Florence's POV

It’s been two weeks. Fourteen days of perfectly ironed blouses, multiple rounds of fake smiles, and emotional gymnastics.

I now know the exact time Anthony St. Louis arrives every morning, 8:01 a.m., the number of sugars he doesn’t want in his coffee, and that he reviews contracts with the same emotional warmth as someone reading a soup label or a bland soup recipe.

Every day, I sit in the glass corner of his office, silently judging him while pretending to be buried in spreadsheets. And every day, he hands me work like a machine, never faltering, never hesitating, like I’m just another pawn in his shiny, joyless empire.

It all started last Monday, when one of the interns spilled coffee on herself in the elevator. She looked close to tears in her coffee stained dress.

“Take a break,” I whispered as I passed her. “Go wash up.”

Anthony stepped in seconds later, looked at the stain, and said, “That cup cost $4.20. Get another one and don’t make the client wait next time.”

The girl nodded quickly, face flushed. When we got to the office, I said nothing. Just set his coffee on his desk with a tight smile.

“You’re very consistent,” I said sweetly. “Like a very charming death robot.”

He didn’t respond to me and just handed me a file to type.

He was on a call later that day when a florist arrived with condolence flowers for a business partner who had just unfortunately lost his wife.

Anthony glanced at the bouquet and frowned. “Too sentimental. It is giving the wrong message. Send back something more... neutral.”

I blinked at him. “Ah, yes. Wouldn’t want to remind a grieving man that his wife is dead with nice sentimental flowers.”

He looked up, just briefly. “Handle it.”

I did handle it, but I made sure to include a sympathy note that read ‘Some losses don’t show up on balance sheets.’

Was it petty? Yes it was but also worth it.

By Wednesday, his receptionist, Janine looked like she was one file away from collapsing on the floor. I tried to lighten her load, quietly picking up some of her minor tasks, like proofreading investor emails or organizing the boardroom bookings.

When I mentioned it casually, he just said, “If she’s struggling, she’ll be replaced.”

That was when I muttered under my breath, “So will your soul, when hell finally reclaims it.”

He didn’t respond. He probably didn't hear me.

******

On Thursday, I asked for a one-hour break to take my mother to the clinic. She was having a panic attack again, trying to find the family photo album she swore my dad had taken to work.

“I can spare thirty minutes,” he said without looking at me.

I paused. “Your generosity overwhelms me. Truly.”

“I don’t pay you for flattery.”

No, you pay me for silence. For the illusion that everything here works like clockwork, not because you’ve built a good system but because everyone’s too scared to fall out of it.

The next day, we had a scheduled fire drill. Everyone had stepped outside, laughing, stretching their legs, enjoying the break.

Contrary to Anthony who stood beside me, scrolling through emails.

“Sir,” I said, eyes forward, “this building could be on actual fire, and you’d still be reorganizing your Q4 targets.”

He didn’t even blink. “That’s because deadlines are fireproof.”

I turned away so he wouldn’t see my eye roll.

That afternoon, while reviewing résumés for a new PR officer, he said, “I don’t like emotional types. They’re unstable, business needs clear heads, not bleeding hearts.”

I tilted my head. “So to you empathy is... what? A liability?”

“In this company? Yes.”

I stared at him. “Do you ever cry?”

He looked up for the first time that day. “Do you?”

I smiled. “Only when I run out of wine.”

**********

Janine and I pooled money for the accountant’s impromptu birthday. Nothing fancy, just a small cake in the break room. I didn’t expect Anthony to come over. I didn’t want him to spoil the mood with his gloomy aura.

But he passed by, paused for a second, and said, “You know this will cut into everyone’s work time.”

I offered him a slice of cake. “It’s chocolate. Maybe it’ll melt the ice wall where your heart should be.”

He looked at the cake, then back at me.

“Too sweet,” he said. “Like distractions.”

I laughed, loud enough for people's heads to turn. “Wow. That must be your wedding toast.”

His gaze lingered on me for a beat too long. I turned away, pretending not to care.

That night, as I rode the elevator down to the lobby, my reflection stared back at me. Hair in a tight bun, tired eyes, stiff shoulders.

He made me angry, that was true. But not in the explosive, fiery way I expected.

It was colder than that, quiet and silently gnawing at my chest. It was the weird way he seemed to float above human emotion like it was a distraction, the way he walked past people without looking or feeling anything. Like they were all objects to be used and replaced when faulty.

