"Good idea." I smiled faintly. "I'd love to explain to a lawyer how you took my Blue Diamond Series proposal, changed the name to yours, and submitted it. All you did was swap the signature, then stood on that stage grinning like an idiot."
Hans's face froze. Blood smeared across his usually polished executive face made him look both pathetic and grotesque.
"And," I stepped closer, "where does all that money go? The budget you skim every month? Our overtime pay? You think we're all blind? Everyone knows, Hans. Everyone."
Subtle shifts crossed my coworkers' faces. People started murmuring—quiet protests, but real ones.
Hans sneered, ignoring the voices behind him. He pointed a bloody finger at me, eyes full of venom.
"Chloe, you're just some small-town girl who doesn't know how things work. Slander me like this, and you'll never work in jewelry in this city again."
"You're already doing that, Hans." I held his gaze. "You never planned to give me a chance. And you know exactly why you've been targeting me—because six months ago I turned down your invitation to get drinks. A forty-five-year-old balding man got rejected by histwenty-five-year-old subordinate, and you've been nursing that grudge ever since. Isn't that right?"
Hans laughed harshly, forcing out a lie nobody would believe.
"I have zero interest in you, Chloe. You're just another airhead with tits. Don't flatter yourself."
I glanced at his beer gut. "Maybe worry about yourself first, Hans. You've popped two buttons this month. You really want to bodyshame me?"
Actual laughter rippled through the office. Hans's face turned the color of liver.
"Get out!" he screamed. "You're fired! Right now! Pack your shit and get out!"
"I'm out?" I laughed lightly, standing my ground. "What authority do you have to fire me? What did I do wrong?"
Hans's lips trembled. He couldn't get a word out. We stood deadlocked in the corridor, tension ready to snap.
Then a low, cold voice cut in.
"Your mistake was not bringing this shit to me sooner."
The dangerous edge in that voice made my hair stand on end. I shivered involuntarily.
I turned.
Enzo Falcone stood at the office entrance. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal three-piece suit, tie knotted with precision. Hands in his pockets, shoulder against the doorframe—casual posture, but his presence changed the air itself.
CEO. Falcone family heir. I'd only seen his photo in new-hire training materials. That picture made me think he was just another rich kid born with a silver spoon—only better looking.
Now, standing ten feet away, I realized how stupid I'd been.
Enzo was tall—half a head taller than any man in the office. His features—I couldn't find better words—were the kind you couldn't look away from. Magazine-cover perfection that'd get called over-edited. But his eyes... that photo couldn't capture this.
Those black eyes swept slowly toward me.
Nobody moved. I wasn't even sure anyone dared breathe.
Hans went pale. He straightened reflexively, wiping blood off his face with his sleeve, forcing a pathetic smile. "Mr. Falcone, this is just a small misunderstanding. My subordinate got emotional. I'm handling it."
Enzo didn't look at him. His gaze landed on me, coolly assessed, then withdrew.
"Continue," his voice held no inflection. "You weren't finished."
Hans's mouth twitched. He stood there, lost. And as I stared at Enzo's detached, superior attitude, for some reason, my anger flared hotter.
Maybe because I'd had terrible coffee today. Maybe because I was remembering every day of the past year—getting squeezed, humiliated, treated like a disposable part in this building.
But most likely because I was dying, and the dying had the nerve to do what the living didn't dare.
