Finally, it's rest day, and Zoe slid into their usual spot at Luma Café, the familiar buzz of conversations and the rich scent of fresh coffee welcoming her like a warm hug. Bea was already there, grinning mischievously as she waved her over.
"So?" Bea said the moment Zoe sat down, eyes sparkling. "How's your terrifying boss? Stacy Holloway, right? I swear, she sounds like she could stare down a grizzly bear and win."
Zoe laughed, shaking her head as she took a sip of her latte. "Oh, she's definitely intimidating. You know that look that can shut down a room? That's her on a daily basis."
Bea raised an eyebrow. "But come on, she's gotta have a soft side, right? Or at least be ridiculously hot?"
Zoe smirked, dropping her voice a notch. "Ridiculously hot, yes. Soft side... well, you haven't met her when she's in 'work mode.'"
Bea leaned in, eyes gleaming with teasing curiosity. "So... are you crushing or what? Spill the tea."
Zoe rolled her eyes playfully. "Nope, not crushing at all."
Bea gave her a look that clearly said nice try.
"Okay, maybe a tiny bit," Zoe admitted, grinning. "But if I'm honest, it's mostly the challenge. She's like a fortress."
Bea nodded sagely. "Ooh, a fortress. Classic. You're a rebel, I see."
Zoe laughed. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just masochistic."
"Dangerous and masochistic? Damn, you really are living on the edge," Bea teased, lifting her cup. "To Zoe—the only person I know who gets all hot and bothered by spreadsheets and strategy meetings."
Zoe mock-gasped. "Hey, market research is sexy."
Bea snorted. "Sure, sure. Next you'll tell me you're turning her into a romantic lead in your next novel."
Zoe grinned. "Don't tempt me."
They both laughed, the warmth of the café and the ease of their friendship filling the space between them.
"So, what else is new?" Bea asked, leaning back and stretching. "Any drama? Secret office romances? Power struggles? You know, the usual corporate soap opera."
Zoe shook her head, pretending to sigh dramatically. "No scandals yet, but if Stacy catches me smiling at her one more time, who knows."
Bea gave a loud snort, nearly spilling her coffee. "Please tell me you're not blushing."
Zoe smirked. "Maybe a little."
Bea smirked back. "Good. That means you're human."
They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, watching the afternoon crowd filter through the café.
"So," Bea said, eyes sparkling again, "when's the next coffee date? Because I'm going to need a full update on Operation Stacy."
Zoe laughed. "Soon. Very soon. And trust me, you'll be the first to know."
Bea raised her cup one last time. "To coffee, secrets, and surviving scary bosses."
Zoe clinked her cup against hers. "Cheers to that."
They both laughed, the easy flirtation filling the space as they sipped their coffee and basked in the warmth of their friendship.
As Zoe spent her rest day exactly the way she loved—tucked into the sunlit corner of her favorite café, legs curled beneath her as she and her best friend laughed over inside jokes and caramel-sweet coffee. The place always smelled like warm pastries and nostalgia, the kind of scent that loosened her shoulders the moment she walked in. Baristas called customers by name, music hummed softly from hidden speakers, and sunlight pooled across the wooden tables like melted gold.
Here, everything felt soft. Human. Safe.
A world entirely unlike Stacy Holloway's.
Because while Zoe let herself breathe, Stacy sat rigid and controlled at the long, polished dinner table of her family's estate—where warmth was a rumor and silence carried teeth. The faint clink of silverware, the low drone of measured conversation, the heavy red of the dining room's carpets... none of it offered comfort. Her father sat at the head of the table, posture straight as an accusation, his gaze sharp enough to flay.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
His expectations filled the air more densely than any voice could.
Stacy lifted her wine glass with precision, every movement executed with formal grace, though her wrist felt tight and her jaw even tighter. She could almost hear his thoughts humming beneath the quiet—calculating, measuring, waiting for the slightest misstep.
"How's the Lumière Montclair project coming along?" her father asked, breaking the silence at last. His voice was calm—too calm—carrying that familiar weight beneath it, expectation wrapped in velvet and still heavy enough to bruise. "This isn't just another task, Stacy. It's the company's future... and yours."
Stacy lifted her chin, meeting his gaze head-on even as fatigue tugged at the edges of her composure. "It's progressing," she said, her tone controlled. "There are challenges, but the team is handling them."
Her words were steady.
Her pulse was not.
She could feel the familiar pressure settling over her shoulders—the unsaid prove yourself, don't falter, don't be ordinary—a language she'd learned long before she learned to walk in heels. And across the table, her father watched her like a man evaluating the structural integrity of something he expected never to crack.
His expression tightened by a fraction. "Challenges? You sound uncertain." He set down his fork with the quiet finality of a verdict. "Are you telling me you can't manage it? Do you realize how much is riding on your leadership?" His gaze sharpened, carving into her. "I trusted you with the CEO position because I believed you could carry this legacy forward. Don't make me regret that."
Stacy's jaw clenched, a flicker of frustration rising. "I am managing. I've been working nonstop to keep everything on track."
