The glass door slammed behind her with a sharp thud that echoed down the corridor. Olivia didn't care. Her heels clicked furiously against the marble tiles as she stormed toward the elevator, heart pounding, hands trembling with a mix of fury and disbelief.
The doors slid open. She stepped inside alone.
As the elevator started moving, her mind raced.
"How dare he—blame me like that. In front of everyone." Her fingers clenched into fists.
Then it hit her. Grace.
Grace had helped manage the fashion week files, organizing the paperwork, forwarding documents, double-checking every draft. She was Olivia's secretary—efficient, loyal, meticulous. She'd worked under Olivia since the very first month she joined Ashford Corp.
Could it have been Grace? No. That didn't make sense. Grace wouldn't… right?
The elevator doors opened onto the secretary's office floor.
The entire department was dead silent. Heads turned the moment Olivia stepped out. The teaser video had already made its way through everyone's phones. Eyes full of pity, concern, and curiosity followed her as she strode through the space like a storm brewing in heels.
She ignored them all.
She made a beeline straight for the far corner, where Grace sat frozen in front of her desk, clutching her tablet like a lifeline. Her knuckles were white. Her face was pale.
When Olivia looks at the deadly pale face she knows that it wasn't her. The little bit of doubt she had disappeared as soon as she saw her face.
"M— Ma'am," Grace stammered as Olivia approached. "I–I just saw the teaser. I swear, I didn't—"
"Grace," Olivia said firmly, placing a hand on the edge of the desk and leaning in. Her voice wasn't angry—it was tight, controlled. "Breathe. Look at me."
Grace looked up, tears pooling in her eyes.
"I believe you," Olivia said, more softly now. "You've been with me since the beginning. If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't have let you handle confidential files in the first place."
Grace blinked, her body slightly relaxing at the words.
"But," Olivia continued, her brows drawing together in focus, "we need to think. Is there any chance—any—that someone else might have seen the files? Maybe when they were printed? Or shared digitally? Uploaded to the internal drive?"
Grace swallowed hard, thinking. "I… I always double-check the document permissions. The drive is only accessible by you, me, and the IT head. I haven't printed anything outside our normal procedures. No external emails. Nothing strange."
Olivia exhaled slowly, the pressure on her chest loosening just a little. But the ache in her head only grew heavier.
"This wasn't just a minor leak," she muttered. "It was our core design. The centerpiece of our fashion week reveal. Someone didn't just get lucky—they had direct access."
Grace nodded, still nervous. "Do you… do you think someone hacked the internal system?"
"Maybe." Olivia straightened, her voice growing colder. "Or someone got careless. Or worse—someone did this on purpose."
She turned, gaze scanning the room. Her co-workers were trying to look busy again, but Olivia could feel the weight of their judgment on her back.
She looked down at Grace one more time.
"Dig into the logs," she said. "Access times, shared links, print history. If anything was off—even by a second—I want to know."
"Yes, Ma'am."
Olivia gave her a small nod, then turned on her heel.
Her fury had quieted—but the storm was far from over.
Olivia made her way to the IT department like a woman on a mission, her heels slicing the silence like daggers. The moment she stepped in, the techs straightened in their seats, sensing the tension crackling around her.
"Pull the CCTV footage from the 23rd floor," she said sharply. "I need everything between 6 p.m. and 9 p.m. from last Thursday. Especially the secretary's office."
The head of IT, a man named Dev, nodded and began typing without question. Within minutes, the screen filled with security cam footage.
Olivia's eyes were locked on the screen, arms crossed tightly.
"There," she pointed. "Pause it. Zoom in."
They watched as a tall man approached Grace's desk during after-hours, when most of the staff had already left. The man moved smoothly—too smoothly.
He kept his head turned away from the camera, pausing before each blind spot as if he knew exactly where the security coverage ended. In one corner, he leaned over the desk, opened the computer, logged in, plugged in a flash drive, and copied the folder. Olivia's stomach twisted as she watched.
His face never once showed.
"Shit…" she muttered.
Dev glanced at her. "We can't get an ID from this. He's avoiding every angle that would give him away."
"I noticed," she said, frustrated. "But this at least proves one thing—it wasn't me. Or Grace."
She exhaled, sharp and heavy.
"Give me a copy of this footage. Now."
The moment the USB was handed to her, she turned and stormed out of the IT department.
Her chest was burning. Her hands were clenched tight around the USB. She needed him to see it. Now.
She didn't have to go far.
The elevator doors slid open at that moment, revealing Aiden stepping out, surrounded by the senior designers and key team members from the boardroom.
He was still tense—his brow furrowed, jaw set, hair slightly tousled like he'd run his hand through it too many times. The moment his eyes landed on Olivia, his body froze mid-step.
So did everyone else behind him.
Olivia met his eyes with a glare that could cut steel.
"You owe me something," she said, loud and clear. She stepped forward, holding the USB between two fingers like a weapon. "An apology. And maybe a new set of nerves since you damn near shattered mine."
Aiden didn't speak. The people behind him stared, awkward and caught in the crossfire.
Olivia didn't care. She walked right up to him and jabbed the USB into his chest.
"CCTV footage," she snapped. "Some bastard broke into the secretary's office after hours and copied the files straight from Grace's computer. He avoided every camera angle, never showed his face—but it's enough to prove it wasn't us."
She stepped back.
"So next time you decide to throw me under the bus in front of the entire damn company," she hissed, voice trembling with rage, "maybe wait until you have a shred of actual evidence."
Aiden opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
His expression flickered—conflict, guilt, surprise. But she wasn't done.
"You can handle the rest on your own," she said coldly.
She turned, walking off before he could respond. The hallway was silent as everyone watched her retreat, her spine straight and her head held high.
And Aiden—still stunned—could only watch her go, the USB still clutched in his hand like a smoking gun.