Elizabeth's pov
By 1:30, I'm back at my desk drafting precise talking points for Leonard. I cross-reference reports, review old discussions, and map out transitions between each topic so he won't have to improvise.
Somewhere in the middle of writing paragraph six, I realize I've been holding my breath.
I let it go and rub my forehead.
The truth is, I'm not just worried about Leonard. I'm worried about myself. The idea of walking into a room with a man like Liam Smith—a man who sees weakness the way some people see color—terrifies me more than I want to admit.
I remember the stories I've heard:
He once dismissed an entire design team because he didn't like their tone.
He cut a partnership deal in half because the CEO of the other company hesitated.
He doesn't smile.
He doesn't forgive.
He doesn't believe in love, or relationships, or emotional attachment.
A man like that doesn't just see through people. He sees their flaws—and uses them as leverage.
I shake the thoughts away and return to my work.
But the image of tomorrow lingers like a shadow I can't outrun.
By mid-afternoon, the floor feels like it's vibrating. Not literally—just the way pressure sometimes makes the air feel too tight. People keep stopping at my desk, all carrying something urgent, all expecting me to juggle one more task without dropping any of the others I'm already balancing.
I don't blame them. This is the job. And on most days, I can take it.
But today feels heavier, like the weight is sitting on my shoulders instead of in my hands.
I finish drafting Leonard's talking points and send them off. Then I send the portfolio files Global Legacy requested. Then I confirm tomorrow's exact start time, just as their assistant demanded. When the confirmation ping arrives, my stomach twists.
It's real now. No more days left between me and that meeting. No more buffer of time to hide behind.
I close my inbox and let my eyes drift to the office window. Outside, the sky is a flat gray with clouds that look like they're thinking about rain but not committing to it. It reminds me of the days that never make up their mind—days that stay stuck between one mood and the next. Days like this one.
Right when I'm thinking about sneaking away for a granola bar, Leonard comes out of his office again.
He's mid-rant. "—and if they think they can trim another ten percent from the estimate, they're out of their minds. I swear, if this week gets any worse—"
He stops when he sees me. "Elizabeth, did you send the updated portfolio?"
"Yes. And I attached the supplementary files, the contractor breakdown sheet, and the revised renderings."
He exhales slowly, hands braced on his hips. "This is why I don't fire you. You know that, right?"
"I'm thrilled," I deadpan.
He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I hate everything about today."
"You're being dramatic."
"I'm sixty," he says. "At this age, everything is dramatic."
He returns to his office, muttering something about coffee. I take the hint and start brewing a fresh pot. It's not officially in my job description, but if I don't do it, no one else will. Also, Leonard becomes borderline unmanageable without caffeine.
As the coffee machine hums, Jenna from marketing appears again—like she's programmed to find trouble the way birds find food.
She leans her elbows on the counter. "You look worse than this coffee smells."
"Thank you for your support."
"I'm serious," she says. "Did you sleep at all last night?"
"Enough."
"That's a no."
The machine clicks. I grab the pot and start pouring Leonard's mug. Jenna watches me for a moment, then lowers her voice.
"So… tomorrow."
I sigh. "Please don't."
"I'm not teasing. Okay, I am a little. But mostly I'm… curious."
"About what?"
"What you think is going to happen."
I hesitate. "I don't know. I just want to get through it without embarrassing myself."
"You won't. I mean, sure, he's terrifying, but you're organized and calm and very… professionally pretty."
"I don't think 'professionally pretty' is a category."
"It is. I made it up. It fits you."
I shake my head and carry the mug back to Leonard's office.
He accepts it like it's a gift from the universe. "You're an angel."
"I'll add that to my résumé."
I close the door behind me and return to my desk.
For the next hour, the pace doesn't slow. I take calls, update schedules, send documents, and answer half a dozen "quick questions" that aren't quick at all. Every time I think I'm done, a new request appears.
But buried under the busyness, there's a constant thread of thought tugging at me:
Tomorrow.
Global Legacy.
Liam Smith.
I keep telling myself it's just a meeting—nothing more. But I don't believe myself. I've been in offices long enough to sense when something big is on the horizon. And this isn't just big. It's seismic.
At 4:00, the office lights flicker as the weather finally commits to a storm. Rain streaks across the windows, making patterns that look like cracks. People start packing up for the day, though their conversations are still tense, filled with reminders and last-minute updates.
I stay at my desk, finishing up the last email of the day when Leonard's door opens again.
"Elizabeth?" he says.
"Yes?"
"Come in for a second."
I grab my tablet and follow him inside. He closes the door behind me and sits heavily in his chair. Something about his posture makes my pulse jump.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"Nothing. Yet." He gestures to the chair across from him. "Sit."
I do.
He studies me for a long moment. "You've handled everything today. More than you should have had to."
"That's the job."
"It shouldn't have to be."
I don't know what to say to that. He rubs his forehead and continues.
"I want you to know something before tomorrow."
"Okay…"
He meets my eyes. "If Liam Smith is cold or dismissive, ignore it. If he criticizes the presentation style, let it go. If he looks at you like he's calculating your worth—which he might—don't take it personally. He's hard on everyone. Even people who don't deserve it."
The warning sits in my chest like a stone.
Leonard leans back. "I don't like the man."
That surprises me. "You've never even met him."
"I've met his type," he says. "Men who think power is personality. Men who think emotions are weaknesses. Men who cut through people like they're clearing weeds."
He pauses.
"You're not built for that kind of cruelty," he says quietly. "You're steady, patient, and decent. Good. There aren't many people left like that."
Something hot stings behind my eyes, and I look down at my hands.
"I can handle myself," I say.
He nods. "I know you can. But I don't want you to shrink for him. If he tries to intimidate you… don't let him."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
"I'll be fine," I say. "I promise."
Leonard doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push it.
He picks up his coffee mug. "Go home, Elizabeth. Seriously. Rest. Tomorrow will be long."
I stand. "Goodnight, Leonard."
"Goodnight."
I leave his office, gather my things, and take one last look at the floor—at the desks, the papers, the quiet hum of computers going to sleep. Starlight feels tired. Overworked. Stretched thin.
We all are.
The elevator ride down is silent except for the faint echo of thunder outside. When the doors open, cool air rushes in from the lobby, carrying the smell of rain.
Outside, the world is wet and shimmering. The rain is steady enough that people huddle under umbrellas while cars hiss over the road. I pull my jacket tighter and make my way toward the bus stop.
As I walk, something flickers at the edge of my awareness—the sense that the next twenty-four hours will mark a turning point. One I'm not prepared for. One I can't avoid.
I settle into my seat on the bus and watch the city blur past the window. The rain turns everything soft and smeared, like the world is erasing its edges.
I think about Massie. Rose. Our little house. How far we've come from the girl who lost everything at eleven and learned to rebuild with scraps and stubborn hope.
I think about tomorrow. The meeting. The weight of it. The unknown of it.
And finally, I think about him.
Liam Smith.
The man I've never met.
The man everyone fears.
The man who is about to step directly into my life.
A shiver crawls down my spine.
I don't know why.
But something tells me that once he enters my world, nothing will look the same.
Not Starlight.
Not my job.
Not my quiet, carefully balanced life.
Not even me.