Chapter Eight – The Past on Display
The whispers followed me like perfume.
I didn't mind. In fact, I leaned into them. There's a power in walking through a room and knowing everyone's eyes are on you, whether it's admiration, envy, or pure spite. My heels echoed on the polished floor, my hips set the rhythm, and my blouse—silk, low-cut enough to remind everyone I knew what I had—wasn't chosen by accident.
Every head that turned, every glance traded over cubicles, fed me. Even Julian's, caught fleetingly as I passed his open door. His eyes lingered one second too long before he bent over his papers. That second was mine.
"Morning, Amira," Elaine piped up, popping into my path like an overeager lapdog. She clutched a stack of files that looked too heavy for her twig arms. "Julian asked me to—"
"I'll take those." I slipped them from her hands smoothly and turned toward his office, ignoring the red splotches spreading over her cheeks. Elaine sputtered, stepping back like she'd been dismissed. Which, in every way that mattered, she had.
I didn't even have to say a word.
The rest of the morning, I played my game. Subtle glances in meetings, fingers brushing Julian's when I handed him a report, legs crossed deliberately during a briefing while his jaw clenched and unclenched.
But by noon, the gossip had changed. It wasn't the usual blend of awe and bitterness. This time it had teeth.
"She probably only got this job because she looks the part."
"Did you know she grew up in The Heights?"
"Figures—always reaching up for something out of her league."
I caught the whispers as I passed the kitchenette, their eyes wide with delight, waiting for me to crack.
Instead, I poured my coffee slow and steady, let the silence stretch until one of them squirmed, and walked out without a word. But inside, my blood burned. Not because they were wrong, but because someone had fed them the details.
By the time I settled back at my desk, Tasha leaned against the divider, arms folded. Her expression said it all.
"She's digging," Tasha muttered under her breath.
"Cassandra?"
"Who else? I heard her little birdies asking around about where you came from. And now look—suddenly half the floor knows you grew up in The Heights. They're trying to spin it like you're some charity case who clawed her way into heels she doesn't fit."
I took a sip of my coffee, slow enough to hide the twitch at my lip. Cassandra was playing dirty.
"Let her," I said finally, setting my mug down with a click. "I don't scare that easy."
Tasha's grin spread. "That's my girl."
The trap sprung two days later.
Cassandra arrived unannounced again, dressed in icy blue this time, her diamonds sharper than her smile. She carried a sleek bag in one hand, phone in the other, her aura screaming power wife on patrol.
"Amira," she greeted, her voice warm enough to fool the weak but not me. "You're looking… determined today."
"Always," I answered, smoothing my skirt as I rose to my feet.
Her smile curved. "I hear you're from The Heights. That must've been… what's the word… character-building?"
Her tone was sweet as poison. Loud enough for the room to hear. I felt heads swiveling, whispers halting midstream.
For a second, heat surged up my spine. Every part of me wanted to claw back at her. But I didn't. I smiled instead.
"Yes," I said brightly. "It taught me how to fight for what I want. Not everyone gets that kind of training."
The silence that followed was delicious. Even Margaret from accounting shifted in her chair. Cassandra's lips pressed tighter, the first crack in her perfect mask.
She tilted her head, lowering her voice just enough to slice without the others hearing. "You don't belong in his world. No matter what tricks you play."
I leaned closer, my own voice a velvet whisper. "Funny. He seems to think I do."
Her nostrils flared. She recovered with a too-bright laugh, patting her hair as if nothing had been said. But her eyes betrayed her.
When she finally swept toward Julian's office, the room exhaled. Tasha stifled a laugh behind her coffee cup. Elaine dropped a pen and scrambled for it, her hands shaking. The tension cracked into small, nervous chatter, but I felt every eye burning into me.
Julian's door closed, Cassandra disappearing inside. I could only imagine what performance she was about to stage this time.
But she had already lost the moment. Because no matter what she whispered to him, no matter what act she put on behind closed doors, the office had seen something else today: Cassandra Archer on the defensive.
And me, standing tall.
When she left, her perfume trailed like smoke, and her parting shot was as sharp as ever. She paused by my desk, eyes glittering.
"Secretaries come and go, darling. Wives endure."
She expected me to wilt.
I only tilted my head and gave her the smile I knew would haunt her all night.
Because if Cassandra had to drag my past into the light, it meant only one thing.
She was running out of weapons.