He was everything I thought he would be, and maybe worse.

And still, I caught myself watching him sometimes. Studying the little frown he wore when reading bad reports, the tension in his jaw when someone wasted time, the briefest flicker of something in his eyes when he thought no one was looking.

Was that... pain? In them?

No, it couldn't be. Not with him.

I shook the thought out of my head.He didn’t care, he was incapable of that.

And if I ever forgot that, I just had to remember what he did to Gabriel, dad and me. How he destroyed my family.

I got off the elevator, heels clicking against marble, and headed home. Tomorrow, I’d be back. With another smile, and another perfectly filed document hiding another hidden plan.

Because I was here for a reason, and no amount of designer suits or quiet brooding would distract me from it. Not even if his eyes were the exact color of the storm I still carried inside me.

Florence's POV

I’ve been staring at this damn zipper for ten minutes.

The dress fits, technically, but it’s the kind of fit that makes breathing optional. It’s black, sleek, off-shoulder, and far too elegant for the occasion. Too elegant for someone who’s supposed to be working her way through vengeance. I shouldn’t care how I look tonight, but a little part of me does and I didn't like it.

I tugged again, twisting my arm backward at an unnatural angle.

“Mum,” I called out, breathless, “can you help me with this?”

No response came. I sighed and step into the living room. Mom was sitting on the couch, eyes fixed on a faded family photo like she’s time-traveling again.

But when she looked and saw me, really saw me, her face lit up, like a sun I haven’t seen in years.

“Oh Florence,” she breathed out. “You look so pretty.”

I blinked. “What?”

She stood, suddenly purposeful, her eyes almost seeming clear-headed. “Wait here.”

She rushed to her bedroom and returned with a small hair brooch, delicate silver, shaped like a leaf. I remember it, she used to wear it on birthdays and anniversaries.

She pinned it to my hair, her hands trembling slightly.

“There,” she said softly, smiling. “You look beautiful. Just like when I married your father…”

And then, as quickly as the light appeared, it disappears. Her face tightens and her hands fall.

“Your father,” she whispered, “he would’ve loved to see you tonight.”

I took a shaky breath. “Mom..”

“He would’ve loved it,” she repeats louder. “He would’ve said you looked like a star! But he’s dead, he’s dead, isn’t he? He didn’t even get to say goodbye, Florence! We just buried him like a stranger...”

I grab her arms. “Mum, It’s okay. I know, I know.”

And then the worst of it came.

She jerked away and stared at me, her eyes wide, panicked. “Wait… where is he? Where’s your father, Florence? He should be back by now.”

I forced a smile adapting to the situation almost immediately and with practiced ease. “He went out, remember? He said he’d meet us there.”

“Really?” she whispered.

“Of course. I’ll send him a picture so he doesn’t miss out.”

I lifted my phone, pretending to snap the photo, and my fingers shook as I pressed the button. My mother clapped softly, nodding like a child.

*******

By the time I stepped into the company’s hotel ballroom, I had rebuilt the mask.

The lights were too bright as the room was flooded with champagne and soft jazz. Men in sleek tuxedos, women in gowns worth more than my mother’s treatment plan. Everyone was laughing, networking, pretending they’re not just hungry wolves in expensive heels and custom shoes.

I spotted Anthony near the stage. In a maroon blue suit, sporting an indifferent expression. As usual, he looks like he owns not just the room but time itself.

I walked past a waiter and snatched a glass of champagne off the tray.

“Florence,” he said when I approached, voice as steady as a metronome.

I raised a brow. “Oh. You can speak outside of giving orders.”

His eyes flickered, but as always, he didn't rise to the bait.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Not particularly. But then again, you wouldn’t know much about enjoyment would you? You probably schedule your joy for every third Thursday between quarterly meetings.”

He sips from his glass and I caught corner of his mouth twitching, like maybe he found that funny but doesn’t have the muscles to show it.

I took another sip. The bubbles burn slightly or maybe that was the ache in my throat from earlier.

We walked through the room together, him composed, me pretending I was not one glass away from combusting into flames. He introduced me to a few clients, barely looking at me when he does, but I smile through it all, like a good little employee.

But the more I drank, the less the mask held. A third glass, then a fourth.

He was speaking to a CFO about quarterly targets. Uninterested, I rolled my eyes and wandered toward the balcony, glass in hand.

I didn't know how long I was out there before I felt him beside me again.

