DANTE:

This was a mistake.

I knew it the second Tate pitched the idea about going undercover, experiencing the "authentic employee journey," understanding the company from the ground up before implementing changes.

Idiotic.

I didn't care about process. I cared about results. Numbers. Growth. Exponential profit that would cement my name at the top of every business magazine in the country and shove it directly in my stepfather's smug face.

But Tate insisted. "You need to see what you're working with, Dante. You can't fix what you don't understand."

So I rode the staff bus like some corporate tourist. Used the general elevator. Walked through the building without an assistant clearing the path ahead of me. All the mundane indignities regular people endured daily.

That wasn't even the worst part.

The worst part was her.

That barely-five-foot menace with raven hair and a death wish. She'd looked at me like I was an inconvenience, something to be shoved aside and forgotten. No deference. No intimidation. Just pure, unfiltered hostility from the moment our eyes met.

Who the hell did she think she was?

I'd dealt with CEOs, politicians, investors who could buy and sell entire companies before breakfast. None of them had the audacity to glare at me the way she did. To fight me for a bus seat. To refuse me with that defiant little tilt of her chin or throw their dirty shoe at me.

Standing here, drenched in coffee, my two hundred thousand dollar suit ruined beyond repair.

She was reckless.

The boardroom fell silent as I stepped inside, Martin pale as a ghost behind me. Good. At least someone here understood the gravity of the situation.

I walked to the head of the table, ignoring the way coffee dripped from my shirt cuff onto the polished wood. Every executive sat frozen, eyes wide, mouths shut. Exactly how I preferred them.

Then she was in the doorway when Martin opened the door after suggesting getting paper towels to somewhat clean me up.

Her face shifted from smug satisfaction to horror in the span of a heartbeat. I watched it happen, the realization creeping in, the color bleeding from her cheeks.

Beautiful.

Nonetheless, I should've dismissed her entirely. But almost no one manages to get under my skin except Tate. She'd unsettled something in me the second our paths crossed. I hated that her defiance didn't just anger me. It sharpened something in me making it impossible to overlook like a splinter I couldn't ignore

I crossed my arms, letting the silence stretch until it became unbearable.

"Mr. Martin," I said, my voice cutting through the tension. "Who is she?"

Martin straightened, clearing his throat. "This is Cinnamon Wealth, sir. She's our-"

I held up a hand. "Wait." A laugh escaped before I could stop it. "Her last name is Wealth?"

"Yes, sir."

I wiped an imaginary tear from my eye. "There's nothing wealth-related about her." I glanced at her, then back at Martin, speaking as if she weren't standing three feet away. "I'm guessing her parents were the superstitious type. Name your kid after what you don't have, hope it magically sticks." I waved dismissively. "Proceed."

"Mr. Moretti, I-" Her voice came alive through the room.

I turned my head slowly, pinning her with a glare that had made grown men stammer. "I wasn't talking to you."

Martin jumped in, apologetic. "Sorry, sir. Yes, her name is Wealth. She's been with us for three years and is one of our top performers. She brought in the highest revenue last year and continues to lead our metrics this quarter. Today, we were planning to announce her promotion to-"

She stood a little straighter. Pride across her face as Martin listed her accomplishments, and I felt annoyance twist in my chest.

I wanted to crush her.

"Stop." My voice dropped. "I didn't ask you to bore me with her résumé. Everyone under this company's paycheck is supposed to perform. That's why they're paid." I leaned forward slightly. "I asked what her position is."

Martin swallowed. "She's our Chief Executive Strategist and Lead Marketer."

"And she's due for a promotion simply for showing up for three years?"

"It goes beyond that, sir. Her strategies have-"

I cut him off by shifting my gaze back to her. She stood rigid, chest heaving with barely restrained fury. Her face had turned a deep shade of red, fists clenched at her sides.

Perfect.

I let the silence linger, then spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.

"You're fired."

The room erupted.

"What?" She stepped forward, shaking. "You can't-"

"I just did."

"You arrogant piece of-" She was shouting now, words spilling out in a torrent of rage and disbelief. Cursing. Threatening. Telling me exactly where I could shove my authority.

I didn't flinch. Didn't react. Just watched her unravel.

She shouldn't have been that pretty when she was furious.

"Dante, get your head right," I scolded myself. I shouldn't be noticing something as trivial as that right now.

When she finally paused for breath, I looked at Martin. "Call security."

No one moved.

"Now."

Martin opened his mouth, then closed it. None of the executives spoke. They just sat there, trapped between self-preservation and whatever misguided loyalty they felt toward her.

Pathetic.

