The Stone estate was a sprawling fortress of limestone and cold prestige, tucked away behind iron gates that seemed designed to keep the rest of humanity at a distance. Inside, the dining room was illuminated by a chandelier that cost more than most people's homes, casting a jagged, crystalline light over the four people seated at the long mahogany table.
Richard Stone sat at the head, his presence as heavy and suffocating as a lead shroud. Beside him, Emily Stone, the matriarch, sat with a posture so rigid it seemed her spine was made of glass. She didn't eat; she merely moved the food around her plate with surgical precision.
"I heard about the elevator, Scott," Richard said, his voice a low gravelly rumble that commanded the room. He didn't look up from his steak. "Trapped for forty minutes with a subordinate. Not exactly the image of control I want for the face of this company."
Scott, sitting across from Susan, tightened his grip on his wine glass. "It was a mechanical failure, Father. Not a choice."
"Everything is a choice," Richard snapped, finally looking up. His eyes were identical to Scott's, but without the spark of life—only the cold calculation of a man who viewed people as assets. "And choosing to keep that girl on the payroll after she publicly humiliated you is a choice I find... baffling."
"She's a protected hire," Susan chimed in, her tone light but her eyes darting between her brother and father. "We've been over this, Dad. It's a PR move."
"It's a weakness," Emily whispered, her voice like dry silk. "A Stone does not tolerate incompetence for the sake of a 'move.' It makes you look soft, Scott. And the Blackwoods are already asking questions."
The air in the room was thick, like breathing under water. Scott felt the familiar weight of their expectations pressing down on his chest. He opened his mouth to defend his decision—though even he wasn't sure why he was defending Edna anymore—when the heavy double doors of the dining hall swung open.
Theresa Blackwood didn't just enter; she commanded the space.
She was draped in a floor-length gown of emerald silk that flowed behind her like a poisonous mist. Her smile was bright, but it didn't reach her eyes, which were fixed firmly on Scott.
"I hope I'm not too late for the main course," Theresa said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.
"Theresa, darling!" Emily stood up, the first sign of genuine emotion crossing her face. "We were just talking about you. Please, sit."
Theresa took the seat directly across from Scott, leaning forward so the candlelight caught the diamonds at her throat. "I had to come. I heard the most distressing news today. Apparently, the 'coffee girl' is now Scott's personal research assistant? I thought it was a joke, but then I saw her in the lobby today... looking so out of place."
The table went silent. Scott felt a vein in his temple throb.
"She is an employee, Theresa," Scott said, his voice dangerously low. "Nothing more."
"Is that why you were arguing with her in a broken elevator?" Theresa asked, tilting her head. "The staff is talking, Scott. They say you looked... energized. I haven't seen you energized by a woman in a long time."
Richard Stone's fork clattered against his china. The sound was like a gunshot. "Energized?" He turned his gaze to Scott. "By a scholarship girl? Tell me this is a pathetic rumor, Scott. Tell me you haven't forgotten who you are."
"I haven't forgotten anything," Scott hissed, his 'cold aura' returning with a vengeance. He looked at Theresa, his eyes narrowing. "And I don't appreciate being interrogated at my own dinner table by someone who doesn't even work for the firm."
Theresa didn't flinch. Instead, she leaned in further, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. "I'm not just 'someone,' Scott. I'm the woman who has stood by this family for twenty years. And I won't watch you throw your reputation away for a girl who doesn't know the difference between a salad fork and a dessert spoon."
"Theresa is right," Emily added, her voice sharp. "The Blackwood merger is the cornerstone of our next five years. If you're using this girl to rebel against us, Scott, it's a very expensive tantrum."
Scott felt the walls closing in. The combined pressure of his parents' legacy and Theresa's suffocating obsession was a trap he had lived in his whole life. But for the first time, he thought of Edna—how she had laughed in the elevator, how she had called him a jerk without blinking. She was the only thing in his world that didn't feel scripted.
"You're all worried about a girl who has nothing," Scott said, standing up so abruptly his wine glass tipped, a dark red stain spreading across the white tablecloth like a bloodstain. "But maybe you should be worried about why a girl with 'nothing' is more interesting than anyone in this room."
"Scott! Sit down!" Richard commanded.
"No," Scott said, his voice echoing in the vast room. He looked at Theresa, who was now pale with shock. "If you're so concerned about my 'energy,' Theresa, maybe you should spend less time gossiping with my mother and more time finding a life of your own."
He turned and strode out of the room, leaving a stunned silence behind him.
Susan watched him go, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. She took a slow sip of her wine and looked at the devastated Theresa. "Well," Susan remarked dryly. "That was certainly more exciting than the soup."
But beneath the table, Emily Stone's hand was clenched into a white-knuckled fist. She looked at Richard, and a silent agreement passed between them. If Scott wouldn't remove the distraction, they would have to do it for him.
The war for the CEO's desire had officially moved from the boardroom to the bedroom—and the Stones were playing for keeps.