(Alex POV)
There has to be a trace.
I stare at the access logs on my laptop, eyes scanning lines of data that refuse to give me what I want. Every change is small. Precise. Clean enough to pass as routine if you aren't looking closely.
That's what bothers me.
This isn't sloppy. It's deliberate.
Someone is careful enough to know where the cameras are — metaphorical and otherwise.
I lean back in my chair, jaw tightening.
I understand resentment. People get territorial when someone new starts appearing in rooms they weren't invited into before. Especially someone like Elara — an assistant on paper, but far more than that in practice.
She didn't just schedule my days. She fixed inefficiencies no one else noticed. She corrected numbers senior analysts missed. She absorbed complexity without complaint.
I didn't "promote" her out of kindness.
I gave her work because she earned it.
And if she hadn't had the potential, I wouldn't have risked it.
What irritates me more than the sabotage itself is the implication behind it — that my judgment is flawed. That I don't see what I'm doing. As if I haven't spent years proving otherwise.
After my father died, people expected cracks.
They didn't get them.
I took over the company young, with too many eyes waiting for failure, and turned it into something stronger than it had ever been. Every expansion, every acquisition, every decision — calculated. Controlled.
This is no different. Except somehow it feels different.
My phone rings.
I answer without checking the caller ID.
"Hello."
"Well, look who's alive," a familiar voice says. "I was starting to think you'd disappeared into one of your spreadsheets permanently."
I exhale slowly. "Ryan. I'm in the middle of something."
"Yeah, I figured," he replies easily. "Which is why I'm rescuing you. I'm in the area. Thought we'd grab a drink. It's been months, man."
"I'm busy."
"You've been 'busy' for half a year. Come on. One drink. Then you can go back to brooding over world domination."
I hesitate, fingers tapping once against the desk.
"…Fine," I say finally. "Pick me up. I don't feel like driving."
"Five minutes," he says, satisfied. "Don't disappear."
I end the call and start shutting things down when the door to my office opens.
Vivienne steps in without knocking, perfectly composed as always.
"You're leaving?" she asks lightly. "Good. I was about to head out myself."
She pauses, glancing around the room. "We should get something to eat together. Outside the office. It feels like I don't know you at all anymore. Hard to believe we grew up together."
There's humor in her tone, but something else underneath it.
"I'm meeting Ryan," I say. "Seems like everyone's decided I need a social life."
"Oh," she says, smiling. "That's nice. I haven't seen him in ages. Mind if I join?"
I consider it for a second, then shrug. "Sure. But if the two of you start arguing, I'm not playing referee."
She laughs. "No promises."
We leave together, conversation easy, familiar. Ryan is already waiting near the entrance, leaning against his car.
"Vivienne," he says, surprised but polite, pulling her into a brief side hug. "Didn't expect to see you."
His eyes flick to me, questioning.
I smirk. "Ran into her on the way out. She decided to tag along."
"Of course," Ryan says, a little too brightly. "The more, the merrier."
The drive is short. Five minutes, maybe less.
I'm stepping out of the car when something across the street catches my attention.
A familiar silhouette.
Elara.
My focus sharpens instinctively.
She isn't alone.
Daniel stands with her, close enough that my chest tightens before I consciously register why. They're speaking quietly, bodies angled toward each other, the rest of the street falling away around them.
She folds into him.
His arms come around her, steady, protective — and something sharp twists low in my chest, hot and unwelcome.
I don't realize I've stopped moving until Vivienne speaks beside me.
"Oh," she says softly. "Isn't that Elara and Daniel… again?"
Again.
"I didn't realize they were this… close," she adds, thoughtfully. "But maybe it's for the best."
I turn to her, irritation flaring sharper than I intend. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She lifts her hands slightly. "Nothing. Just… they suit each other more, don't they?"
Suit her better.
Ryan clears his throat. "Who are we talking about?"
"No one," I say too quickly. "Let's go in. I'm starving."
Inside the restaurant, conversation flows around me — Ryan joking, Vivienne commenting on the menu — but my attention keeps drifting back to the image burned into my mind.
Elara's shoulders shaking.
Daniel's hand at her back.
The way she didn't pull away.
I tell myself it's none of my business.
She's my employee.
Her personal life is hers.
Distance is necessary.
Distance keeps things clean.
And if she's finding comfort elsewhere, that only confirms I'm doing the right thing by stepping back. Whoever is trying to undermine her will lose interest if I'm no longer a factor.
The logic is solid.
It doesn't stop the ache.
Later, alone in my apartment, the silence presses in heavier than usual. I pour a drink and forget to touch it, standing by the window as the city glows below.
Distance protects her.
Distance keeps control.
Distance is the right decision.
I repeat it until it almost sounds convincing.
Almost.
And somewhere beneath the certainty, something unsettled refuses to quiet — the uncomfortable suspicion that the mistake I just made won't reveal itself until it's too late.