Martin finally found his voice. "Mr. Moretti, with all due respect, Ms. Wealth is our most competent strategist. If you could reconsider-"

"Anyone who objects joins her." I let that sink in, scanning the room. "Understood?"

Silence.

Security arrived two minutes later. She fought them the whole way, hurling accusations, promising lawsuits, telling me I was threatened by her competence because I'd never earned anything in my life, everything had been handed to me.

Her words hit closer than I'd ever admit.

A single, unwanted memory clawed up my spine. My stepfather's voice, dripping with the same accusation. Useless. Undeserving. Nothing without him.

"I earned my place!" she screamed as they escorted her toward the door. "You inherited yours!" She pointed at me like she could see straight through the steel.

I smiled. Cold. "Then I'll see you in court, Ms. Wealth. I look forward to it."

The door slammed shut behind her.

I turned back to the room. "Things are changing. This company was dying because of too many incompetent hands holding it back. That ends now." I straightened my cuffs, ignoring the coffee stains. "Meeting dismissed."

They filed out in silence.

***

Tate was already waiting in my office when I walked in, leaning against my desk with that insufferable smirk.

"That went well."

I didn't answer. Just stripped off my jacket and threw it onto the couch. The shirt followed. Coffee had soaked through to my undershirt, sticky and cold against my skin.

"She really got to you, didn't she?"

Tate still had his tongue attached to his mouth because beyond being my personal assistant, he was my best friend. Something I rarely had.

"She ruined an expensive suit."

"That's not what I mean."

I shot him a look. He raised his hands in mock surrender but didn't leave.

I changed into the spare clothes he knew to keep any office I used. Perfectly tailored, identical to the one now crumpled on the couch. My hands moved mechanically, buttoning the shirt, fastening the cuffs.

But I kept seeing her face. Hearing her voice.

I yanked the tie tighter than necessary.

Tate was still watching. "You okay?"

"Fine."

"You don't look fine."

I ignored him, focusing on the knot until it sat perfectly centered. My reflection stared back from the window. I was composed, controlled, exactly how I needed to be.

Except my jaw was clenched. My shoulders tight.

She'd gotten under my skin. Some nobody marketer who thought she could talk to me like an equal.

I hated that it bothered me.

Hated that I could still smell the coffee on my discarded shirt. Hated that her defiance played on a loop in my head, her words cutting deeper than they should have.

"You know," Tate said carefully, "firing your top strategist on day one might not be the best move."

"She disrespected me."

"She threw coffee on you. You didn't know who she was. And she didn't know who you were."

"She should have."

Tate sighed. "This company needs to succeed, Dante. You need it to succeed."

I turned, meeting his gaze. "What's your point?"

"Your stepfather's been waiting for you to fail. So has your brother. This acquisition, turning it into a parent company is your shot to prove them wrong. To knock them off the top of the business rankings and take their spot." He paused. "You can't afford mistakes."

My hands curled into fists. He was right, and I hated him for it.

This company had to succeed. Not just succeed, dominate. Become the crown jewel that proved I didn't need their name, their money, their approval.

I built this. Me.

And no one, especially not some reckless, sharp-tongued woman with a ridiculous last name was going to jeopardize it.

"I made the right call," I said.

Tate didn't argue. Just nodded and left.

The office felt too quiet after he was gone.

I sat at my desk, pulled up the quarterly reports, forced myself to focus on the numbers.

But her voice kept creeping back in.

"You inherited yours."

I snapped the pen in my hand.

The crack echoed through the silent room. Ink bled across my fingers.

I stared at the broken pieces, then swept them into the trash and wiped my hand clean.

Focus. I needed to stay focused.

I wouldn't let a woman who knew nothing about the hell I'd crawled through rattle me with her cheap assumptions. She thought I inherited my power. She thought I'd been handed everything I owned.

If she knew the truth, she would've kept her mouth shut.

She didn't know what it took to survive in a house where weakness was eaten alive. She didn't know the things I'd had to do just to stand in a room without being crushed.

I bled for every inch I stand on. And I'd burn this entire company including my world to the ground before I let someone like her disrespect who I was.

DANTE:

The next day, the office felt different.

Employees avoided eye contact when I walked past. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even the executives moved carefully, speaking in measured tones, correcting themselves before I had to.

Fear.

Good. I'd rather be feared than loved. Fear kept people sharp. Kept them obedient.

I was halfway through a meeting with the finance team when Martin knocked.

"Sir, I need a moment."

I waved him in. "Make it quick."

He hesitated, glancing at the others in the room. "Privately, if possible."

I dismissed the team, then leaned back in my chair. "What is it?"

