The harsh, geometric sunlight of the morning felt like a betrayal.
Elias stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his corner office, looking down at the crawling traffic of the city. He had slept for exactly two hours and fourteen minutes. His suit was perfectly pressed, his tie a sharp, unforgiving navy, but internally, he felt off-balance. The phantom scent of old paper and Clara Vance's faint, floral perfume seemed to have embedded itself in his clothes.
Business isn't a charity ward. He had said that to her just hours ago. He believed it. He had to believe it. The moment you treated numbers like people, you started making mistakes. His father had made mistakes, and it had cost them everything.
A sharp knock broke his reverie. Marcus Sterling, the firm's managing partner, strode in without waiting for an invitation.
"Elias. The Vance Logistics restructure," Marcus began, dropping a thick file onto the glass desk. "I saw the preliminary cuts you drafted at 3:00 AM. They look solid, mostly. But you left the Marlowe Steel contract completely intact. It's bleeding a fifteen percent premium."
Elias turned slowly. He felt the familiar, cold logic of his profession rising to his lips, ready to agree with Marcus and correct the "oversight." But then he remembered the exhausted, defiant look in Clara's eyes. I don't optimize friends.
"It's not an oversight, Marcus," Elias said, his voice smooth and detached. "Marlowe Steel holds a monopoly on the regional supply chain Vance needs for the next quarter. If we cut their premium, they deprioritize Vance's shipments. The short-term savings will result in a long-term logistical bottleneck. It's a strategic hold."
Marcus narrowed his eyes, studying Elias. "A strategic hold. Since when do you care about the operational feelings of a regional steel supplier?"
"I care about the bottom line," Elias lied effortlessly. "And right now, the bottom line requires stability."
"Fine. Present it at the 10:00 AM all-hands." Marcus tapped the desk and walked out.
Elias let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He rubbed his temples, annoyed with himself. He wasn't protecting Clara's sentimental attachments; he was just being pragmatic. That was the narrative he settled on as he gathered his tablet and headed to the boardroom.
When he walked in, Clara was already there.
If she was as exhausted as he was, she hid it well. She wore a sharp charcoal suit, her posture rigid, a half-empty cup of black coffee acting as a paperweight on her legal pad. When her eyes met his, the air in the room seemed to pull tight, a physical tension that made the junior associates instinctively quiet down.
She was waiting for the axe to fall. She was waiting for him to announce the gutting of the contracts they had argued over in the dark.
Elias took his seat at the head of the table. He didn't look at her as he opened the projection screen.
"Let's begin with the vendor restructuring," Elias announced to the room, his tone clinical. "Most of the tier-three suppliers will be transitioned out by Q3. However, regarding the primary tier—specifically Marlowe Steel—the current terms will remain untouched."
Clara's head snapped up. Her pen froze mid-stroke on her legal pad.
Across the wide expanse of the mahogany table, Elias finally met her gaze. He kept his expression entirely neutral, a masterclass in corporate indifference. But Clara's eyes were wide, searching his face for the punchline, the hidden clause, the trap.
When she found none, the defiance in her posture melted, just a fraction of an inch. A quiet, almost imperceptible softening. She didn't smile—they were far from smiling at each other—but she gave him a single, slow nod of acknowledgment.
It was a dangerous thing, Elias realized as he looked away. It was one thing to fight Clara Vance. It was going to be entirely another to earn her