(Elara POV)
The coffee stain dries darker than I expect.
I notice it the moment I step inside my apartment, shrugging off my bag and toeing my shoes off near the door. The fabric has stiffened where it soaked through, the brown ring ugly and unmistakable against pale blue.
I press the blouse between my fingers, already knowing.
It's ruined.
I don't have many work clothes to begin with. I rotate them carefully, washing only when necessary, mending buttons myself, pretending it's a choice instead of a limitation. This blouse was one of the better ones. Crisp. Professional. Neutral enough to disappear in meetings.
I exhale slowly and drop my bag on the chair.
It isn't just the blouse.
It's the call.
The one I was meant to be on.
The one where the entire team was acknowledged for the progress on the acquisition. The one Alex—Mr. Hale—had specifically scheduled to thank everyone. I'd seen the invite pop up briefly on my calendar earlier in the day, a flash of blue before Tessa's message followed immediately after.
Don't worry I will handle it, you go clean up.
Cleanup. As if weeks of work could be reduced to an afterthought.
I'd sat at my desk while voices filled the conference room down the hall. Laughter. Applause. Recognition.
And I wasn't there.
I carry the blouse toward the bedroom, already planning to soak it, maybe scrub at the stain before it sets completely. There's a small, irrational hope that if I act quickly enough, it can still be salvaged.
The door opens before I reach the laundry basket.
"El?"
I freeze.
Then I see
"Kyla?"
She's standing in the doorway, one hand still on the handle, a small suitcase tipped behind her. Her blazer is folded over her arm, her laptop bag hanging from her shoulder. She looks tired but the good kind. The kind that comes from a long stretch of effort finally easing
.
"You're back," I say, relief slipping out before I can stop it. "I thought you were gone for another day or two."
She grins and steps fully inside, dropping her bag without ceremony. "Trip wrapped earlier than expected. Client merged timelines, everything got accelerated."
She pulls me into a hug before I can react. "God, I missed you."
I hug her back, tighter than I mean to. For a moment, the tension that's been sitting between my shoulders all day loosens.
"How was it?" I ask as we pull apart. "Your trip."
"Busy," she says, stretching her arms overhead. "Productive, though. Endless meetings, a few wins, a few moments where I questioned all my life choices." She laughs. "But overall? Good. I feel… accomplished."
"That's great," I say, and I mean it.
She kicks off her shoes and follows me into the living room, talking easily about presentations she led, contacts she made, how strange it feels when every city blurs together because all you see are conference rooms and hotel lobbies. I listen, nodding, letting her words fill the space where my thoughts had been circling earlier.
For a while, I forgot about the office.
Forget about the call.
Forget about the way my stomach had dropped when the meeting ended without me.
I smile. "That sounds incredible."
"It was." She pauses, eyes flicking down to the blouse still clutched in my hand.
Her smile fades slightly. "What happened to that?"
I glance down, instinctively pulling the fabric closer to myself. "Oh. Just spilled some coffee at work."
Kyla doesn't respond immediately.
She leans forward, reaches out, and gently takes the blouse from my hand.
"Elara," she says carefully, holding it up to the light. "This doesn't look like a spill."
I tense. "It is."
She raises an eyebrow. "This looks more like a pour."
Silence stretches between us.
"It's nothing," I say quickly, reaching for the blouse. "Really. I was just going to wash it."
Kyla doesn't let go.
"No," she says, firmer now. "You're not washing this. This is done.Poor thing has no life left in it already one more wash might as well put it in a life support" She sighs, then softens. "Will you just tell me what's going on?"
I hesitate.
Then shrug.
"It was a long day. Anyways its nothing that I cant handle."
She studies me for a second, then stands abruptly. "Okay. Change of plans."
"What plans?"
She grabs her keys. "You're changing. We're going shopping."
I blink. "Kyla, it's four-thirty."
"And?"
"And I… you just came, must be feeling tired?"
"No i am not and if thats the only concern you have then dont worry i am not tired at all I was sleeping the entire flight duration. Now if your reasoning is done shall we get going? You need clothes," she says plainly, gesturing at me. "And before you argue anymore, yes, I know you hate spending money. But you just got your mother's insurance approved, didn't you?"
That stops me.
"Yes," I admit.
"So you can afford to buy yourself a few things," she continues gently. "And honestly? You deserve them."
I laugh softly. "You make it sound like a reward."
"It is."
I look down at myself, at the familiar sweater, the worn flats. Kyla's words don't sting. They're true. I guess I can reward myself a bit.
"Fine," I say. "But just a few things."
She grins. "Sure."
The mall is louder than I expected.
Bright. Alive. Kyla moves with purpose, pulling clothes from racks with practiced confidence and draping them over my arm.
"Try this."
"And this."
"Oh—definitely this."
I protest weakly, but end up in the fitting room anyway, changing in and out of outfits while she sits outside, giving blunt commentary.
"We're keeping that."
"No."
"Yes."