Martin set a folder on my desk. "The Meadowbrook project. It's our next major acquisition. It's a land development for a luxury resort. The investors are traditional, family-oriented. They only work with people they trust."

"And?"

"The land is in Ms. Wealth's hometown."

I went still.

Martin continued, oblivious. "She knows the area. Knows the people. She's the only one who can navigate the local politics and convince them to sell. Without her..." He trailed off.

"Without her, what?"

"Without her, the deal might be difficult."

I stared at the folder, not moving or opening it.

"She's irreplaceable on this, sir," Martin added quietly. "Essential."

That word sat heavy in the room.

Irreplaceable.

I hated it. Hated needing anyone. Especially her.

"Find someone else."

"There is no one else. She's been cultivating relationships there for months. If we bring in a stranger, they'll shut us out."

My hands rested flat on the desk. I could feel the tension coiling in my chest, pressure building behind my ribs.

I needed this deal. Needed this company to succeed.  Not just succeed but dominate. Become the crown jewel

And she was the only way to make it happen.

Martin shifted his weight. "Should I... reach out to her?"

I looked up. Met his gaze.

"I don't bring people back."

Martin nodded slowly, understanding the weight of what I'd just said.

But as he turned to leave, I felt the heat in my nerves that wouldn't let go.

I loosened my tie. Just enough to breathe.

Martin paused at the door. "Sir?"

"Find someone else," I angrily repeated, loud enough for him to hear. "What could be so difficult about convincing a town full of retirees to sell their boring properties for compensation they'll never see again in their lifetimes?"

Martin turned back, his expression careful. "With all due respect, sir, that demographic is the hardest to negotiate with. They don't care about money the way younger sellers do. They care about legacy. Trust. Tradition. They need someone who understands their values, someone they can relate to." He paused. "Someone from their community."

I said nothing.

"This deal is massive, Mr. Moretti. The profit projections from the resort exceed anything we've done before. It would be the largest development in that region's history. The small sacrifice of reinstating Ms. Wealth is worth it."

Exhaling out of defeat, "temporarily," I muttered.

"Pardon, sir?"

"Ms. Wealth will be brought back temporarily, just for this project."

"Understood, sir."

I leaned back, jaw tight. "How long do we have?"

"Until New Year's. Other companies are circling. Whoever presents the most strategic, trustworthy proposal wins." He hesitated. "We need to move fast."

I waved him off. "Leave the files."

He set the folder on my desk and left.

The room felt too quiet again.

I opened the folder, scanning page after page of projections, land surveys, investor profiles. Everything looked solid. Clean. Profitable.

Then I saw the list of competing companies.

Third from the top: Moretti & Ashford Holdings.

My stepfather's company.

My vision narrowed. Blood rushed in my ears. Old anger stirred like something with teeth.

Of course he was after this deal. The bastard probably had his sights on it the moment the investors made their intentions public. And if he won? If his company secured the Meadowbrook project while mine failed?

He'd make sure the entire world knew.

I could already hear his smooth, condescending voice, reminding everyone that I'd tried and failed. Meaning, I wasn't cut out for this level of business, that I should've stayed in his shadow where I belonged.

Not a chance in hell.

I pushed emotion aside, forcing myself to think logically. The deal was worth billions. The prestige alone would cement my company's reputation not just as a real estate mogul but a major and strategic developer. And if I beat my stepfather in the process?

That was worth swallowing my pride.

I pressed the intercom. "Martin. Get her back today."

"Yes, sir."

***

Hours passed.

I worked through emails, calls, contract revisions to keep my mind occupied. But every few minutes, I found myself glancing at the door, waiting.

Unconsciously, I found myself remembering the curve of her mouth when she argued with me-soft shape, fierce words. It irritated me that I could picture it so clearly. I shoved the thought away, shaking my head like I could force my mind back into line.

Finally, someone knocked.

Thank goodness. That was a welcome distraction.

Martin announced himself before stepping inside.

I didn't look up from my laptop. "Of course she came back." I closed the screen, leaning forward. "We'll start next week. I want a full briefing on the investors by Monday, travel arrangements finalized by Wednesday, and-"

"She refused."

I froze.

Martin cleared his throat. "Ms. Wealth declined the offer."

Silence.

"She said..." He shifted uncomfortably. "She'll only engage in further communication if you personally apologize for what happened. And she's requesting a private, one-on-one meeting with you before she agrees to anything."

I stared at him.

He stared back, waiting.

Then I laughed humorless. "She wants me to apologize."

"Yes, sir."

"To her."

"Yes, sir."

My hands curled into fists on the desk. "She threw coffee on me. Disrespected me in front of the entire executive team. And she wants an apology?"

Martin said nothing.

