Helena sat at her desk for three hours. Her fingers flew across her sketchpad. The neon greens and heavy wools in the Phoenix folder were a nightmare, but she was breaking them apart, restructuring the silhouettes into an avant-garde streetwear line.

Her neck began to ache. She needed coffee.

She stood up, rubbed the back of her neck, and walked out of the chaotic office.

She walked down the quiet hallway toward the communal pantry. As she got closer, she heard a voice.

"Too naive, too simple."

It was a man's voice. Oily and condescending.

Helena stopped. She stepped closer to the open doorway and looked inside.

Alaina was backed into the corner of the pantry, pressed against the refrigerator. A middle-aged man in a tight grey suit had his arm braced against the wall next to her head, trapping her.

It was Warren Finch. The deputy head of Design Group Two.

Warren was holding one of Alaina's sketches.

"You have talent, Alaina," Warren said, leaning his face closer to hers. "But you lack experience. Not just in design, but in life."

Alaina bit her lip. Her hands were shaking violently as she clutched her empty coffee mug. She tried to slide to the right, but Warren shifted his body, blocking her.

"Do not be shy," Warren smiled. His eyes dropped to her chest. "In this industry, who you know is more important than what you know. I can be a very helpful mentor. If you are willing to learn."

Bile rose in Helena's throat. Her blood ran cold, then hot.

She reached into her pocket. She pulled out her phone, opened the voice memo app, and hit record. She held the phone by her side.

"Think about it," Warren said softly. "A private dinner. Just you and me. We can discuss your career path."

Helena tapped the screen to stop the recording. She slipped the phone back into her pocket.

She pasted a bright, oblivious smile on her face and stepped into the pantry.

"Alaina!" Helena said loudly.

Warren jumped back. He dropped his arm from the wall and spun around.

"I was looking everywhere for you," Helena said, walking straight toward them. She ignored Warren completely. "Dad just called. He booked us a table at Le Bernardin for lunch."

Warren's face flushed. He recognized Helena. He knew she was the CEO's other daughter, the crazy one.

Helena grabbed Alaina's arm. She linked their elbows tightly. She could feel Alaina trembling against her side.

"Let's go," Helena said, her voice light and cheerful. "We do not want to be late."

She pulled Alaina out of the pantry without looking back.

Warren stood alone by the coffee machine, his face twisting into an ugly scowl.

Helena pulled Alaina into the stairwell and let the heavy fire door close behind them.

The moment the door shut, Alaina broke down. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

Helena pulled her into a tight hug. She rubbed Alaina's back, feeling the sharp blades of her shoulders shaking.

"He... he has been doing that all morning," Alaina cried into Helena's shoulder. "Every time I am alone."

Helena's jaw locked. Her fingers dug into the fabric of Alaina's suit jacket.

"I am taking you out of here," Helena said firmly.

They did not go to Le Bernardin. Helena walked Alaina down the street to a quiet cafe. She ordered two massive slices of chocolate cake and sat with her until Alaina stopped crying.

An hour later, they walked back into the lobby of the Hancock Group building.

Helena felt Alaina freeze beside her.

Helena looked up. Warren Finch was walking across the marble floor, heading straight toward them. He had a smug, nasty smirk on his face.

Helena stopped walking. She let go of Alaina's arm and squared her shoulders.

Warren stopped three feet in front of them, blocking their path to the elevators.

"Enjoying your long lunch, ladies?" Warren asked. His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Some of us actually have to work for a living."

Helena stared at him. Her eyes were dead and cold.

"Unlike some people," Helena said, her voice low and sharp, "who get their entertainment by harassing interns."

Warren's smirk vanished. The skin on his neck turned a dark, angry red. Several employees walking through the lobby slowed down, turning their heads to watch.

"Harassing?" Warren spat. He took a step closer, trying to use his size to intimidate her. "I was giving little Alaina here some friendly advice. In this world, a pretty face can get you far. You should know all about that, shouldn't you, Helena?"

The insult hung in the air. He was calling her a whore in the middle of the company lobby.

