(Elara POV)
The meeting room empties faster than it gets filled.
Chairs scrape softly against the floor, murmured goodbyes trail off, and then the door closes with a quiet finality that feels louder than it should.
And suddenly, it's just the two of us.
The silence doesn't rush in. It settles slow, heavy, and deliberate. The kind that presses against your chest until breathing becomes something you have to consciously remember to do.
I stay where I am, hands clasped loosely in front of me, eyes fixed on the far end of the conference table. The polished surface reflects the ceiling lights faintly, offering me something neutral to focus on instead of the man standing only a few feet away.
I can feel him.
Not staring. But present in a way that sharpens every nerve in my body, makes my pulse stumble over itself.
And like it always does when I least expect it, my mind betrays me.
The memory surfaces without permission.
His hand at my waist…
The warmth of his body…
The way the world narrowed until there was nothing but the space between us. His lips…
Heat rushes to my face.
I swallow hard, grounding myself, forcing my thoughts back into the room, back into reality.
"Hi," I say finally, the word slipping out awkwardly, too soft for the tension it's meant to break.
It feels inadequate.
"I didn't know you were back," I add quickly, filling the silence before it can grow teeth.
"I flew in last night," he replies.
His voice is calm. Controlled. But there's something beneath it fatigue, maybe. Or restraint layered so carefully it's almost invisible.
"How are you doing?" he asks.
The question lands heavier than it should.
Images flash through my mind in quick succession: Tessa's smile when my name wasn't mentioned, the way my work passed through meetings without me, the sting of coffee soaking into fabric I couldn't afford to ruin.
But I don't let any of it reach my face.
"It was… good," I say after a moment I add "Vivienne managed everything very efficiently while you were gone."
A safe answer. A neutral one.
He studies me for a second longer than necessary.
"You look different," he says.
My heart stutters.
"In a good way," he adds, as if realizing how it might sound.
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly self-conscious. "Thanks. I just… tried something new. It was long overdue," I say, unsure why his opinion matters enough for me to justify it.
He nods slowly, as if committing the image to memory.
Then he exhales, grounding the moment back into something familiar. Professional.
"Right," he says. "About the analysis."
I straighten instinctively.
"There's a compliance exposure tied to the acquisition timeline," he continues. "A reporting gap between regulatory alignment and post-merger operational controls."
"The vulnerability shows up in Phase Three," I say immediately. "If it isn't addressed, the risk isn't just regulatory, it's reputational. A delay in certification could stall rollout or trigger penalties."
His gaze sharpens not scrutiny, but interest.
"And mitigation?"
"We can restructure the compliance checkpoints," I explain. "Introduce a provisional audit buffer without affecting the closing timeline. But it'll require parallel approvals from two regulatory bodies."
He nods once. "Which adds complexity."
"Yes," I agree. "But it's manageable. I can get you a first draft by the end of the day, if that works."
"It does," he says without hesitation.
Relief loosens something tight in my chest.
"I'll get started," I say, turning before my courage can fail me.
The moment the door closes behind me, I release a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
My heart doesn't slow until I reach my desk, my fingers trembling slightly as I sit myself down and try to steady my breath.
The work comes easier than I expected.
By late morning, the logic flows cleanly, the numbers align, and for the first time in days, I feel… capable. Grounded.
I save my progress on my system, then pause.
After a moment's thought, I email Alex a partial draft just enough to confirm I'm moving in the right direction.
As soon as I hit send, my stomach growls loudly, reminding me I've been running on caffeine and adrenaline which are not in any way a substitute for food.
I lock my system and head downstairs to grab a sandwich from the cafeteria.
Something feels wrong the moment I return.
My chair is shifted slightly.
The glass on my desk which I am sure was empty when I left….is tipped on its side.
And my laptop—
My heart drops.
Water glistens across the keyboard, seeping into the edges.
"No—no, no…"
I rush forward, wiping at it frantically, pressing the power button.
Nothing.
Again.
Still nothing.
Panic floods my chest, sharp and immediate.
I know I locked my system. I know I pulled the screen down.
