who's handling Zephyr?"
Daniel had hesitated. "Miss Clara Jean. She's been doing quite well, actually-"
Max's pen stilled. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, lifted from the document. "Miss Clara?" he repeated, his tone clipped. "Replace her."
Daniel blinked. "Replace her? But sir, she's performing above expectations. She-"
"Did I stutter?" Max's tone had dropped, low and dangerously calm.
"The CEO has a meeting regarding Zephyr this week. I don't want any complications. Assign someone else immediately."
And with that, Max had turned, already heading toward the CEO's office, leaving Daniel standing in confusion.
---
Now, watching the chaos unfolding in the lounge, Daniel suspected a connection. Why was Max so particular about this intern?
His thoughts scattered when a sudden hush rippled through the crowd.
Footsteps echoed on the marble staircase. Steady. Slow. Purposeful.
Everyone turned toward the sound.
A man in an immaculate blue suit, descended the stairs, his presence commanding silence without a single word. His sharp, unreadable gaze stiffened everyone. The air itself seemed to tighten around him.
"What's going on here?" His deep, resonant voice filled the space.
Instantly, the chatter died. Mr. Jake straightened in his seat, Blake lowered his gaze, and Mia's smile froze.
Max's eyes swept across the room, first toward Jake, then Blake, and finally resting on Mia.
But when his gaze reached Clara, something shifted. His sharp expression softened for a fraction of a second, barely noticeable, but there. His eyes lingered.
Clara, who had been clutching her trembling hands, looked up slowly. Her heart skipped. She had seen him before, during the interview.
He was very warm and sweet, but now...he was the entire opposite. It made her straighten her posture unconsciously.
Now, standing in front of him, she could feel her pulse hammering in her ears.
Was he here to fire me? Was this the end of the little progress I made?
Max walked forward, each step deliberate, calculated. His aura made the air feel heavier, his voice calm yet authoritative.
"I asked," he repeated, "what's going on here?"
No one answered. Even Blake, always loud, always confident, seemed suddenly unsure of his own stance.
Mia opened her mouth to say something, but one look from Max silenced her instantly.
He stopped a few steps away from Clara. For a moment, he just looked at her, his gaze unreadable, but piercing enough to make her forget to breathe.
Then, his voice came low and composed. "Miss Clara," he said, "come with me."
The crowd exchanged glances.
Clara's breath hitched. She hesitated, then nodded faintly and stepped forward. Her legs felt weak, but she forced herself to move.
As she walked past Mia, the latter's lips curled slightly. In her mind, the decision was already made. She's finished.
But Mia didn't see the faint, almost imperceptible shift in Max's eyes as he led Clara away, the flicker of concern behind the cold composure.
The storm wasn't over.
It had only just begun.