Her mother's voice cut in—sharp, cool, and edged with disappointment. "Working nonstop isn't enough, Stacy. Your father built this company from nothing. Every decision you make affects not just today, but generations of this family." She folded her hands with the precision of someone who never allowed herself to shake. "You have to be stronger. Tougher. We can't afford mistakes."
The words hung heavily in the air, pressing down on Stacy's chest like an invisible weight.
"I'm not weak," Stacy said, voice low but firm. "I'm leading this company—"
"Leading?" Her father interrupted, voice cold and skeptical. "Sometimes it doesn't seem like it. We hear about missed deadlines, shrinking margins. Do you know how that looks to the board? To investors?"
Stacy's frustration broke through, sharp and biting. "You sound like you don't trust me. Like everything I do is being second-guessed. I'm trying my best."
Her younger brother shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe you need a break. You've been pushing yourself too hard."
Stacy forced a bitter smile, voice cracking with exhaustion. "Breaks don't come when the whole company depends on you. You don't see the hours I put in, the battles I fight every day."
Her father's stare hardened. "Pressure is what builds leaders, Stacy. You can't afford to show weakness. Not to us, not to anyone."
Stacy's hands clenched beneath the table, fingers digging into the wood. Her breath caught, the fight inside her swelling.
For the first time, she let the frustration spill out. "Can this please just be a simple family dinner? Just one night where I'm not reminded that I'm failing? I'm not just a CEO. I'm a person. I am just a daughter. I get tired. I feel overwhelmed."
Her mother's eyes flickered with surprise, and her father's jaw tightened.
"I'm carrying the weight of this legacy," Stacy said, voice trembling slightly now, "but I'm also carrying the weight of being human. I'm trying to keep this company alive—and myself too."
She stood abruptly, the scrape of her chair loud in the sudden stillness. "I'm not perfect. I'm doing everything I can. But I need you to believe in me."
The room was silent, the words hanging heavily.
Her father's voice dropped, colder than before but with an edge of something unspoken. "Remember who gave you this position."
Stacy took a deep breath, her gaze fierce despite the ache inside. "I remember. And I'm still fighting. For this family, for this company. But I'm asking—just this once—to be seen as more than a title."
She turned and walked out, leaving behind the weight of unspoken fears and relentless expectations.
Stacy stormed out of the dining room, the weight of her family's expectations pressing hard on her chest. She didn't look back as she marched straight to the sleek black car waiting in the driveway. The door slammed behind her, the sharp sound echoing her frustration.
Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the steering wheel, then she snapped the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life. Though the night air was cool, her shoulders burned with tension. Without thinking, she pressed hard on the accelerator. The car surged forward as if trying to escape with her.
City lights blurred past in streaks as she sped through the streets, adrenaline dulling the ache inside her. Dinner had been a minefield—a simple meal twisted into a performance, yet another round of unspoken disappointment.
Then the rain came.
Heavy drops fell without warning, quickly swelling into a relentless downpour. The windshield wipers struggled to keep pace, sheets of water blurring Stacy's vision.
She leaned forward, eyes locked on the road, trying to focus through the storm outside—and the storm within.
Zoe darted out of the café, rain immediately soaking through her clothes. She'd just said goodbye to Bea, insisting she didn't need a ride—now she was starting to regret that.
With no umbrella and the streetlights casting blurred halos in the downpour, she scanned the street for a taxi. Nothing.
She took off down the sidewalk, shoes slipping slightly on the slick pavement. Just as she reached the corner, a black car sped past.
Its tires slammed through a puddle, sending a freezing wave of water straight at her.
Zoe gasped, drenched. Her breath caught as she stood stunned, blinking water from her eyes.
"Are you kidding me?" she shouted, more to the rain than anyone else.
Then she saw the car slow at the intersection.
Driven by frustration, Zoe jogged after it. "Unbelievable," she muttered. "No warning, no brake lights—just a drive-by soak."
She reached the driver's window and knocked hard. "Hey! What the hell? Where'd you even get your licen—"
Her words caught mid-sentence when she saw the face behind the wheel.
"Ms. Holloway?!"
Stacy looked up, her face tight, eyes sharp with exhaustion. "I didn't mean to splash you," she said, voice low and flat.
Zoe stepped back, arms folded, still dripping. "Yeah? Well, you did. And then you sped off like I didn't even exist."
"I'm having a rough night," Stacy said. "This isn't the time."
Zoe's eyes narrowed. "Yeah? Feels like it's always about your 'mood'—what about the rest of us?
Stacy stared ahead, jaw clenched. After a long pause, she exhaled.
"I'll drive you home."
Zoe gave a humorless laugh. "Oh, great. You drench me and now I get a ride in the splash-mobile. That fixes everything?"
"I'm sorry." Stacy's voice sharpened but stayed steady.
Zoe blinked. "What?"
"I said I'm sorry," Stacy repeated, louder, then softer. "I didn't see you. I wasn't thinking. Everything tonight's just... a mess."
She looked over. "Let me drive you. Please."