There's no time to think. I snatch a bunch of tissues from the box on my desk and start to wipe the access water from the keyboard. Still….nothing.
I grab the laptop and head straight to IT.
After thirty agonizing minutes, the technician looks up apologetically.
"Water damage to the hard drive," he says. "We'll need to repair it. A replacement will be ready tomorrow morning."
"I have a time-sensitive report that I need to submit today" I say quietly. "Is there anything that can be done today?"
He shakes his head. "I'm sorry."
I nod, forcing myself to breathe. "Thank you. I understand."
I head back toward the floor, dread settling into my bones.
I was trusted with something important. Something time-sensitive. And somehow, I managed to ruin it.
The thought needles me with every step. How careless could I be? I don't even remember tipping the glass. Don't remember hearing it fall. The sinking realization that I should have been more careful.
Maybe this is exactly why people think I'm inefficient.
Why they hesitate to trust me with anything that actually matters.
I clench my hands at my sides, forcing myself to breathe.
But the doubt lingers anyway sharp, persistent whispering that maybe I don't deserve the responsibility I was given. That maybe this is proof I was never meant to handle something this important in the first place.
I need to tell Alex before it's too late to salvage the situation, the report still needs to be done.
Before I reach his office, Tessa steps directly into my path.
"Well," she says sharply, arms folding across her chest. "You've been assigned something important and you're roaming around the office instead of finishing it?"
"It's a time-sensitive report," she continues. "Do you even understand how critical it is?"
I take a breath, feeling heat rise up my neck. "There was an issue with my system," I say evenly. "I was on my way to inform Mr. Hale about the same I will need some more time, I–"
She laughs, dismissively.
"Of course there was," she says. "Honestly, I don't understand why Mr. Hale would assign something this important to someone so inefficient… so unserious."
The words sting.
I clench my jaw. "As I said, there was a technical issue."
"Why don't you just accept that this task is too difficult for you to handle alone?" she presses. "Forward me whatever you've done so far. I'll take it from here."
"I don't have the authority to assign my work to anyone else," I reply calmly. "Mr. Hale assigned this to me. I'll inform him, and then he can decide who should take further ownership."
Her expression hardens.
"I'm your team lead," she snaps. "You follow what I say."
"As i said I do not have the authority to reassign tasks plus my system is inaccessible. I haven't uploaded the work to the drive. It was saved locally even if I was allowed to share it with you I cannot, it's all gone….."
The air shifts.
"You didn't save it on the drive?" she asks, disbelief creeping into her voice.
"No."
Her eyes widened.
"How can you be so irresponsible?" she demands. "You should always save your work on the drive. Now I have to start everything from scratch."
"I didn't ask you to," I say.
She steps closer, finger lifting. "Then tell me what you've done so far I will quickly try to replicate it."
"What is all this noise about?"
The voice cuts through the corridor like a blade.
Alex stands at the doorway to his office, expression unreadable, presence heavy enough to still the air around us.
Tessa freezes.
"She spilled water on her laptop," Tessa says quickly. "It's gone in for repair. She won't be able to finish the report you asked for, so I was just asking her what progress she made so I can take it from there and complete the report in time."
Alex's gaze shifts to me.
"My system is being repaired, I won't have access to it till tomorrow." I say quietly. "I was on my way to inform you."
"She didn't save it on the drive," Tessa adds. "So I'll have to start from scratch."
Alex looks at her.
The silence stretches.
"Was I not clear with my instructions earlier?" he asks calmly.
Tessa blinks, clearly thrown. "I—no, of course you were."
"When I assign tasks," he continues. "I expect updates from the person I assigned it to."
He turns to me. "You said you were coming to inform me?"
"Yes."
Without turning to her, he says, "If you have something to discuss, book a meeting room next time. This floor isn't the place for it."
He looks at me again.
"Come with me."
I follow him into the office, heart pounding not with fear this time, but with a quiet, unsettling sense of satisfaction.
For once, Tessa isn't being treated like the most competent person in the room.
For once, her confidence doesn't command the space.
As the door closes behind us, a single thought settles into my mind.
I never told Tessa my system was ruined by water damage.
And suddenly, everything feels a lot less like an accident.