I stood, pacing to the window. The city below, lights coming on and off in the dusk.The glass carried the day's fading warmth, but it did nothing for the chill crawling beneath my collar.

 Somewhere out there, Cinnamon Wealth was sitting in her apartment, smug and satisfied, thinking she had leverage.

She did.

And she knew it.

"Set up the meeting," I said quietly.

Martin nodded. "When?"

"Tomorrow. My office. 6 PM."

"I'll arrange it."

He left.

I stood at the window long after he was gone, staring at my reflection in the glass.

Cinnamon Wealth had just made this personal.

And I never lost when things got personal.

CINNAMON:

I didn't even have time to properly wallow.

One day. I'd been fired for exactly one day before Mr. Martin called.

I was still in my pajamas, surrounded by crumpled tissues and half-eaten takeout, researching employment lawyers who specialized in wrongful termination cases. Three years of my life couldn't just be erased because some spoiled CEO had a tantrum over spilled coffee. I'd earned that promotion. Earned my place in that company. If Dante Moretti thought he could toss me aside without consequences, he had another thing coming.

Then my phone buzzed.

Mr. Martin's name flashed across the screen.

I almost didn't answer. But curiosity and a sliver of desperate hope made me pick up.

"Ms. Wealth, I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"That depends on why you're calling."

He cleared his throat. "Mr. Moretti would like to discuss reinstating your position."

I sat up straighter. "Reinstating?"

"Yes. Temporarily. For the Meadowbrook project specifically."

And just like that, the hope died.

"Let me get this straight," I said slowly. "He fires me, humiliates me in front of the entire executive team, has security drag me out of the building and now he wants me back because he needs my help?"

"The company needs your expertise-"

"He needs my expertise," I corrected. "And he's too proud to ask for it himself, so he's making it sound like he's doing me a favor. Like I'm some desperate nobody who should be grateful he's tossing me scraps."

Silence on the other end.

"Is that about right, Mr. Martin?"

He sighed. "Ms. Wealth-"

"No. He can find someone else."

"We've already started this project with you. Starting off with someone new would be a hassle. Moreover, this would be beneficial to you."

Oh, he was trying to play politics in my face because I knew that no one was capable to handle this deal but me.

The field test months ago had been my idea. Go to Meadowbrook, blend in, learn what made the community tick, figure out how to win their trust. It was supposed to be straightforward. Except Meadowbrook wasn't just any town.

It was my hometown.

The place where Marcus left me standing at the altar in front of two hundred people. The place I'd avoided for two years because every street corner held a memory I'd rather forget.

But I went anyway. Because the job mattered. Because proving myself mattered.

I spent weeks there, reconnecting with neighbors, attending town meetings, volunteering at events. Slowly, painfully, I rebuilt bridges I thought had burned. And it worked. The elders trusted me. They liked me.

So yeah. I was good at my job.

And Dante Moretti had the audacity to fire me anyway.

"I'm not interested, Mr. Martin."

"Ms. Wealth, please, we can reach a compromise for all parties."

Taking in a deep breath, I had one option left. "Get Mr. Moretti to have a meeting with me where I list more conditions and also have him issue an apology to me and maybe I'll reconsider."

There was rustling of paper at the other end of the line and a brief silence before Mr. Martin spoke up. "Ms. Wealth, you're asking for the impossible. He wouldn't-"

"Then I'm afraid I won't be accepting this offer."

"Ms. Wealth, we-"

I hung up, not interested to listen any further to him.

Then I sat there, staring at my phone, heart pounding.

What had I just done?

The rational part of my brain scolded me. I needed that job. Needed the paycheck. Mom's medical bills were piling up faster than I could pay them, and my savings account was running on fumes.

I should've swallowed my pride. Should've said yes immediately, kept my head down, done whatever Dante Moretti wanted just to stay employed.

But I couldn't.

I wouldn't.

He didn't get to treat me like I was disposable.

My phone buzzed again an hour later.

Mr. Martin.

I almost ignored it. But something made me answer.

"He's agreed to meet with you," Mr. Martin said. "On your terms. Tomorrow. 6 PM."

I blinked. "He... agreed?"

"Yes."

"To apologize?"

"He agreed to a private meeting. I suggest you don't push your luck beyond that."

A laugh bubbled up before I could stop it. Dante Moretti was actually bending. Which meant this deal was more important than his ego.

Good.

Maybe I could get my respect back, even if I didn't get my job.

"Fine," I said. "Tomorrow at six."

***

I spent the next day preparing.

Not just mentally but physically. If I was walking into Dante Moretti's office, I needed to look like someone he couldn't dismiss. Someone who belonged in that room as much as he did.

