The air inside Voss Publishing felt charged—like a storm was forming between marble floors and glass walls. The lobby buzzed with whispers and the sharp clicks of heels. Everyone knew what it meant when photographers started gathering outside before lunch.
Jenna Dobrick was back from Maui.
Elara didn't have to look to know the room had shifted. Stella leaned closer, her voice barely a breath.
"Why does she look like she came to collect someone's soul?"
Elara's lips curved faintly. "Maybe she did."
Upstairs, on the eleventh floor, Damon Voss didn't even glance at the flurry of messages from security. He stood by the window, adjusting his cufflinks, while Luke hovered a few feet away with that careful expression that only brave assistants wore.
"Sir," Luke started, "Ms. Dobrick's downstairs. She's… being photographed."
"She usually is," Damon said flatly.
"She's asking to see you."
Damon finally turned, his expression unreadable. "Then she knows where my office is. If she wants a scene, she'll have one." He walked toward the conference room without another word.
By the time Jenna stepped out of the elevator, cameras were already pressed to the glass doors, and the entire building seemed to hold its breath. She looked every bit the headline—flawless tan, gold dress hugging every curve, the smug confidence of someone who'd never been denied an audience.
Except today, Damon wasn't in the mood to give her one.
The double doors of the conference room flew open with the kind of force that made executives flinch. Jenna filled the doorway—sun-kissed, furious, haloed by camera flashes from the corridor.
"Miss me, darling?" Her voice lilted like honey hiding a blade.
No one moved. Damon didn't even glance up from the report in front of him. "We're in the middle of a meeting."
"You're always in the middle of something," she said, gliding across the polished floor until her reflection merged with his in the glass wall. "Except when it involves me."
He turned a page. "Then you already know where you stand."
A few nervous coughs scattered around the table. Elara kept her gaze on her notes, pulse even, fingers steady. They'd met before—at the gala, when Jenna had smiled too sweetly and whispered too close. Elara had learned to read smiles like knives.
Jenna's attention snapped to her now. "Still fetching papers for him, Miss Quin?"
Elara raised her head slowly. "Just editing them."
A soft laugh from one of the analysts broke the silence; it died just as quickly when Jenna's glare swung toward him.
"Adorable," she hissed. "Does he like them meek or merely replaceable?"
Damon's pen clicked once. "That's enough."
Jenna's chin lifted, eyes gleaming with humiliation. "Oh, so you do speak when she's in danger."
"She's an employee. You're a guest."
"Former guest," she spat, and with a swift motion swept the folder from the table. Papers fluttered through the air like startled birds.
Elara stood, calm as ever, and crouched to gather them. "Next time, Ms Dobrick," she murmured, "use your words."
The insult was quiet but lethal. Jenna froze—then her hand twitched like she might strike.
"Pick them up," Damon said, rising. His tone didn't rise, but the air seemed to contract around it.
Jenna turned, incredulous. "You're telling me—"
The voice that cut her off came from the doorway. "He's telling you to stop embarrassing yourself."
Alex Walter's silhouette framed the hall light, expression carved from granite.
The moment Alex spoke, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. Even the sound of air conditioning dulled beneath the weight of his voice.
Jenna's head snapped toward him, disbelief flashing across her face. "Stay out of this, Alex."
He took one unhurried step into the room, his suit immaculate, tie loosened just enough to look careless and lethal at the same time. "Hard to, when my cousin decides to make headlines in the middle of someone else's board meeting."
"Headlines?" she scoffed, forcing a laugh that broke halfway through. "You think I care about—"
"Clearly you do," he cut in, gaze sharp as a blade. "Or you wouldn't have brought your paparazzi."
A ripple of stifled laughter moved through the room. Jenna's eyes glistened—rage, not tears. "You're all disgusting. Pretending you're above me." Alex crossed his arms. "No one here had to pretend." The words landed like a slap. Damon didn't speak, didn't need to. His stillness said more than anger ever could.
"Security," Alex said, turning slightly toward the door. Two guards appeared almost instantly, as if summoned by his calm authority.
"Don't you dare," Jenna hissed, her voice shaking now. "Damon, you'll regret this—both of you will."
Damon finally looked up, meeting her eyes for the first time. "You're right," he said softly. "I already do."
