The morning after the gala felt different.
Selina had slept only three hours, her head replaying Clara's smug smile over and over. She should have been celebrating that her campaign had been displayed at such a high-profile event. Instead, she woke up to headlines screaming "Clara Bennett Stuns with Kane Enterprises' New Campaign."
Not Selina Hart. Not even Oliver Kane.
Clara Bennett.
It was like she had swallowed Selina's hard work and spat it back out as her own.
Selina sat on the edge of her tiny apartment bed, scrolling through the articles with numb fingers. Clara's face was everywhere, radiant and polished, while Selina's contribution had been reduced to one line at the bottom: "New consultant Selina Hart assisted with creative input."
Assisted.
The word was a blade to the chest.
By the time Selina walked into the Kane Enterprises building, her jaw was locked in determination. The office lobby shimmered with sunlight and steel, executives moving briskly across the polished floors.
She kept her chin high as whispers followed her—half-pity, half-amusement. Everyone had seen the gala. Everyone knew Clara had just tightened her grip on the company's spotlight.
Clara was already in the office when Selina arrived. She sat at her desk, scrolling through her phone, smiling faintly at the flood of congratulatory messages.
"Oh, Selina," she said without looking up. "Rough morning? The press can be brutal."
Selina placed her bag down carefully, her movements precise. "Brutal… or manipulated."
Clara tilted her head, feigning innocence. "I don't control what the media writes."
"You gave them the narrative," Selina said quietly. "You staged it to look like you were the mastermind."
Finally, Clara met her eyes. The sweetness in her gaze was gone, replaced with cool calculation. "And if I did? What will you do about it?"
Selina's nails bit into her palm. She wanted to shout, to throw Clara's lies back in her face. But shouting wouldn't win this war. Not here, not now.
Instead, Selina turned and walked to her desk, every step measured.
Clara smirked. "That's what I thought."
That afternoon, Oliver called Selina into his office.
The space was minimalist with glass walls, sleek furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the skyline. But Oliver himself looked far from calm
"I need you to know," he said, leaning forward on his desk, "what happened last night wasn't my decision."
Selina forced a neutral tone. "I know."
"Clara…" He hesitated, rubbing his temple. "She's been with this company for years. She knows how to play the game. Too well."
Selina crossed her arms. "So what do I do? Sit back while she erases me?"
Oliver's eyes flickered, sharp. "No. You prove her wrong. Not just in meetings out there. Show the world you're more than what she paints you as."
"And if I fail?" Selina asked quietly.
His gaze held hers, steady and unblinking. "You won't."
For a heartbeat, the tension between them thickened, something unspoken, dangerous, alive. Selina looked away first.
"I'll do what I have to," she said.
Selina didn't expect Clara to move so quickly.
By the next week, strange little things began happening. Selina's project files went missing from shared drives. Emails she never sent somehow got forwarded with "mistakes" that made her look sloppy.
When she confronted IT, they shrugged—there was no trace of tampering.
It didn't take a genius to figure out who was behind it.
And then came the charity event.
It was supposed to be a simple appearance, nothing compared to the gala. Kane Enterprises was sponsoring a scholarship fund at a local university, and Selina had been asked to attend alongside Clara. It should've been harmless.
It wasn't.
The night of the event, Selina arrived in a modest emerald dress, hoping to avoid drama. The ballroom was filled with professors, donors, and eager students. For once, it felt refreshing—a break from the suffocating luxury of the gala.
Until Clara took the stage.
"Tonight," Clara said, her voice carrying through the microphone, "I'm proud to present this scholarship on behalf of Kane Enterprises. And I'd like to recognize the young talent who helped bring this initiative forward—our rising star, Selina Hart."
Selina froze. Applause rippled through the room. She rose reluctantly, walking to the stage as Clara handed her the microphone.
For a moment, Selina thought maybe just maybe Clara was giving her a chance.
But as she opened her mouth to thank the audience, the projector behind them flickered to life.
And suddenly, emails flashed across the screen.
Her emails. Or rather, emails doctored to look like hers. Messages complaining about the "pointlessness" of the scholarship, mocking the students applying, calling the event "a waste of Kane Enterprises' money."
Gasps filled the room.
Selina's blood turned to ice "I—this isn't—" she stammered, but the words died in her throat. The crowd's whispers rose into a storm.
Clara leaned close, her smile hidden from the audience but clear to Selina. "Careful, darling. The world is always watching."
The damage was immediate. By the time Selina escaped the event, her phone was blowing up with messages from colleagues and reporters.
Oliver called her into his office first thing the next morning. His expression was unreadable.
"Tell me the truth," he said. "Did you write those emails?"
"No," Selina said firmly. "Someone doctored them."
"Someone like Clara?"
"Yes," Selina said without hesitation.
Oliver exhaled, leaning back. "Proving that will be nearly impossible. Clara's too careful."
Selina's throat tightened. "So what now? You let her destroy me?"
Oliver's eyes darkened. "No. But you need to be prepared. This isn't just rivalry anymore, Selina.
This is war."
That night, Selina returned to her apartment and found a white envelope slipped under her door.
Her name was written on it in elegant script.
Inside was a single note:
"Stay away from Oliver Kane. Or next time, it won't just be your reputation I ruin."
Selina's hands trembled as she read the words. For the first time, fear slid under her skin like ice.
But beneath the fear, something else burned hotter.
Rage.
Clara wanted her gone. Wanted her broken. Wanted her erased.
Selina wasn't going anywhere.
She folded the note carefully, tucked it into her drawer, and whispered into the dark:
"Game on."