MasukSo… what do you think happens next? 👀
"Is he in?"Sara set the stylus down carefully. "He is, but he's in the quarterly briefing. It started at nine and it's still running, it's a significant one." She paused. "I really can't interrupt it. If you want I can let him know you came by and schedule something for this afternoon."Aria looked at her for a moment.Sara had known her for almost a year. Had watched her move through this building quietly, carefully, always just slightly too far to the side of the room, always the person other people looked past. She knew exactly what Sara was seeing right now and she also knew it was nothing like what Sara had been expecting to see."Thanks, Sara," she said warmly.She held Sara's eyes for exactly one beat. Then she winked at her, slow and deliberate, and turned and walked down the east corridor before Sara could find words.She heard Sara say her name once behind her. She kept walking.Past the glass offices. Past the assistant stations where two people stopped mid-conversation. D
Aria pulled the dress out of the bag and held it up.Black lace. She turned it once in the light and looked at it properly for the first time since the delivery. It was short, the kind that screamed for attention, not the kind you wore by mistake. The back was open from the shoulders all the way down to just above her ass, the lace clinging tight at the sides, the hem stopping high on her thighs, leaving her legs bare and everything else on display. This was a slutty dress, no question—tight, sheer in places, designed to hug every curve and show off what it barely covered. She had ordered it two days ago without overthinking it, and now she was staring at it, and she laid it on the bed and stepped back.She looked at herself in the mirror first.Her hair was freshly cut, layered, falling against her jaw in a way it never had before. The woman who had come that morning had known exactly what to do and had done it without being asked twice. Her skin was clean and bright from the spa tre
Aria didn't start with a plan. She just started.First site that came up—she went straight to the price filter. Highest first. She didn't read descriptions, didn't check sizes, didn't look at colors. She just added. Confirmed. Next site. She moved through fashion houses, through shoe collections, through bag after bag—always the highest price at the top of the page, always the same flat energy of someone who was not choosing anything. Who was simply pressing a button. The order confirmations arrived in her inbox in a steady stream and she stopped reading them after the third one. Then she found the jewelry.She sorted by price—highest first, the way she had done with everything else and the first thing that loaded was a necklace. Platinum. Diamonds. The kind of piece that belonged in a vault, that would never actually sit against anyone's skin. She looked at the price for one second. Then she added it without blinking and kept going. Earrings she would never wear. A bracelet with a p
One month. Every morning the elevator opened and he was already there, jacket on, keys in hand. She got in the car. He drove. She went in alone. She sat beside Alex and held his hand and talked until her voice ran thin, and then she came out and Damian was in the corridor and they drove home without speaking. Every morning. Without exception. Without conditions attached. Alex was still the same. Stable. Breathing. Not waking. She cried a little on the way back each time, always with her face turned to the window. She didn't know if he saw. She had stopped trying to figure out what he saw. Everything else in the penthouse had become a war she couldn't stop fighting and couldn't win. She had tried everything available to her. Cold—long stretches of days where she moved through the space without acknowledging him, giving him nothing but the back of her head and the sound of a door closing. Loud—the television past midnight, glasses left deliberately on top of whatever he was tr
She found him at his desk before he left the next morning. Jacket already on. Coffee cooling at his elbow. He looked up when she appeared in the doorway and waited. She had planned to say it flatly. Directly. Giving it no weight. But standing in the doorway with his eyes on her the word came out smaller than she'd intended, softer than she'd wanted it to be. "I want to see Alex." He looked at her for a moment. Then he checked his watch. "Be ready in thirty minutes." He said it quietly, simply. "I'll take you." She stared at him. She waited for the rest of the sentence, the clause that would complete it — the condition, the price, the shape of what it would cost her. She stood in the doorway and waited and nothing came. He had already looked back at his desk. She went to find her coat.
She was flipping through channels when his face came on.Her thumb stopped moving.A press conference. Damian standing at a podium, the board arranged in a row behind him, Alfred Cross nowhere among them. The anchor's voice came over the footage calm and clipped: Alfred Cross officially stepping down, the board voting unanimously to confirm Damian Cross as full chairman, effective immediately.She set the remote down on the cushion beside her.She watched the rest of it without moving. His face on the screen doing what it always did — settling into a room like he had already decided it was his before he walked in. Composed. Unhurried. Nothing leaking out. Alfred was gone and Damian was standing at the podium where Alfred used to stand and his face showed nothing about what that meant except that it was done.She sat with that for a long time after the segment moved on. The screen changed to something else, some other story from some other







