Hostile Territory

POV Aitana

The steady hum of hurried footsteps and tapping keyboards filled the corporate tower’s fifteenth floor. Even after a sleepless night spent watching news vans camped outside our building, I refused to show the slightest sign of weakness. I had left Selene safe in the penthouse under the watch of trusted private security detail, then climbed aboard the armored vehicle that carried me to headquarters first thing in the morning.

I wore a perfectly tailored ivory two-piece suit, my chestnut hair pulled back into a neat high ponytail, and carried a black leather folder holding the Food Industry Group’s quarterly financial breakdown. My official appointment as Liaison Director was already signed and notarized, yet I knew earning the staff’s respect amid the crossfire between Belmontes and Ferrers meant wearing armor made of steel.

After four hours reviewing distribution contracts with the accounting team, exhaustion began to take its toll. I decided to head down to the executive café on the twelfth floor for a strong coffee before the afternoon’s balance review meeting.

The lounge was spacious, with floor-to-ceiling windows, polished wood tables, and specialty coffee stations where department heads and analysts clustered in quiet conversation.

The moment I stepped through the glass doors, every head turned toward me, curiosity barely concealed. Rumors of my sudden return and the battle over inherited shares were spreading through these halls like wildfire. I kept my back straight and chin held high, walking steadily toward the counter, ignoring the whispers.

“Well, look who has decided to grace us with her presence”, a sharp voice rang out, dripping with venomous sarcasm that instantly silenced the room.

I paused at the coffee counter and turned slowly.

Adela Serrano walked toward me with the arrogant poise of a woman who believed she owned every inch of floor she crossed. She wore an emerald-green designer sheath dress, stiletto heels clicking sharply against polished marble, and carried an ostrich-skin handbag looped over one forearm. Behind her trailed two personal assistants and a pair of secretaries who always seemed to orbit her, eager to please.

“Miss Serrano”, I replied evenly, curling my fingers around my steaming cup without shifting my stance. “I was unaware you had business appointments scheduled on this floor today.”

Adela let out a brittle laugh, loud enough to ensure every executive present heard her clearly.

“I require no appointment to walk through the building my fiancé will soon manage, my dear”, she said, closing the distance until she stood only inches away. Her pale eyes swept over me from head to toe with biting disdain. “What truly surprises me is seeing you here, pretending you belong in this corporate stratosphere when everyone in this city knows the truth.”

A heavy silence settled over the room. Several directors looked down at their coffee cups to avoid taking sides, yet not one person dared to look away.

“And what is this supposed truth, according to you?” I asked, lifting one brow with unshaken calm.

Adela smiled smugly and folded her arms across her chest, projecting every ounce of imagined superiority.

“The truth is that you are a ruined opportunist. A desperate Ferrer who ran away six years ago with her tail tucked between her legs, and now, penniless after your grandfather’s death, you crawl back to latch yourself to Sebastian’s success and fortune. Do you truly imagine no one sees through your cheap little game? Wielding a handful of insignificant shares to wedge yourself inside this company and beg pity from a man who would never look twice at someone of your station.”

The secretaries behind her tittered mockingly. People at nearby tables drew breath in sharp intake, stunned by the ferocity of the attack.

A hot, stinging rush of anger burned in my throat, yet I kept it from my face. If six years of surviving on my own had taught me anything, it was that dignity is not defended with shouting — it is defended with precision.

I stepped forward, meeting her gaze with glacial calm that wiped her triumphant smile clean away.

“I would choose your words with great care, Miss Serrano”, I said, my voice clear, steady, and firm enough to carry to every corner of the lounge. “Unlike you, I need no borrowed name, no arranged marriage to justify my presence in a boardroom. The fifteen percent stake I represent is my legal birthright, inherited fair and square — it is no act of charity.”

Adela opened her mouth to interrupt, but I gave her no ground.

“And since we speak of opportunism and desperation”, I continued, my smile sharp and unflinching, “the only person here who appears utterly desperate to beg the attention of a man who systematically ignores her in public and within his own offices... is you. Because as far as I understand things, an engagement ring is given with mutual consent — not purchased with financial threats from a furious father.”

A collective gasp rippled through the room. Analysts stared wide-eyed at the direct strike against the Serrano heiress.

Adela’s face flushed scarlet. Her eyes blazed with unhinged fury, and she lifted a trembling hand, lunging forward.

“You insolent wretch! I will teach you to...”

Before she could finish the threat or close another inch, a formidable presence cut through the room like a sudden storm.

Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed down the corridor. The glass doors swung open wide, and every person in the lounge stood instinctively out of habit and deference.

Sebastian walked in.

He wore an immaculately tailored black three-piece suit, his jaw set into a hard, unyielding line, his gaze so dark and dangerous it seemed to drop the room’s temperature to freezing. He ignored every outstretched hand and greeting, striding directly toward us with purpose.

Adela instantly rearranged her features, twisting rage into the wounded innocence of a victim.

“Sebastian, how wonderful you have arrived!” she trilled, reaching toward him. “This woman has just insulted me in the most unacceptable manner before your own employees, suggesting dreadful things about our marriage...”

Sebastian did not even glance at her. He walked past her as though she were invisible, stopping directly behind me. Before I could step away or speak, I felt his warmth surrounding me. Before the stunned eyes of Adela, her retinue, and more than thirty corporate employees, Sebastian slid his large hand firmly around my waist, drawing me gently back against his chest — a public, unmistakable declaration of possession and protection.

The silence that followed became deafening. No one dared breathe.

Sebastian fixed those ice-dark eyes directly upon Adela’s stricken face.

“I expressly forbade you from ever setting foot in this building again, Adela”, he pronounced, his voice low, grave, and deadly. “And I suggest you leave this very instant — before I summon security to escort you out past the television cameras you so desperately court.”