~ The New Hire ~

It's been unusually quiet in the house lately.

No tantrums from Lara, even when I've deliberately provoked her. Even her cooking has become shockingly edible after that salt disaster three weeks ago. It's as if she's finally accepted her fate, resigned herself to this marriage.

And I can't stop waiting for the moment she'll finally crawl into my bed.

We don't have all the time in the world. Every day that passes without her carrying my child is another day closer to them questioning the marriage's validity.

But I can't shake this feeling that something's wrong.

Lara's been glowing lately, and I know damn well I haven't contributed to that development in any way. I've checked the CCTV footage from the penthouse obsessively. Nothing unusual. She goes to the office, comes home, eats dinner in silence, locks herself in her bedroom.

So where is this new lightness coming from? This brightness in her eyes that wasn't there before?...

  "Sir? Are you listening?"

Cordelia's voice cuts through my thoughts. She's standing in front of my desk, mid-presentation about my schedule for the next day, her blouse unbuttoned just enough to for me to see her cleavage. 

 "Continue," I say absently.

A commotion erupts at the other end of the building, near the IT department. Through the open office door, I can see people gathering, hear raised voices.

And there's Lara, bent over spilled coffee cups scattered across the marble floor, brown liquid spreading in every direction. A man is crouched beside her, already helping to gather the broken ceramic pieces.

I leave Cordelia mid-sentence and walk toward the scene. Every eye in the office is on me as I approach, the crowd parting automatically.

I stop inches away from where Lara's kneeling, coffee staining the front of her cream-colored dress.

  "What happened?"

Lara stands immediately, her cheeks flushed. But before she can answer, the man beside her speaks.

 "It was my fault, sir. I wasn't watching where I was going and—"

I don't look at him. My eyes stay locked on Lara. "Is this the coffee I asked you to bring to my office an hour ago?"

 "I would have brought it sooner if I wasn't doing all of this by myself," she says quietly, but there's an edge to her voice that wasn't there before. Something new that sounds dangerously close to confidence.

 "I don't care about your excuses. Clean up this mess and make me another coffee."

The man beside Lara stands to his full height—he's tall, I notice, probably six-two, with that casual American confidence that immediately irritates me.

 "With all due respect, sir, you have cleaning staff for situations like this. Lara should go clean herself up instead."

The entire floor goes silent.

I turn my attention to him slowly. Who the hell is this man who dares challenge me in my own building? I don't remember hiring him.

The other workers who'd stopped to watch look equally shocked. Some of them exchange nervous glances. They know what happens to people who question me.

That's when I see it—his hand on Lara's lower back, a protective gesture that's far too familiar. And the way her eyes brighten at his touch, the way her entire posture softens toward him.

When did this start? How have I been so busy that I didn't notice this new figure in my wife's life?

 "Who are you?" My voice is dangerously quiet.

The man smiles and extends his hand for a shake that I have no intention of accepting. "Edward Martinez. New team lead for the IT department. I was flown in from California about two weeks ago. James from HR contacted me. He said you needed someone with actual brains to save this sinking ship."

Two weeks. He's been here two weeks and this is the first I'm hearing of him. And now my wife is blushing over a new American hire with hero complex.

 "You can go back to your duties, Edward. This is between me and my wife."

Edward's smile doesn't falter. If anything, it gets wider, more infuriating.

"I know Lara is your wife, Mr. Blackwood. I also know you're my boss. But I won't stand back and watch anyone be mistreated in this workplace, regardless of their position or relationship to management."

He pauses, letting that sink in. "Even the lowest-level staff members deserve basic respect. And we're talking about your wife... the woman who should be treated with more dignity than anyone else in this building."

The audacity of this man hit me hard.

In one smooth motion, he takes the ruined coffee tray from Lara's hands. "Come on," he says gently, his hand still on her back. "Let's get you cleaned up."

And then he leads her away from me, in front of the entire office staff, leaving me standing in the middle of spilled coffee while whispers explode around me like wildfire.

"Sir?" Cordelia has appeared at my elbow, her voice carefully neutral. "Should I call security?"

"No." The word comes out sharper than I intended.

I turn and walk back to my office, aware of every eye following me, every whispered conversation that will dominate the office for the rest of the day. By tomorrow, everyone will know that someone challenged Amiir Blackwood and walked away unscathed.

That cannot stand.

Inside my office, I open the CCTV archives and start scrolling through footage, searching for any interaction between them. It takes me forty minutes to find the first one two weeks ago, in the breakroom. Lara's making coffee, and Edward walks in. They talk. She smiles, something I haven't seen her do.

The next day, they have lunch together in the cafeteria. The day after that, he walks her to her car. By the time I finish reviewing the footage, my hands are clenched so tightly that my knuckles have gone white.

This is how it starts. This is how she begins to imagine a life beyond me, beyond this marriage. Edward Martinez is giving her hope. And hope is the most dangerous thing I can allow her to have.

My phone is in my hand before I've consciously decided to make the call.

"Klein."

"Boss."

"Get me all the information you can lay your hands on, about Edward Martinez."

There's a pause. "How soon?"

I watch the security feed showing Lara and Edward in the fourth-floor break room. He's helping her dab coffee stains off her dress with paper towels, making her laugh about something. 

"Before Sunday," I say. "I want everything down to the names of every member of his family in the US."

"Understood. Copy that, boss."