Black.
Are you ready to play?
This wasn’t Darius.
And I couldn’t think of anyone I knew who would send me something like this.
“A secret admirer?” Anji murmured beside me, making me jump.
I scrunched the envelope and card together and tossed them into the bin.
“No. More like a creep. Who hand-delivers something like that?”
“Mm. True,” she said thoughtfully.“Who wants to play games unless you’re a child?”
“Exactly. I barely have time to shower and sleep,” I muttered.
I brushed it off, but it kept tugging at my attention throughout the day. I didn’t like not knowing who had sent it—and I liked the tone even less.
The week resumed like any other—meetings stacked too close together, production reports, supplier calls, and the constant hum of growth that never really slept. On the surface, nothing was wrong.
Until my share price dipped.
It wasn’t dramatic. No crash. No panic. Just a small drop on Monday morning. Barely a twitch. I checked again after lunch—still down, but only fractionally. By Tuesday, it dipped again. And again on Wednesday.
I reached out to the firm that had helped take Her Glow public. They were calm. Reassuring. This was normal after a strong launch, they said. A correction. Early investors rebalancing. The market settling into itself.
“It will even out,” they told me.
I wanted to believe them.
I kept working.
By Thursday, the numbers still hadn’t recovered. They weren’t plummeting—but they weren’t stabilising either. It was like watching a slow leak you couldn’t quite locate. Everything looked fine. Orders were still strong. Demand hadn’t dipped. Our supply chain was holding steady.
But my instincts wouldn’t let it go.
By Friday morning, the feeling had settled deep in my chest—heavy and persistent. The kind that didn’t come from spreadsheets or projections, but from somewhere quieter. Older.
Something was wrong.
I was reviewing payroll when my phone rang. Dad’s name lit up the screen. That alone made my stomach tighten. He never called during work hours unless it mattered.
“They’ve made me redundant,” he said.
Just like that.
Eighteen years. Same company. No warnings. No gradual phasing out. One meeting. A handshake. A severance package that sounded generous until you realised it was meant to soften the blow of being discarded.
“They said it was restructuring,” he added, his voice steady in that way he used when he didn’t want me to hear the crack underneath.“Nothing personal.”
Nothing personal, never meant that.
I closed my office door and sat down slowly, my fingers tightening around the edge of my desk. Dad wasn’t careless. He wasn’t underperforming. He was loyal to a fault. The kind of employee companies built slogans around—and then quietly cut loose.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and hated how small the words felt.
“It’s alright,” he replied.“I’ll be fine. Just… thought you should know.”