Beside Helena, Alaina let out a sharp gasp. Hearing Warren casually insult the sister who had just rescued her, Alaina felt her usual terror instantly evaporate, replaced by a sudden, boiling flash of protective anger. She looked down at the cold plastic cup in her hand-the very drink Helena had bought to comfort her.

Alaina raised the half-full plastic cup of iced coffee she was holding. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she threw the dark liquid straight into Warren's face.

The ice cubes hit his nose with a loud smack. The brown coffee dripped down his white shirt and ruined his silk tie.

The lobby gasped collectively.

Warren let out a roar of absolute rage. He wiped the coffee from his eyes.

"You little bitch!" Warren screamed.

He pulled his right arm back, his hand curling into a heavy fist, aiming straight for Alaina's face.

The moment his fist went up, two security guards who had been closely monitoring the escalating argument sprinted out from their posts by the front doors. But Helena was already moving.

She stepped in front of Alaina. She did not know how to fight, but pure, adrenaline-fueled instinct took over. She threw her entire body weight forward, slamming her shoulder violently into Warren's raised arm. The impact knocked his aim wildly off course.

"Security!" Helena shrieked at the top of her lungs.

Before Warren could recover his balance, Helena raised her foot and brought the razor-sharp stiletto heel of her designer shoe down with bone-crushing force right onto the bridge of his foot.

Warren let out a breathless howl of agony. He buckled forward, clutching his foot. Taking advantage of his momentary weakness, Helena violently shoved his chest, sending him tumbling backward until he crashed hard onto the marble floor. She quickly pushed Alaina behind her own body, acting as a human shield.

"You do not touch my sister!" Helena hissed, her voice vibrating with raw rage, ready to kick him again if he tried to stand.

"What in the hell is going on here?"

The voice boomed across the lobby like thunder. It carried a weight and a fury that froze the blood in Helena's veins.

She stopped in her tracks, her chest heaving.

The crowd of employees parted instantly, scrambling backward to clear a path.

Hayward stood ten feet away. He had just stepped out of the private executive elevator. Behind him stood a group of pale, terrified overseas partners. He appeared to have just concluded an important meeting and was personally seeing his key guests out to their cars.

Hayward's eyes were locked on the scene on the floor.

Helena slowly lowered her guard. She took a half-step back from the groaning man on the floor, her hands still trembling from the adrenaline rush.

The two security guards who had rushed over finally reached them, grabbing the whimpering Warren by the arms and hauling him roughly to his feet.

Hayward did not look at the guards. He did not look at the board members. He turned his head slightly toward his assistant, Milos.

"Get them to my office," Hayward ordered. His voice was dangerously quiet. "All three of them. Now."

Hayward turned on his heel and walked back into the private elevator. Helena grabbed Alaina's trembling hand.

The metal doors of the private executive elevator slid open.

The air on the top floor of the Hancock Group building was different. It was freezing, entirely silent, and smelled faintly of expensive leather and lemon polish. The adrenaline that had fueled Helena in the lobby was beginning to drain, leaving a cold, sharp focus in its wake.

Milos, Hayward's silent shadow of an assistant, pushed open the heavy mahogany double doors. He gestured for them to step inside.

The CEO's office was massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a dizzying, unobstructed view of the Manhattan skyline.

Hayward did not sit in his leather chair. He walked straight to the wide, black walnut desk. He planted both hands flat on the polished wood and leaned forward. His dark eyes locked onto them. He looked like a predator inspecting a fresh kill.

Warren seized the silence. He clutched his bleeding nose with one hand and pointed a trembling finger at Helena with the other.

"Mr. Hancock, you saw it!" Warren whined, his voice thick and nasal from the blood. "She attacked me! Completely unprovoked! I was just walking through the lobby and she assaulted me!"

Hayward slowly shifted his gaze from Helena to Warren. The sheer disgust in Hayward's eyes was so heavy it made the air in the room feel thick.

Warren's voice died in his throat. He swallowed hard, taking a step back.