It was the quietest dismissal she'd ever received and the most devastating.
Jenna stared at him for a heartbeat too long, then turned on her heel and stormed out. The heavy doors closed behind her, sealing in silence that buzzed with disbelief.
Alex exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Well," he muttered, glancing at Damon, "that's one way to clear a room."
The silence that followed Jenna's exit was suffocating. No one dared move until Damon finally sank back into his chair, expression carved from ice.
"Meeting's over," he said. "Get back to work."
Chairs scraped. Papers rustled. Within minutes, the conference room was empty except for Damon, Alex, and Elara, still kneeling on the floor, gathering the scattered documents with a quiet focus that somehow made the room feel smaller.
Alex crouched to help her, his usual smirk replaced by something almost protective. "You're calm for someone who just survived a hurricane."
Elara didn't look up. "I learned a long time ago not to wrestle with storms."
He smiled faintly at that, passing her a page. Damon's gaze flicked between them, unreadable, before he said curtly, "You handled it well, Ms. Quin."
"Thank you," she said simply. Her fingers brushed his when she reached for the last sheet—brief contact, static sharp as a spark. She rose, spine straight, and left without another word.
By the time the elevator doors closed behind her, the entire building was alive with whispers.
"She threw papers at her!"
"No, she slapped her."
"Security had to drag her out!"
Each retelling grew louder, more dramatic, until the story reached the online rumor mills. Within hours, entertainment blogs were buzzing: Actress Jenna Dobrick causes scene at Voss HQ; source claims she was jealous of an employee.
Damon's phone buzzed nonstop. He ignored every notification. Only Luke's voice broke the steady rhythm of his silence.
"Sir, a video clip's been leaked. Internal email. Thirty seconds, low angle—clearly from someone in the meeting."
Damon looked up slowly. "Find them."
The hunt took less than a day. Security dragged in a trembling junior employee, eyes wide and terrified.
"I swear, I didn't mean—It was just a clip, they offered money—"
Damon didn't raise his voice. "And you took it."
He signed the termination form and pushed it across the desk. "Collect your things. You have fifteen minutes."
When the elevator swallowed the man, Damon turned back to the window. Below, the city glittered—gossip still spreading like wildfire. Control was a thin thread tonight, and for the first time in years, he felt it fray.
By evening the city had already chewed through the day's scandal.
Every gossip page had a headline; every intern at Voss had an opinion.
Elara tried to ignore them all.
She'd gone home early, claiming exhaustion. The truth was simpler—she needed silence.
Steam from her mug fogged the kitchen window as her phone buzzed again.
Stella.
> Stella: "Tell me you saw the news."
Elara: "I lived the news."
Stella: "Girl, you were trending! Half the office thinks Damon's secretly in love with you. The other half's betting Jenna's already plotting a comeback video."
Elara: "Both halves need new hobbies."
Stella: "You're impossible."
Elara smiled despite herself. "And you're dramatic."
"Someone has to be." Stella's tone softened. "You okay, though? That looked intense."
Elara hesitated, then exhaled. "I'm fine. Just tired. She was angry, that's all."
"Tired doesn't mean fine," Stella said quietly. "Get some rest. And if another celebrity storms your floor tomorrow, record it for me."
Elara laughed—soft, genuine. "Goodnight, Stella."
She hung up, let the quiet settle. The night outside pulsed with distant sirens and wind through the alley.
She closed her eyes, letting the day dissolve, but Damon's voice—steady, controlled—kept threading through her thoughts.
Pick them up, Jenna.
You handled it well, Ms. Quin.
The memory shouldn't have mattered, yet it did.
It left her pulse a fraction too fast.
On the eleventh floor of Voss Tower, Damon hadn't left his office. The city spread beneath him, glittering and restless. Luke had long since gone home; only the hum of servers filled the space.
He replayed the video on mute—Jenna's voice nothing but a silent snarl, Elara's composure the still point in the chaos. It unsettled him more than the scandal.
He'd built his empire on order, and today one woman had reminded him how easily order cracked.
He poured a glass of scotch, untouched on the desk, and murmured to the window,
"Control isn't peace. It's just quieter noise."
Outside, thunder rolled over Los Angeles—the sound of a storm he could no longer contain.