I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing my hands over the navy sheath dress I'd bought for interviews but never had a reason to wear. It was right for this 

I adjusted my hair for the third time, even though it was already in place. Checked my makeup. Reapplied lipstick.

There was a popular saying, "Dress the way you want to be addressed."

Maybe that was where I went wrong the first time. Maybe he didn't take me seriously because I looked like every other employee instead of someone who commanded attention.

A cough echoed from the living room.

I froze.

Another cough. Wet. Painful.

I rushed out of my bedroom and found Mom bent over on the couch, a handkerchief pressed to her mouth. When she pulled it away, red stained the white fabric.

"Mom-"

"I'm fine." Her voice came out raspy, strained.

She wasn't fine.

I guided her back against the cushions, my hands shaking. Two years ago, my mother could carry groceries up three flights of stairs without breaking a sweat. She worked two jobs, sometimes three, and never complained. She held our family together after Dad died, made sure my sister Maya and I never went to bed hungry, never felt the weight of how hard she was struggling.

Now, ovarian cancer was eating her alive from the inside out.

"Cinnamon." She reached for my hand, squeezing weakly. "Do you really want to go back there?"

I swallowed hard. "It's just a meeting."

"He treated you terribly. You don't deserve that. I don't care how much we need the money. Your well-being matters more."

Another cough rattled her chest. She winced, pressing the handkerchief back to her mouth.

My throat tightened.

She needed chemo. It cost so much per session. More than I made in a month but Insurance covered some of it, but not enough. Never enough.

If I didn't get my job back, if I didn't find something that paid just as well, I didn't know what we'd do.

"I'm just going to hear him out," I said softly. "If anything feels wrong, I'll walk away. I promise."

"Promise me, Cinnamon."

I couldn't say the words. Couldn't lie to her face.

So I smiled instead. Nodded.

She studied me for a long moment, then sighed. "Be careful."

I kissed her forehead. "I have to go. I don't want to be late."

***

The office eerie when I walked in. Like the building itself was holding its breath.

Employees glanced at me as I passed, then quickly looked away. No one smiled. No one said hello.

They knew what happened. Of course they did.

I kept my head high, shoulders back, walking like I owned the place. Like I hadn't been dragged out by security less than forty-eight hours ago.

Dante's personal assistant met me at the elevator-a polite, good-looking guy in his late twenties who introduced himself as Tate.

"Mr. Moretti is expecting you," he said, gesturing toward the executive floor.

I followed him down the long hallway lined with glass walls and now minimalist décor. Everything had been redecorated and looked expensive and untouchable. They did all that within less than forty eight hours?

Interesting.

We stopped in front of a set of double doors.

Tate knocked once, then pushed them open.

Dante stood with his back to us, hands in his pockets, staring out the windows overlooking the city. The evening light painted him in gold and shadow, outlining the lines of his suit, the breadth of his shoulders.

He didn't turn immediately. Just stood there, still as if he had all the time in the world.

Then he turned.

And every coherent thought I had evaporated.

I forgot how to breathe.

Had he always looked like this? High cheekbones, hazel eyes that pinned me in place making me seem like I was something he'd been hunting. His suit was charcoal, perfectly tailored, probably worth more than my rent. Better than the last one I ruined.

But it wasn't just the suit. It was the way he looked at me.

Like he'd been waiting.

Like he knew exactly what kind of chaos this meeting would bring.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything but no words came out.

I just stood there.

Staring.

Tate cleared his throat. "Ms. Wealth is here."

I noticed Tate didn't add sir like every assistant would.

Dante's gaze didn't leave mine.

"Close the door," he said quietly.

Tate stepped out. The door clicked shut behind him.

And suddenly, the room felt far too small.

Dante took a step forward. Then another.

He stopped three feet away, close enough that I could smell his dark and expensive cologne that made my pulse stutter.

"Ms. Wealth." His voice was dangerous. "You wanted to talk."

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "You fired me."

"I did."

"Unjustly."

"That's debatable."

Heat flared in my chest. He wasn't even offering me a seat or trying to keep his distance. "You humiliated me in front of the entire executive team. Had security throw me out like I was nothing."

"And yet," he said, tilting his head slightly, "here you are."

"Because you need me."

Something changed in his expression. Annoyance. Maybe respect.

"Careful, Ms. Wealth." He stepped closer. "Confidence is attractive. Arrogance gets you fired twice."

My breath caught.

He was so close now I could see the flecks of green in his hazel eyes, the slight tension in his jaw.

"I don't need your threats," I said, voice steadier than I felt. "I need an apology and the conditions I'll lay out met."

Dante's mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"Then I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed."