The First Test

CHAPTER 10

The morning hit me like a freight train.

Not literally, of course. But it might as well have. Emails stacked in my inbox like little piles of doom. Phones buzzing. Slack messages pinging. The Henderson project? Already on fire before the day even started.

I stared at my screen. Blinked. Blinked again. The numbers blurred. My chest tightened.

“Deep breath,” I muttered to myself. “You’ve got this. You can fix it.”

And I hoped.

Reign appeared behind me. Leaned over, silent, studying my screen. I felt that familiar flutter in my stomach—part nervous, part… something else. Protective? Encouraging? Dangerous.

“You’ll manage,” he said quietly. “I’ll be in the conference room if you need me.”

I nodded. My hands shook slightly. I wanted to believe him. Really. But the fear of failing, of making another mistake in front of Ivy—or worse, the board—made my fingers tremble.

The first email was a disaster. Henderson’s finance team had sent corrections. Major corrections. The kind that made me want to hide under the desk.

I groaned, dragging my fingers through my hair. “Of course. Why wouldn’t today be easy?”

Ivy’s words from yesterday echoed. Mistakes are costly. Especially when people are watching.

I swallowed. Tried not to think about her. Tried to focus. Tried to remember Reign’s calm, steady presence. But it wasn’t easy. Not today.

Minutes turned into hours. Calls. Urgent messages. Reign popping in occasionally, offering small, quiet guidance. His hands brushing mine accidentally—or maybe not. Every time, my chest did that stupid flutter thing.

Then the first real crisis hit.

“Henderson’s numbers don’t match the projections,” one of the board analysts announced, voice clipped. “This discrepancy could delay the merger.”

I froze. The room went quiet. All eyes on me.

I wanted to vanish. I wanted to scream. I wanted someone—anyone—to take over.

But there was Reign. Calm. Sharp. Focused. Standing just a step behind me, ready to intervene but letting me handle it.

“You’ve got this,” he whispered.

I nodded and cleared my throat. My voice sounded smaller than I expected. “I… I can explain the discrepancy. There was a misalignment in the financial report—easy to correct. I’ll have the updated figures in ten minutes.”

A few sceptical glances. But no one laughed. No one dismissed me.

I grabbed my laptop and started running the numbers, my hands moving too fast, my brain racing faster. Reign stood nearby, silent, letting me handle it. Not a word. Just presence. And it helped. Somehow.

The next ten minutes were chaos. Calculations, recalculations, cross-checking every line. Mistakes were not an option. Not with Ivy hovering somewhere in the room—even if only in my imagination.

Finally, I finished. Presented the corrected numbers. All eyes shifted to me. Reign’s gaze was steady. The analyst nodded. “Accurate. Thank you.”

I exhaled. Slowly. My knees felt weak. My hands still trembled. I glanced at Reign. He didn’t smile. Not fully. But that faint twitch at the corner of his mouth… approval. Relief.

I tried to return to my desk. Sit. Breathe. But my phone buzzed again. Unknown number.

You’re learning. But she’s watching.

I groaned. Great.

By the afternoon, my brain was fried. Henderson’s updates? Completed. Memos? Sent. Tasks? Checked off. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Ivy. Her smile. Her smirk. Her words.

And Reign. His calm. His protective presence. The way he said my name softly during the crisis. The way his hand brushed mine when I needed reassurance. That fleeting softness.

I shook my head. Focus. Work. Just… work.

Then came the email from Reign. Board meeting in five. Henderson crisis follow-up. Be prepared to present. I’ll be there.

My stomach dropped. Again.

I rushed to the boardroom. Notes clutched like a shield. Heart hammering. Hands trembling.

Ivy was already there. Of course she was. Leaning casually against the wall. Smiling. Watching. Judging.

I swallowed. You can do this. Don’t falter. One step at a time.

The meeting started. Questions. Probing. Tiny traps hidden in phrasing. Ivy threw a glance at me every few minutes. Sharp. Calculating. I could feel the weight of her gaze.

But I kept going. Corrected numbers, clarified inconsistencies, explained decisions. My voice grew steadier with each word. Confidence building.

Reign watched silently, nodding once in a while. That tiny gesture kept me grounded. Kept me moving forward.

Then came the test I hadn’t expected.

“One minor miscalculation could cost us millions,” Ivy said suddenly, voice silk over steel. “Can you explain why your figures are accurate, Maya?”

I froze. My mouth went dry. The entire room seemed to hold its breath.

I could feel Reign’s eyes on me. Calm. Sharp. Protective. Encouraging.

I squared my shoulders. “Yes,” I said, voice shaking but steadying. “The discrepancy came from the financial report format. I corrected it by cross-checking all data entries with the previous quarter. I verified totals, corrected errors, and updated projections. The numbers are accurate, and the merger can proceed without delay.”

Silence. Then a few nods. Ivy’s smirk faltered just slightly. Victory. Maybe.

Reign’s gaze softened briefly. Approval. Relief.

And I realised something. I wasn’t invisible. I wasn’t a rookie. I mattered. I could handle this.

After the meeting, Reign guided me back to my desk. “You did well,” he said quietly, just for me. “Better than well. You stayed composed. You handled pressure. Ivy… won’t forget, but neither will I.”

I felt warmth spread through me. Pride, relief, something deeper I couldn’t name.

I opened my laptop again, but my hands trembled slightly. Not from exhaustion. From adrenaline. From everything. Ivy. Reign. Me. The storm that had become my life in just a few days.

Then a ping. Another unknown number.

You survived the first test. But the real challenge is just beginning.

I exhaled slowly, leaning back.

I was learning fast. But I had no idea what Ivy would throw at me next.

And somehow… I felt a spark of something dangerous in that. Excitement. Fear. Maybe both.

I glanced at Reign, focused on his own work. The calm, steady anchor in the middle of chaos.

And I realised… I wanted to prove it to him. To myself. That I could survive this storm.