“You’ve had enough,” he said quietly.

I laughed loudly. “You don’t get to tell me when I’ve had enough.”

“Florence..”

“Fuck off,” I snapped, slurring slightly. “You don’t get to act concerned. Not you of all people, traitor.”

His brow lifted slightly. “I beg your pardon?”

I spun to face him, head swimming. “You’re the one who destroyed my family. My father died because of you. My brother rots in a prison in a country we don’t even know. And you, ” I jabbed my finger at his chest. “You walk around in your custom suits and silent stares like none of it matters.”

He said nothing, and so in my drunken state that was akin to silent acceptance and so I pushed harder.

“You think being cold makes you powerful? You think ignoring people makes you strong? No. It makes you heartless. It makes you..”

I stumbled, but he caught my arm just in time.

“Don’t touch me!” I shouted, yanking away.

Guests started to stare. Someone whispers my name, but Anyhow doesn’t flinch. He just leaned in, murmured something to one of the assistants, and escorts me through the ballroom like it’s just a quiet exit.

The elevator ride to the suite was silent. My chest heaves with everything I want to scream, and everything I want to destroy.

We got to a private room and when the door clicked shut behind us, I lost it.

“You want to know why I’m here?” I shouted. “You want to know what your company means to me?”

He watched me with an irritating calmness.

“I came here to destroy you.”

He tilted his head slightly. “You’re drunk.”

“I came here to ruin you, Anthony,” I spat out, voice shaking. “I’ve been planning it for five years. You destroyed my life, so I’m going to destroy yours.”

His expression didn't change.

But his voice, when it finally came, was quieter and much sharper.

“If I destroyed your life… what are you doing to me?"

I stopped in my tracks. Because the way he said it… it wasn't smug, it wasn't dismissive. It was something else and it made my blood boil.

“I’m making it even,” I whisper. “And I haven’t even started. I will ruin your life just the way you ruined mine. And I won't rest until I have achieved it."

Florence's POV

“I hate you.”

The words left my mouth before I could stop them. They were hot, cracked and ragged. My fists were clenched at my sides, trembling with the weight of five years of silence and pain.

“You’re wicked,” I breathed out, laughing bitterly. “You’re so wicked but you have no idea that your worst enemy is working right under your nose.”

Anthony didn't move, he didn't even speak. He just stood there, his dark eyes fixed on me like I was a stranger speaking in tongues or a foreigner rapping in an unknown language, but maybe I was. Maybe this is what happens when you tear the stitches open all at once and let salt pour into your wounds.

But I kept on talking.

“Every morning you walk past me in your expensive suits thinking you own the world. Meanwhile, I’ve been sitting in your office plotting to tear it down, your company, your image, your control.”

His jaw tightened, but he still said nothing.

I let out a cold, broken laugh. “You don’t even realize what you’ve done to me. What you did to my family, to my father, to Gabriel. And yet you sit so calm and composed like nothing and no one can touch you.. unfortunately I am here to change all that. I will hurt you so much.”

I stumbled back, my back hitting the wall and I felt the world tilt and a wave of dizziness hit me.

"I hate you." I said before darkness fell and everywhere went still.

*****

When I opened my eyes again, I was not in the same hotel room. This one was much smaller. Quiet and dimly lit with the air smelling like roses and linen.

I sat up too fast causing my head to spin, my temple was pounding, and my body ached like a steamroller had gone through me.

Where am I? For a moment, my mind was completely blank and my mind felt fuzzy like there was static.

But then it rushed in like a flood, the champagne, the one sided shouting match, the balcony, and him. Me screaming, confessing, cracking wide open in front of the one man I was supposed to destroy. I had completely ruined my plans but completely going clean in front of him.

I sang my legs over the bed and realize that I was still wearing the dress from last night, minus the shoes which were discarded on the floor. Someone must have brought me here. Was it him?

But he had left no note, no message, just nothing but silence. The same kind I have been living in for the past five years.

I gathered myself, my belongings and head out. Got in a cab and went straight home to freshen up.

Mum was pacing around the living room when I got there. She was holding an old tie that used to belong to Dad.

“Florence, he didn’t come home,” she whispers, rushing to me with worry maring her eyes. “He went out, and I waited but he didn't come back. I waited all night.”

I took the tie from her gently and tried to soothe her. “Hey mum. He’s okay, he just… had to work late and you of all people should know how tiring his work is.”

She started shaking and her eyes welled up with tears. “Did he forget about me? Is he mad at me? He didn't call me to tell me.”

I pulled her in for a hug. One so tight and warm I hoped it would be her cure. “No don't think that. Dad really loves you. He probably just got busy or his phone died because he forgot to take the charger along, but he’ll call later, okay?”

She nodded, slowly calming down. I helped her into her room and laid her down, brushing her hair back like I used to when I was younger. She closed her eyes eventually, going off to sleep.

While my own eyes are burning red with tears that came straight from my soul.

I showered quickly, changed into work clothes, and grabbed my bag dashing out of the house quickly. My stomach felt like it was made of stone and I need something to distract myself from the ache in my chest. I didn't even know if I still had a job, but I couldn't sit here like I had given up.

I had stepped into the elevator and went down when my phone buzzed. It was an official email.

Subject: Termination Notice

Body: Ms. Davidson, your probationary employment with St. Louis Corporation has been terminated, effective immediately. Your access to office property has been revoked.

I just stared at the screen.

My employment was terminated? Just like that?

There was no warning or explanation. Anger surged through my chest, fierce and hot like a dormant volcano ready to explode.

I didn't wait to wallow in self-pity or contemplate my next plan. I went straight to the office.

The security guard at the door gives me a confused look. “Miss, you’re not authorized to go in today. Your access card was deactivated this morning.”

I gave a tight smile. “I left personal belongings in the executive office. Just a few files and personal items, I’ll be out in five minutes.”

He hesitated for a while but he nodded eventually and stepped aside from me to walk in.

And I did, with no badge,no clearance,no rules. Just unbridled rage and anger.

I marched to the 41st floor and stepped into Anthony’s office like I still belonged here. And there he was, behind the desk, as usual. Calm and composed. The face that gave away nothing.

“You terminated my appointment. You fired me.” I say coldly.

He looks up. “Yes I did. ”

“No meeting? No call? No conversation what's so ever?!”

“You screamed at my in public. You insulted me based on false accusations. You are clearly unstable and I do not need such people in my office.”

I laughed. “So this is about your ego.”

“No. It’s about responsibility. I’ve noticed your... quirks, since the day you arrived.”

“You mean my dislike for you?” I snarled. “You mean the way I couldn’t pretend to admire a man who destroyed my family?”

His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

I stepped forward. “You don’t remember Davidson & Co.?” My voice rose. “You acquired them four years ago. My family’s biggest no one branch, the crown and foundation of our business, the one your company devoured.”

“That company you are talking about was completely drowning in debt,” he replied sharply. “We salvaged what was left and made it what it is now.”

“You mean you stole it,” I said. “After you sent my brother to jail. After you framed him for tax fraud and let my father die from the disgrace of it.”

“I have never met your brother,” he says firmly. “I don’t even know his name.”

“Gabriel Davidson,” I snap. “He was the CFO and he was framed for a crime he didn't commit. Everything fell apart because of your company. My mother has been slipping out of reality ever since. I’ve been trying to keep her together while you climbed your precious ladder.”

Anthony blinked, slowly. Then leaned down, opening a drawer. He pulled out a file and slid it across the desk to me.

I hesitated but then took it and looked down. It was a death certificate.

One with Gabriel's name written on it, and that wasn't all. Gabriel’s date of birth was there along with a photograph clipped to the corner.

The apparent cause of death was a car crash. Certified by a local authority. Time-stamped, signed.

My hands trembled in confusion and fear. “This... this can’t be real.”

“He died according to what I know. It happened before we acquired that company,” Anthony sa quietly. “I remember it clearly because the deal was delayed. It was part of the reason it was up for auction.”

“No.” I shake my head. “No, he didn’t die. He was arrested, he is currently in jail in a different country. He’s alive.”

I unlocked my phone, open the police database link that I had saved for like three years ago.

I slammed the screen down in front of him.

The name: Gabriel Davidson.

Crime: International Financial Fraud.

Status: Detained.

Location: Undisclosed, foreign facility.

Anthony looked at the phone and then at me, and for the first time since I met him, he didn't look composed.

He looked... completely lost.

“This doesn’t make sense,” he murmured to himself.

My hands tightened around the edge of the desk. “No it doesn’t.”

Silence stretched between us, filled only by the soft hum of the AC and the sound of two people realizing neither of them knew the truth.

“We both have proof,” I whispered

He nodded slowly. “So... which one is real?”