"Kyla!." I Groaned
"Elara!" She replied mockingly and pushed me back in the changing room to try on another dress
I laugh more than I have in weeks.
By the time we leave, my bags are heavier than planned, my shoulders lighter.
As we exit the shop, with our hands filled with bags, the salon next door glows warmly behind glass.
Kyla slows, then grins.
"No," I say immediately.
"Oh yes."
"I don't need—"
"You haven't done anything for yourself for like what ... .years?," she interrupts.
"Come on. Nails. Hair. Something."
I hesitate. And again that is true i dont remember when was the last time i stepped foot in a salon. Honestly with so many things happening the thought never came to my mind that I deserve some pampering for myself.
Nodding my head I followed her inside my salon.
An hour later, I'm staring at my reflection, barely recognizing myself.
The stylist has softened my hair, added subtle warmth, with the brown highlights it makes my dark hair shine. My face looks the same … but different. Brighter. Awake.
I touch the ends of my hair, uncertain.
"I look…" I trail off.
"Like you," Kyla finishes my sentence with a smile.
Monday morning feels different.
I notice it the moment I step into the office.
Heads turn. Not dramatically like in the movies. But enough that I can notice ,a pause here, a second glance there.
Sam's eyes flick up from her screen, her expression tightening briefly before she looks away.
Cynthia from accounting smiles as she passes me by.
"You did something new with your hair?" she says lightly. "It suits you."
"Thank you," I reply, surprised at the warmth in my voice.
"I love it." She nods once and walks on.
I was pouring myself a glass of water , thats when Tessa appears with her coffee in her hand. I instinctively take a step back.
Her gaze travels over me slowly, assessing, calculating.
"Just because you look different…" she says coolly, "doesn't mean anything changes."
I straighten. "I didn't think—"
"Focus on your work," she cuts in. "I want the report on my desk in thirty minutes. No excuses."
She walks away without another word.
My heart pounds by the time I reach my desk, fingers flying as I finalize the numbers, double-checking every line.
When I hand it over, she barely looks at me.
Then the meeting invite pops up. Today seems to be a packed monday. I wonder to myself.
Conference Room A.
Wrapping up the report requested I am the last to enter the room.
And I stop mid step when I see who is present in the room.
Alexander Hale is seated at the head of the table.
For half a second, the room disappears.
He looks exactly as I remember sharp, composed, dark blazer perfectly fitted. His presence shifts the air, pulling attention without effort.
I hadn't known he was back.
Our eyes meet. Just for a moment.
Something flashes through his recognition, surprise, something I can't place correctly.
My heart skips, stumbles, then races hard enough… I immediately avert my gaze down to my feet and take the last chair near the door, folding my hands in my lap.
The meeting begins shortly like any other.
Tessa leads, voice steady, clicking through slides I recognize intimately. My work. My structure. My phrasing.
Then Alex leans back slightly.
"There's a compliance overlap in Phase Two," he says calmly. "Specifically around regulatory clearance timing."
The room stills.
Tessa nods quickly. "Yes. We've padded the timeline."
"You've padded it," he agrees. "But that doesn't resolve exposure."
Silence stretches.
"What happens," he continues evenly, "if the secondary compliance review extends beyond eight weeks instead of six?"
Tessa hesitates. "We… adjust."
"How?" he asks.
She glances at the slide. "By reallocating resources."
"To which phase?" he presses.
She opens her mouth. But nothing comes out then she closes it back again.
Alex's gaze shifts to me.
"Elara," he says. "What's your assessment?"
Every eye turns. I can feel my throat turn dry.
I swallow, and then start to speak.
"If the review exceeds eight weeks," I say carefully, "the issue isn't resources. It's a dependency."
He watches closely. "Explain."
"The acquisition assumes parallel clearance," I continue. "But the compliance conditions aren't independent. A delay in secondary review pushes vendor onboarding past the contractual window."
"And the consequence?"
"Breach penalties," I say. "Not immediately but downstream. Especially if additional disclosures are requested."
A pause.
"And why wasn't it addressed till now?" He asked, turning his gaze towards Tessa.
He looks at me once again "I want you to take the lead on closing this gap. Work with me directly."
I straighten. "I can try to have a draft ready within the hour."
Tessa speaks smoothly. "Of course. Alex, I can work with you on this. Elara has a few other commitments that need immediate attention—"
"Elara is already aligned on the risk," Alex replies calmly. "That saves time."
Tessa's smile tightens. "I just want to ensure tasks are distributed appropriately."
"And I want this resolved correctly," he says. "We'll proceed this way."
A beat.
"And it's Mr. Hale."
"Ofcourse…Mr.Hale," Tessa replied, turning all red.
He stands. "That's all. Thank you."
People begin to file out, conversation muted, glances lingering.
"Elara," he adds.
I stop.
"Stay."
The door closes behind as the last person exit the room.
And for the first time since he left for London, the space between us feels charged — not with emotion, but with something far more dangerous.