Monday began with the aroma of burnt coffee and the jitters.
The deadline for the DeMara contract was looming in two weeks, and project room buzzed with the bitter energy of individuals who hadn't slept in days. Amelia walked through them, calm on the surface, a surge of adrenaline running inside.
Charts filled the wall screens. Every number was now intimate.
Julian appeared unannounced, slung jacket over his shoulder, phone tucked into the crook of his ear. He inclined his head as he passed, that quiet, loamy smile that translated to I see you. Take care of it.
She did.
"Let's start with supply estimates," she said, voice rising above the murmur of discussion. "Cutting six percent, we can even out the raw-material shortage without touching payroll."
The scowl on one of the analysts. "That's risky."
"So do nothing," she replied. "We innovate or we lose the contract."
Some heads nodded. The room leaned her way.
Julian ended his call and stood near the doorway, face unreadable. When the meeting broke up, he moved forward.
"Good instincts," he whispered. "But I need you at tomorrow's negotiation. DeMara's board demanded our master strategist."
Her breath caught. "You want me to go face them?"
"Make them hear confidence." His eyes unwound. "And I believe in yours more than mine at present."
Permission and responsibility, and it burned her up.
She called home that afternoon to talk to the children.
Daniel answered. "You sound rushed."
"You are," she said, glancing over figures. "Julian requires me to go to the board meeting tomorrow."
There was silence. "Of course he does."
"Daniel—
"Don't worry, I'll manage the kids." His tone dripped with politeness, the kind that scratched. "Wouldn't want to interfere with your new boss."
The line went dead before she could respond.
She set the phone down slowly. The old fear tried to surface, but work pulled her back like gravity. She refused to give that silence power.
By evening, the team had gathered again. Rain streaked the glass walls; city lights glimmered through the blur. They rehearsed projections, trimmed slides, practiced talking points. The air crackled with purpose.
When the others left, Julian lingered.
"You've been holding this department together," he said.
"I'm just doing my job."
"Don't minimize it." He folded his arms, studying her. "You've changed more in a month than most do in years."
She met his eyes. "Change is survival."
He smiled faintly. "Then keep surviving."
Something in his tone—respect, not rescue—anchored her more than she had expected.
Too early came tomorrow morning.
DeMara's headquarters shone like burnished steel, glass and angles all. At the conference table, ten executives sat in wait, faces as cold as their coffee.
Julian made a token introduction, then nodded at her. "Mrs. Cross will walk you through the revised proposal."
Amelia inhaled once and began.
Numbers, logistics, contingency plans—each point crisp, confident. Questions came fast; she matched them faster. By the time she finished, the room was silent.
The DeMara chair leaned back, impressed. "You've saved us millions in potential losses. Consider the contract renewed."
Relief spread like warmth in her chest. Julian's glance met hers, a flicker of quiet triumph.
Back at the office, congratulations rippled through the floor.
She smiled, accepted the compliment, but was already preoccupied—thinking back home.
When at last she opened the front door, Daniel was reclining in the dim kitchen, still in suit, a half-full drink on the table next to him.
"Heard you impressed the big clients," he said. "Word gets around."
She eased her bag down carefully. "It went well."
He nodded gradually. "You're good at playing the part."
"I'm good at my job," she corrected.
He bent forward, elbows on knees. "You think this will make you happy? Late nights, strange men fawning on you? You think any of it means something?"
Amelia met his eyes, serene. "Yes. Because it's mine."
The words glowed there, brilliant and sharp. He looked away first.
Later, in her own room, Amelia sat at the window watching headlights snake past on the street. She should have been exhausted, but her mind buzzed with purpose. She recalled the meeting, Julian's nod, the taste of confidence on her lips.
Her phone buzzed—a message from him.
Congratulations, Amelia. You deserved every compliment they offered today.
She sent a curt reply.
Thanks for believing I could.
More than that was not needed.
She put the phone down, exhaled, and let the night envelop her. The world outside was still changing, Daniel still untrustworthy, but for the first time, the fear did not taint the air she breathed.
There would be its own wars tomorrow.
Tonight, she gave herself something better—pride.