Zoe held her gaze, silent for a moment. The anger didn't vanish, but something softened.
"Fine," she said at last, climbing into the car. "But you still owe me."
Stacy started the engine, the rain drumming steady on the roof.
"Fair enough," she said.
Zoe slipped inside the car and settled onto the passenger seat, still shivering from the cold. Stacy's eyes flicked up unconsciously—and then held.
The damp strands of Zoe's hair clung to her forehead, droplets tracing slow paths down to her eyelashes. Her cheeks were flushed from the chill, lips slightly parted as she exhaled in the warmth of the car. Stacy's gaze drifted down the curve of Zoe's neck to the soft outline of her body beneath the wet blouse, the fabric clinging to her silhouette in the dim dashboard light.
Her breath hitched, and she quickly snapped her eyes away, cheeks burning.
"I—here," Stacy muttered, reaching behind her to grab a jacket from the backseat. She held it out to Zoe, voice rougher than before. "Take this. You're freezing."
Zoe glanced down at the jacket and then back at Stacy, surprised by the gesture. "Thanks. I really needed this."
Stacy exhaled, settling back behind the wheel. The tension between them eased just a little.
Zoe pulled the jacket snug, warmth seeping through her soaked layers. She looked over at Stacy, who was still gripping the steering wheel, jaw tight but eyes softer now.
Stacy shrugged, glancing at her through the corner of her eye. "You looked like you were about to turn into an icicle. I couldn't just leave you like that."
Zoe's lips twitched, a faint smile tugging at the corner. "You really don't have to be the hero, you know."
"Yeah, well, maybe I'm trying to be one. Or at least not the villain for once." Stacy's tone was half-joking, exhaustion still underneath.
Stacy glanced at Zoe as she's about to drive through the rain-slick streets, then finally asked. "So... where should I drop you off?"
Zoe gave her address, voice steady despite the chill. Stacy nodded and shifted the car into gear.
The ride home was heavy with quiet. Neither spoke much—just the soft patter of rain on the windshield and the hum of the engine filling the space between them.
When the car pulled up outside Zoe's building, she turned toward Stacy.
"Don't leave just yet. I'm going to grab something. You should wait here."
Stacy raised an eyebrow but nodded.
Zoe slipped into her apartment, grateful for the warmth after the downpour. She peeled off her drenched clothes and changed into a dry plain tee and shorts, the soft fabric instantly easing the chill clinging to her skin.
After a moment, she grabbed two cups of ice cream from the fridge and returned to the car.
As Zoe opened the door, Stacy looked up with a smirk, shaking her head.
"The employee sure has some nerve, making the boss wait."
But her surprise faded into something warmer when she realized Zoe—dressed simply, comfortably—was standing there with both cups balanced delicately between her hands.
Gently, Zoe slid into the passenger seat.
Zoe smiled, handing one cup to Stacy. "You mentioned you were having a rough night. Ice cream? Yeah, trust me, this helps."
Stacy accepted it reluctantly. Zoe reached over and turned off the soft playlist, then with a sly grin, hit play on "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun." The upbeat tune filled the car, and for the first time all night, Stacy's lips lifted into a genuine smile.
Zoe took a spoonful of ice cream and started humming softly, then soon she was singing along with the song.
"That's what I really waaaannnnttt..."
Her voice was light, playful—an effortless escape from the heaviness of the night.
Stacy watched quietly at first but couldn't help herself. She stole glances at Zoe, her eyes tracing the way the soft glow from the dashboard highlighted damp strands of hair clinging to her face, the way her lips curved with the melody, the sparkle in her eyes despite exhaustion.
For a moment, the world slowed around Stacy—every sound, every motion blurred as she took in the simple, honest beauty of Zoe's smile. In this small car, in the middle of a stormy night, Zoe was a bright pulse of warmth and light. And she was here, offering company when things felt the darkest.
Almost an hour passed. The ice cream cups sat empty between them.
Zoe wiped a smear of chocolate from her lip and glanced over.
"It's getting late. Maybe we should get some rest."
She hesitated, then added softly, "I hope I helped... ease your mood at least a little."
Stacy's usual guarded expression softened. Her voice was quieter than before.
"Unexpectedly... you did. Thank you, Zoe."
The way Stacy said her name—just Zoe—caught her off guard. It was the first time she'd heard it come so easily from Stacy's lips, without distance or defense.
A small smile spread across Zoe's face.
"Drive home safe, Ms. Holloway."
Stacy nodded, the corners of her mouth lifting as she started the engine. The music faded gently into silence.
Zoe hurried toward the entrance of her building, ice cream sweetness still lingering on her tongue. The moment she reached her unit, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding—relief, confusion, something warm fluttering under her ribs.
Stacy Holloway was supposed to be untouchable.
Intimidating.
Distant.
But tonight... she wasn't.
Zoe leaned against her apartment door after closing it behind her, heart still beating too quickly—because something between them had shifted. She could feel it in her bones.
She just didn't know if that shift was the beginning of something good...
or the start of a storm she wasn't prepared to face.