THREE

THALIA

The meeting dragged on for nearly forty minutes.

Charts flashed across the screen as Dr. Harlan talked about revised timelines for Project Elara. Clara stood beside him, explaining sections of the presentation as if she had always been part of the team.

I stayed quiet.

My pen tapped against my notebook once.

Then I forced my hand to stop.

No reaction.

No weakness.

Inside, though, my thoughts were spinning.

How long had Brandon planned this? Because Dr. Harlan told me earlier, Brandon was the one who approved Clara as the supervisor.

Dr. Harlan finally checked his watch.

“Let’s take a fifteen-minute break,” he said. “We’ll reconvene after that to finalize the rollout strategy.”

Chairs scraped back as people stood.

I gathered my tablet slowly.

No rushing.

No running away.

If anyone expected me to break down, they were going to be disappointed.

I stepped out into the hallway.

“Thalia?”

The voice stopped me instantly.

I turned.

Clara stood a few steps away, holding two coffee cups.

Her eyes widened as if she had just seen an old friend.

“Oh my god,” she said, smiling brightly. “I’m so happy to see you again.”

I stared at her.

“You’re back.”

She walked closer, still smiling.

“I heard you were leading Project Elara,” she said. “I was hoping we’d run into each other.”

“Hoping?” I repeated.

“Of course.” She laughed softly. “It’s been years.”

I didn’t move.

“You disappeared without a word,” I said.

Clara tilted her head slightly.

“Life happens. And you can’t expect me to stick around after you married my man.”

Her gaze slid over me.

“You look good, Thalia.”

I didn’t return the compliment.

“What do you want?”

She lifted one of the coffee cups toward me.

“Peace offering?”

I glanced down at it.

“Black,” she added. “Two sugars. Your favorite.”

“I switched to oat milk years ago.”

Her smile didn’t fade.

“Some habits are hard to forget.”

She stepped closer and held the cup out again.

“Come on. It’s just coffee.”

I hesitated.

Then I reached out.

Her heel suddenly twisted.

“Oh!”

The cup tipped.

Hot liquid splashed across my hand.

Pain exploded instantly.

“Damn it!”

I jerked back as the coffee soaked into my sleeve, burning my skin.

Clara gasped.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry!”

Her tone sounded apologetic.

But her eyes didn’t.

She leaned closer.

“You should really watch where you put your hands, Thalia,” she murmured.

I stared at her.

“What did you just say?”

Her smile turned cold.

“Some things aren’t meant for you to hold onto.”

My stomach tightened.

“Excuse me?”

“Brandon,” she whispered.

Then she added softly,

“This project. This life.”

I clenched my jaw.

“You think you can just walk back in here and take everything?”

She laughed quietly.

“Oh please.”

Her gaze dropped to my hand.

“That burn looks painful.”

I said nothing.

Clara leaned closer again.

“You’ve always had a talent for pretending things belong to you.”

“Stop talking.”

“But it’s true,” she said lightly. “You begged Brandon’s father to save your father’s failing empire.”

My fists tightened.

“And the price was you.”

“Clara—”

“Years of marriage,” she went on. “And you still think Brandon will love you?”

Her smile widened.

“That’s almost adorable.”

“Enough.”

Her voice turned softer.

Mocking.

“Do you still think you’re the noble daughter of the Wentworth family?”

I froze.

She watched my face carefully.

“Oh right,” she continued. “Your father’s empire collapsed, and he died, didn’t he? Who would protect you now? Your mother? Is she still lying in that hospital bed? Years now. Comatose. Completely useless.”

Something inside me snapped.

My hand moved before I could stop it.

The slap echoed through the hallway.

Clara’s head snapped sideways.

A red mark appeared instantly across her cheek.

The conference room door opened, and Brandon stepped out.

Dr. Harlan and two executives followed behind him.

Clara pressed a hand to her face, tears suddenly filling her eyes.

“Brandon…”

Her voice trembled.

“She hit me.”

His gaze moved straight to me.

Not my burned hand.

Not the coffee dripping from my sleeve.

Me.

“What the hell, Thalia?”

I lifted my hand slightly.

“She spilled coffee on me. On purpose.”

“It was an accident!” Clara said quickly. “I already apologized!”

Brandon walked toward us.

His jaw was tight.

“You don’t put your hands on someone in my company,” he said coldly.

I let out a quiet laugh.

“Your company.”

“Yes,” he said flatly. “My company.”

He looked at me with open irritation.

“You’re suspended. Effective immediately.”

The hallway went silent.

“Go home,” he continued. “Cool off. We’ll discuss this later.”

“Discuss what?” I asked.

“Your behavior.”

Clara touched his arm gently.

“Brandon… please. I don’t want trouble.”

His expression softened immediately.

“You’re not the one causing trouble.”

I didn’t say another word.

I turned and walked away.

Each step sent a sharp pulse of pain through my burned hand.

Behind me, I heard Brandon say quietly,

“Come on. Let’s get some ice.”

I didn’t look back.

By the time I reached the lab, my hand was shaking.

I locked the door behind me.

Then I turned on the cold water and held my hand under it.

Blisters were already forming.

Second-degree burn.

The diagnosis came automatically.

Years working with chemicals had taught me enough about injuries.

I grabbed burn cream from the emergency kit and wrapped gauze around the wound.

The pain slowly dulled.

When I finally sat down at my desk, my laptop screen lit up.

Three new emails from headhunters.

I ignored them.

Instead, I opened the HR portal.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Then I typed the subject line.

Resignation – Thalia Wentworth