Ivy Strikes Back

CHAPTER 22

Okay.

Something was wrong.

I felt it before I saw it. That prickling under my skin. That quiet wrongness in the air. The kind that doesn’t shout. It whispers. And whispers are worse.

I’d barely settled at my desk when my inbox exploded.

Meeting rescheduled.

Report missing.

Urgent board request.

Client escalation.

None of it made sense. Not together. Not all at once.

I glanced up.

Reign was already on his feet.

Not rushed. Not panicked. But alert. Like a predator that had just scented blood.

Our eyes met.

Just one look.

He knew too.

Here we go.

I swallowed and stood, grabbing my tablet. “Something’s off,” I said quietly as I approached him.

“Yes,” he replied. Calm. Too calm. “And it’s not accidental.”

Of course it wasn’t.

Ivy.

She hadn’t come at us loud. Not this time. She’d gone subtle. Strategic. Surgical.

The worst kind.

“Conference room,” he said. “Now.”

We walked fast. Side by side. Not touching. But close enough that I felt his presence like a shield. Like gravity.

The door shut behind us.

He turned to me. Eyes sharp. Focused. But there was something else underneath it. Concern. Real concern.

“What happened after you left last night?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “I went straight home. Didn’t open my laptop. Didn’t touch any files.”

His jaw tightened. “Good. Because several documents tied directly to your access were altered at three a.m.”

My stomach dropped.

“Altered how?”

He exhaled through his nose. “Numbers shifted. Timelines adjusted. Just enough to look like incompetence. Or… sabotage.”

My pulse spiked. “You don’t think—”

“I don’t think you did it,” he cut in immediately. Firm. Certain. No hesitation.

That mattered more than he probably realised.

“But Ivy wants the board to think you did.”

I wrapped my arms around myself. Not cold. Just bracing.

“She’s framing me,” I said.

“Yes.”

I let out a breath. Slow. Controlled. Panic wouldn’t help. Panic never did.

“Okay,” I said. “Then we prove her wrong.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Approval. Pride.

“That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

There was a knock.

Too sharp. Too deliberate.

Ivy didn’t wait for permission.

She walked in like she owned the place. Heels clicking. Lips curved in that familiar, poisonous smile.

“Well,” she said lightly. “This is… cosy.”

Reign didn’t offer her a seat. Didn’t greet her.

“What do you want, Ivy?”

She feigned a sigh. “Straight to business. Still so charming.”

Her eyes slid to me. Cold. Calculating.

“Maya,” she said sweetly. “Rough morning?”

I met her gaze. Didn’t blink. “Busy one.”

Her smile widened. “Oh, I imagine.”

She turned to Reign. “The board’s concerned. They’ve noticed inconsistencies. Files linked to your assistant’s credentials.”

I felt it then.

The trap snapping shut.

Reign didn’t look at me. Didn’t need to.

“That’s impossible,” he said. “She wasn’t logged in.”

Ivy lifted a brow. “The system says otherwise.”

“Then the system’s been manipulated.”

She laughed softly. “Careful, Reign. Accusing internal security without proof is… messy.”

I leaned forward. “Funny. Because I was about to say the same thing.”

Both of them looked at me.

Ivy’s smile faltered. Just a crack.

“I didn’t access those files,” I continued. “But someone wanted it to look like I did. Someone with enough clearance to mask their trail.”

Silence.

Reign’s gaze sharpened. “Continue.”

I turned to him. “You said the changes were minimal. Strategic. That means Ivy wasn’t trying to destroy the project. She wanted attention. Scrutiny.”

Ivy scoffed. “That’s quite the imagination.”

“I’m not finished,” I said. Calm. Steady. “If the board investigates, they’ll trace the access points. Time stamps. Device IDs. Unless those were altered too.”

Ivy’s eyes flickered.

Just once.

“And altering those,” I added, “would require admin-level access.”

Reign straightened slowly.

“That level”, he said quietly, “is restricted to three people.”

Ivy tilted her head. “Are you suggesting—”

“I’m stating,” he cut in, “that this conversation is over.”

Her smile vanished.

“You can’t shut me out,” she snapped. “The board will demand answers.”

“And they’ll get them,” he replied. “With full transparency.”

She stared at him. Really stared.

Something shifted.

This wasn’t going the way she planned.

She turned back to me, eyes sharp as glass. “Be careful, Maya. You’re standing very close to a fall.”

I held her gaze. “I’ve learnt to balance.”

She left without another word.

The door slammed.

The room went quiet.

Too quiet.

I let out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding. My hands were shaking now. Adrenaline crash.

Reign noticed.

He stepped closer. Not touching. Just there.

“You did well,” he said softly.

I laughed. Breathless. “She almost had me.”

“But she didn’t.”

I looked up at him. “What now?”

Now, the war began.

“Now,” he said, “we pull the logs. All of them. Quietly. Before she can scrub anything else.”

“Can we?”

He nodded. “I already called IT. Discreetly.”

Of course he had.

We worked fast. Side by side. Screens glowing. Data scrolling. Time stamps. Access paths.

And then—

“There,” I said.

He leaned in. Close. Too close.

My pulse jumped. Not the time. Definitely not the time.

“What did you find?”

“Look,” I said, pointing. “The access reroute. It jumps servers for exactly thirty seconds. That’s not user behaviour. That’s a script.”

His mouth curved. Sharp. Satisfied. Dangerous.

“She used a ghost key.”

I nodded. “Which means—”

“She didn’t expect you to notice.”

We locked eyes.

Something electric passed between us. Pride. Relief. Something darker.

“I underestimated her,” I said quietly.

“No,” he replied. “You didn’t underestimate her. You matched her.”

The door opened again.

Evan.

He took one look at us. The screens. The tension.

“Well,” he said. “Looks like I missed the fun.”

“Not yet,” Reign said. “You’re just in time.”

Evan grinned. “Ivy?”

“Slipped,” I said.

He laughed. “Knew it. She always gets sloppy when she thinks she’s winning.”

Reign turned to him. “I want you to prep a report. Quietly. No alerts. We present it directly to the board.”

Evan’s expression turned serious. “Got it.”

He glanced at me. “Nice catch.”

“Thanks.”

When he left, the silence returned. Different now. Heavier.

Reign finally stepped back. Gave me space.

“You should go home early,” he said.

I frowned. “I’m fine.”

“I know,” he said. “But Ivy won’t stop. And I don’t want you exposed.”

I hesitated. “What about you?”

A pause.

“I’ll handle her.”

That shouldn’t have comforted me. But it did.

I gathered my things slowly. Reluctantly.

At the door, I stopped. Turned back.

“Reign?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. For trusting me.”

His expression softened. Just for a second.

“There was never a question.”

I left with my heart racing.

Because Ivy had struck.

And missed.

But storms like her never came just once.

They came again.

Harder.

And next time, there would be no warning.Adapting. Observing. Surviving.

I realised something crucial.

Office battles weren’t just about work.

They were about people. Motives. Shadows. Secrets. Lies. And alliances—unexpected, subtle, powerful.

Ivy, Reign, Evan… and me.

We were all part of a game. Dangerous, personal, and high-stakes.

And I was already in the middle of it.

As I left the office, the city skyline stretched before me.

The lights flickered on, one by one. Shadows lengthened. Threats and opportunities mingled.

Ivy would return. She always did.

Reign would watch. Protect. Challenge. Encourage.

And I… I was ready.

For the tension. For the shadows. For the unexpected alliances.

For everything.

And there was no way to run.