"Shut up," Hayward said. His voice was not loud, but the absolute authority in it made the glass windows seem to vibrate.

Hayward turned his head. His eyes fixed on Helena. The temperature in the room dropped another ten degrees.

"A physical altercation in my lobby," Hayward said, his words clipped and sharp. "Explain yourself, Helena. And it better not be 'Eleanor' this time."

Helena felt her spine stiffen. Her thumb automatically found the side seam of her white dress, pressing hard into the fabric. She forced her breathing to slow down. She looked straight into his dark, freezing eyes.

Beside her, Alaina was trembling, not just from fear, but from the lingering shock of her own actions. She took a half-step forward, her voice shaky but laced with a new, defiant anger. "It wasn't her fault, he was-"

Helena raised her hand. She placed it gently but firmly on Alaina's shoulder, squeezing once. She stepped in front of her sister, shielding her from Hayward's intense stare.

"He was sexually harassing Alaina in the pantry," Helena said. Her voice was completely flat, as if she were reading a grocery list.

Warren jumped as if he had been burned. "That is a lie! I was giving her professional advice! She is trying to cover up her psychotic episode!"

Hayward narrowed his eyes. A muscle ticked violently along his jawline. He knew Warren Finch was a corporate parasite, but he also knew Helena's history of destruction and lies.

"An accusation like that requires proof," Hayward said coldly, his gaze cutting through her. "Otherwise, you are just a liability committing assault on company property."

The corner of Helena's mouth twitched upward. It was a small, dangerous smile.

She reached into the pocket of her dress. She pulled out her phone. She did not rush. She unlocked the screen, tapped the voice memo app, and turned the volume all the way up.

She stepped forward and placed the phone flat on the center of Hayward's pristine walnut desk.

Warren's oily, suggestive voice filled the massive office.

"Do not be shy. In this industry, who you know is more important than what you know. I can be a very helpful mentor. If you are willing to learn."

The recording ended. The silence that followed was suffocating.

Warren's face drained of all color. His knees gave out, and he slumped heavily into one of the leather guest chairs, gasping for air as if he were drowning.

Hayward stared at the phone. His jaw locked so tight the bone showed white through his skin. He hated scandals. He hated anything that threatened the stability of his company.

He looked up at Helena. The anger in his eyes had not faded; it had shifted focus.

"You had evidence," Hayward said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "You could have brought it to HR. Instead, you chose to create a public spectacle in my lobby."

He pushed off the desk and walked slowly around it, closing the distance between them.

"You endangered the stock price for a personal vendetta," he stated, stopping just inches from her. The heat radiating from his body was overwhelming.

Helena tilted her head back to maintain eye contact. She did not step away.

"If I went to HR," Helena said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper, "a mid-level manager like him would get a quiet warning. Alaina would be quietly transferred. I wanted him destroyed."

She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice even further.

"And," Helena added, "if the media found out that the Hancock Group's HR department tried to cover up the sexual harassment of the CEO's biological daughter by a deputy manager... how much damage do you think that would do to our brand's reputation? How would that headline look on the front page tomorrow morning?"

Hayward's pupils dilated. His breath hitched for a fraction of a second.

He stared at the woman standing in front of him. This was not the brainless, screaming socialite he knew. This was cold, calculated, corporate blackmail.

Helena did not blink. "Or maybe I should just call Marian and tell her exactly how her husband's company treats her stepdaughter?"

The mention of Marian hit the mark. Hayward's eyes flickered. He could not let Everette's marriage blow up over this.

Hayward turned his back to her. He looked at his assistant.

"Fire Finch," Hayward ordered, his voice devoid of all emotion. "Strip his severance package completely. If he talks to anyone, our legal team will bury him so deep he will never work in this city again."

Two security guards immediately grabbed Warren by the armpits and dragged his limp body out of the office. The heavy doors clicked shut.

Hayward turned back around. He looked at Helena. The disgust was gone, replaced by a dark, heavy scrutiny.

"You win this round," Hayward said quietly. "But if you ever use the media to threaten me again, I will personally throw you out of this building."