The boardroom was still vibrating with heat when I stood.
Papers shuffled, chairs scraped, and no one dared meet my eyes.
"Mrs... Ms. Diana," I said, tone crisp, unyielding. "I'd like to see you in my office. Now."
A ripple ran across the table. A few of them blinked, unsure whether they'd misheard.
I didn't wait for a response from Diana. I walked out, feeling her seething silence follow me. Pauline fell into step beside me, her tablet held tight. I turned to her, "Head to the Westland's project team. I want the contractor payment schedule, the Q2 variance report, and the subsidiary expense ledger. On my desk in fifteen."
Her eyes widened, then she nodded and hurried off.
I didn't look back as I left the room. The silence behind me felt like a wound — raw, bleeding, and far from closed.
My office was just like I remembered. Pauline kept my table neat while I was away, and at the corner of the table was a small vase of verbena.
"Elara," she said when she stepped in, voice perfectly pitched — surprised, but not startled. "What is this about? I didn't expect—"
"I won't take long," I said, signalling for Diana to shut the door behind her. "It's about Westland."
Her brow lifted, the smallest, most calculated arch. "Westland? Oh, that again. I thought Grayson already—"
"Said it's unverified?"The word cut clean. "I'd prefer to hear it from you."
She smiled. That soft, condescending curve I'd seen her use on reporters and shareholders alike. "Darling, surely this can wait. You've just come back, everyone's worried sick. You should rest—"
"I'll rest when the books are clean."
That earned me a flicker — small, but there. Her composure rippled like silk in a draft. Then the smile returned, practiced to perfection."You're just like Charles," she sighed, with a tone of feigned fondness. "Always so... meticulous. But really, trust me — there's nothing to be concerned about."
"Then you won't mind reviewing the figures together."I smiled at her. "Please, have a seat. Now. Pauline would be back with the files in a bit."
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. Only the quiet hum of the air-conditioning filled the space. She sat down, folded her hands, then leaned back, legs crossed elegantly, the posture of someone pretending not to feel cornered.
"Elara, sweetheart. You've been away for days," she said finally, voice smooth. "I know you're putting up a strong front for everything. But you and I both know how the press can be — cruel, sensational. You don't have to use work to distract yourself from Mr Vancourt and Ms Smith."
The name hit like a flicked blade. I didn't flinch."You'd know," I said evenly.
Her smile thinned. "What do you mean? You think I'd do that to you?"
"I think you'd do anything to protect your interests. We'll know later, once we go through the Westland files. It seems like it has your fingerprints all over it."
A pause. Just a breath, but it told me everything.
She exhaled softly, a sound of mock sadness. "Your father wanted this company to stay in the family. I suppose he didn't expect his daughter to treat everyone like an enemy. Especially someone who has tried to treat her like her own."
"He also didn't expect his new wife to have off-ledger accounts," I said.
Her eyes sharpened, the faintest glint of steel behind the sympathy.
A knock, then Pauline appeared, clutching a stack of thick folders. Her voice wavered just slightly.
"Miss Sterling — the contractor payment schedule, the Q2 variance report, and the expense ledger."
"Set them here," I said. "Thank you."
When the door clicked shut again, the quiet deepened. I opened the first file, the weight of paper grounding me.
"Line item 307," I said. "Duplicate invoice for Tencrest Engineering. Same services. Two separate payments. Approved by your assistant. Counter-signed by you."
Diana didn't blink. "Tencrest handled structural reinforcement. Sometimes invoices are resubmitted after delayed approvals."
"Not with altered totals."
I flipped another page. "And this — offshore transfer to a dormant account in Singapore. Westland subsidiary."
"That's standard for inter-branch consolidation," she replied, perfectly even.
"It's not a branch account," I said softly. "It's a shell company. Registered three months after your last trip there."
The air between us thickened. She let out a quiet laugh, too light to be genuine.
"You're fishing, darling. I understand. After what you've been through... the rumours, the pressure, Kaelen—"
"Be careful," I said. "You're reaching."
She tilted her head, the sympathy returning like perfume. "Oh, I'm just saying — men like him don't stay loyal for long. They use what's useful. And once they're done—"
Her voice dropped, almost tender.
"I know men. You're young. New. Confident. It's all still fresh to him. Fun. But darling, he and Ms Smith go a long way back. You really think Kaelen Vancourt won't ever be tired of you?"
The words were meant to shatter me, to find the crack in my new-found armor.
But before I could form a reply, a cool, familiar voice cut through the air from the doorway.
"I believe I can answer that better than anyone."
I looked up, and Diana turned. Kaelen stood there, having been let in by a flustered Pauline. He leaned against the doorframe, the picture of relaxed lethality, his eyes fixed on Diana with a look that could freeze hell.
"You seem to know your way around men, Diana. And ways to use them."
Diana froze.
He just stood there, looking at Diana, one hand in his pocket, the other holding my coat — black, immaculate, like the shadow of a verdict.
"I came to pick you up," he said to me, eyes not leaving Diana's face.
I rose, gathering the files. "We're done here."
Diana's lips parted, but nothing came out.
Kaelen stepped aside to let me pass, then looked back over his shoulder."Diana," he said quietly. "You might want to keep your act clean. The dark has a way of spitting out what's buried."
The door shut behind us with a soft click — the kind that feels like a gunshot when the silence settles.
The sterile air of the executive floor seemed to thaw with every step we took away from my office. The tension that had held my spine rigid began to uncoil, replaced by a warmth that started deep in my chest. I could feel the weight of a hundred unseen eyes from behind glass walls, but for the first time, it didn't feel like a judgment. It felt like a victory march.
I slowed my pace, letting him draw even with me. My shoulder brushed against his arm, a deliberate, grounding touch.
"Thanks for coming," I said, my voice softer now, the corporate edge filed away.
He didn't look at me, his gaze fixed ahead, ever the sentinel. "You said you had to do it alone. You never said I couldn't be in the building." A pause. "I was… concerned."
The simple admission, so at odds with his usual granite demeanor, was more disarming than any grand gesture. He had respected my need to fight my own battle, but he'd positioned himself just close enough to be my cavalry if I'd needed one.
We reached the bank of elevators. He pressed the call button, and as we waited in the humming silence, I watched his hand—the one that had held my coat, the one that had clenched in rage every time I woke up from a nightmare the past few days—hang loosely at his side. It was a careful, conscious neutrality, a space he was leaving for me.
I didn't need the space.
I shifted the files to my other arm and slid my hand through the crook of his elbow, linking our arms. My fingers rested lightly on the fine wool of his suit jacket.
He went perfectly still, not even breathing for a second. Then, a slow, deep exhale. He didn't pull me closer, but he didn't pull away. He simply allowed it, his arm a solid, steady anchor against mine.
The elevator doors slid open, empty. We stepped inside. As they closed, sealing us in a private, descending box, I leaned my head against his shoulder, just for a moment. The scent of his cologne—sandalwood and crisp linen—wiped the last traces of Diana's poisonous perfume from my senses.
"She was wrong, you know," he murmured to the quiet between us.
I looked up at him, "About what?"
"About me getting tired of you."
"Well Mr Vancourt, you better as hell don't." I feigned a frown.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. It was there and gone in a heartbeat, but I saw it. He covered my hand on his arm with his own, his touch feather-light, a question.
The doors opened to the bustling, marble-floored lobby. Employees and visitors streamed past, their whispers and glances now a distant hum. Together, we walked out of Sterling Tower, into the fading afternoon light, my arm securely tucked in his.