*Isabella's POV*
A few days later, I made my way to Lancaster Corp. The cast was finally off, leaving my leg pale and weak, like a stranger to me but it as mine. Every step felt unsettling, a strange mix of freedom and vulnerability. The heavy, reassuring weight was gone, and now I had to rely on my own strength, which felt fucking weak at best. I stood at the entrance to the towering glass building, taking a deep breath. Here goes fucking nothing.
I entered, the familiar chill of the air-conditioning a welcome shock. I made my way to the finance department, the sounds of keyboards and quiet chatter a bittersweet concord of a life I was about to leave behind.
"Hey, Charlotte," I greeted, my voice a little too bright, a little too fake.
"Hey, Isabella," she said, looking up from her monitor, her warm smile a small comfort.
I placed the white envelope on her desk. "I'm here to submit my resignation letter." The words felt final...heavy.
"I understand," she said, her smile softening with sympathy. "Mr Lancaster informed me. I would normally try to make you stay, offer you a better salary, but Mr Lancaster said to let you go." There was no judgement in her voice, just a simple acceptance that made my chest ache.
"Uhm... I'm sorry, Charlotte," I said, my gaze dropping to my hands. "I know I only worked with you for a few months, but I want you to know that I've learnt so much from you. I'll always remember your words."
"You and me both, Isabella," she said, leaning forward. "You were the star of my department. I thought you'd be the boss of us in five years or so," she said with a knowing smirk that made me smile, a real, genuine smile this time.
"Be for real, Charlotte," I said, shaking my head.
"I'm being real," she insisted. "Oh, and don't forget to take your resignative interview," she added, as if it were a simple afterthought.
"With HR?" I asked, my brow furrowed.
"In this particular case, with your former boss," she clarified. "Mr Lancaster called me this morning and asked that you stop by his office before you go."
"Okay," I said, the single word feeling like a lead weight on my tongue. Of course he did. I gave Charlotte one last smile before turning and making my way upstairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. The journey to the top floor had never felt so long.
I stopped short outside his office, my fucking feet freezing on the polished marble. Someone was occupying the desk. My old desk.
"Hey, you must be Isabella," a chirpy, nervous little voice chirped from behind the desk. A young woman, probably fresh out of university, with a bright, eager smile, looked up at me.
My first, gut-punch thought was, he fucking replaced me. Of course he fucking would. The man runs an empire; he can't exactly function without an assistant. My mind started fucking racing. Does she know how he takes his coffee? Does she know to have the quarterly reports printed and ready on his desk by 8 AM, not 8:01?
Can she read his fucking mind and prepare everything in advance like I did? Or does she at least know how to open a goddamn Excel spreadsheet without freezing the whole system? I mean, fuck, she can't be worse than Cole, the backstabbing piece of shit. I'm probably just overthinking it.
"Uhm, can I ask you something?" she began but her phone rang at that exact moment.
"Yes... yes, she's here," she said into the phone, her eyes flicking to me before looking away, listening intently to the voice on the other line. "Okay," she said, hanging up.
"Mr. Lancaster is waiting for you," she said, her professional voice a complete contrast to her earlier nervousness.
"Did you need something?" I asked, trying to be polite, but all I wanted was to get this over with.
"Later," she said, "Don't keep him waiting."
I nodded, a sense of dread settling in my stomach. I took a deep breath and headed in.
I pushed the door open, the familiar click of the latch echoing in the cavernous space of his office. Damien was standing by the window, his back to me. He turned as I entered, and his face, for a split second, did that thing it always did – the mask of the CEO slipped, and I saw the man underneath.
"Isabella, how are you?" he asked, his voice careful, measured.
I struggled not to say, Now that I'm here, way fucking better. The thought was a traitorous whisper in my mind. "I'm fine," I said instead, my voice a little too bright. "I can walk without crutches, see." I took a few steps, as if to prove it, feeling like a complete idiot.
"I'm so relieved," he said, "Are you still in pain?"
"No, nothing. I'm all good," I lied. The ache was still there, a dull throb in my leg and a much sharper one in my heart.
"Have you already found a job?" he asked, changing the subject.
"No, but I have an interview at Smith & Johnson Co next week," I said, a flicker of pride in my voice.
"Smith & Johnson Co?" he asked, his eyebrows shooting up in genuine shock. "Best audit firm in town, huh? I haven't even given you a recommendation letter."
"Don't worry, I don't need one," I said, my pride flaring up. I didn't want his charity.
"I'll email one to you tonight," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. It wasn't a suggestion; it was a command.
"Okay," I said, defeated.
And for a moment, we just stood there in a thick, fucking awkward silence. The air was heavy with everything we weren't saying. I could feel his eyes on me, and I stared at a spot on the polished floor, my heart hammering against my ribs. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I turned to leave.