A WOMAN LIKE ME

The boardroom was colder than usual.

Anais sat at the far end of the long glass table, her fingers wrapped around a mug of untouched tea. The morning sun sliced through the skyscraper windows, but the warmth didn’t reach her. It never did here.

Across the table, Irene was speaking in measured tones—something about asset repositioning and post-acquisition branding. Anais caught maybe half of it. The rest of her mind was still stuck on last night—Cassian's voice low and raw in the office, on the way he looked at her like he’d seen something he didn’t want to name.

She had stayed up reworking the entire presentation after he left. The safe version was gone. She’d taken his challenge seriously. The new direction was bolder—sharper. It made her stomach churn, but she wasn’t here to be comfortable.

She was here to be seen.

“Mrs. Vale?”

The voice pulled her out of her thoughts. Anais blinked and realized the entire table was watching her.

Irene was frowning.

“Would you like to walk us through your approach to the TruForm campaign?” she asked, voice crisp, but edged.

Anais set her mug down. “Yes.”

She stood slowly, slid her tablet across the table, and tapped the screen. The room dimmed as the first slide appeared on the wall.

She began to speak.

Her voice was steady, though her heartbeat wasn’t. She spoke about revitalizing brand identity, emotional connection over tech jargon, visual storytelling with grit. She didn’t mimic Cassian’s pitch style—she channeled it. Controlled, intelligent, unapologetic.

Halfway through, she caught Irene staring at her, something unreadable flickering in her eyes.

When she finished, the room was quiet.

A younger executive—someone from product development—cleared his throat. “That tagline… ‘Rethink What You’re Made Of’. It’s bold.”

“Too bold?” Irene asked.

The exec glanced at Anais. “It’s… memorable.”

Anais nodded once. “That’s the point.”

No one said anything more. But as the meeting wrapped and people began to file out, Anais heard someone murmur, “Didn’t think she had it in her.”

She didn’t turn around.

She didn’t need to.

She knew what they thought.

That she was a placeholder. A pretty mistake.

Let them talk.

She was here now. And she was done pretending to be invisible.

Cassian didn’t mention the presentation.

He didn’t even come home that night.

Anais ate dinner alone. She sat at the kitchen island with her plate untouched, watching the lights of the city flicker below like a heartbeat.

She’d wanted to feel proud. And she did—somewhere. But that pride sat beside something colder: the growing realization that success wouldn’t make him come closer. It might push him even further away.

Was that what he wanted?

For her to grow stronger just so she’d walk out on her own?

The next day, Anais stopped by Irene’s office with a small stack of revised mockups. She knocked once, pushed the door open, and found her not alone.

Julien Roke stood beside the window.

Anais froze.

Julien was Cassian’s rival in every sense that mattered. Once childhood friends, now corporate enemies—the tabloids loved the drama. He was leaner than Cassian, a touch more charming, and a hell of a lot more dangerous.

“Anais,” Julien said with a slow smile. “Didn’t know you were still in town.”

She shut the door behind her, calm on the outside. “Apparently, neither did anyone else.”

He chuckled. “Well, I heard the presentation was… spicy.”

Irene looked up. “We’re done here, Julien.”

But Julien didn’t leave.

He walked over, stopping a little too close to Anais. “You know, I always wondered why you said yes to him. Cassian’s a machine. You? You’re all soft corners and real blood. That man doesn’t know what to do with a woman like you.”

Anais didn’t flinch. “And you do?”

He grinned wider. “I’d learn fast.”

Irene stood. “Julien, out.”

He didn’t move.

Anais leaned in slightly, keeping her voice low. “Tell me, Julien—do you harass every woman in the building, or just the ones married to the man you hate?”

That did it.

His smile thinned, and he finally stepped back.

“You’ve changed,” he said, not quite masking the annoyance in his voice.

“I’m not yours to measure.”

When he left, Irene exhaled sharply. “He shouldn’t have been in here. I didn’t call him.”

“I know,” Anais said. “But he’s going to be a problem.”

Irene looked at her carefully. “Cassian will lose his mind if he finds out Julien so much as looked at you.”

Anais laughed once, bitter and quiet. “Cassian doesn’t look at me anymore.”

She went home that evening expecting silence.

Instead, she walked in and found Cassian in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, cutting into something with unnecessary precision.

She blinked.

“You cook now?”

He didn’t look up. “I was hungry.”

“And the staff?”

“Gone for the evening.”

Anais dropped her bag by the door and crossed her arms. “So you’re just casually carving up a steak like a Bond villain?”

That got the smallest hint of a smirk.

He plated the food—two plates, she noticed—and handed her one without a word.

They sat at the long table, eating in silence.

Halfway through, she said, “I saw Julien today.”

Cassian’s fork stopped mid-air.

She went on, “He was in Irene’s office. Said some things. Got a little too close.”

Cassian’s jaw clenched.

“He’s always been a problem,” she said. “But today he crossed a line.”

Cassian didn’t speak. He set his fork down, stood, and walked to the bar cart.

“Anais,” he said as he poured a drink, “if he touches you again, I will burn everything he owns to the ground.”

The quiet fury in his voice sent a chill down her spine.

She swallowed. “Why do you care?”

He turned to face her, glass in hand, eyes unreadable.

“You think I don’t?”

“You act like you don’t.”

He was silent.

She pushed. “Cassian, I’m not asking for flowers or confessions. But I need to know that I’m not alone in this house. I need to know that I’m not just a chess piece you moved back into place for optics.”

“You’re not.”

“Then show me.”

The air crackled between them.

Cassian took a step forward.

“I never stopped watching you,” he said.

She stared at him, heart thudding.

“I see every headline. Every whisper. Every time you walk into a room, I feel the shift.”

“Then why do you keep pushing me away?”

“Because I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t.”

Later that night, she stood in the hallway outside the study.

The drawer still locked.

She tried again.

Still locked.

But now, she didn’t care what was inside. She was starting to think the real secret wasn’t in there.

It was in him.

And she was getting closer.

Whether he wanted her to or not.