Kamila was stressed beyond Hell. She had just acquired Cinz, a company she had admired from afar for years. It was supposed to be a victorious moment—one of triumph and recognition. But now, reality was slapping her in the face. Everything wasn't as rosy as it had appeared under the polished branding and sleek reports. Beneath the glossy surface, Cinz had cracks that ran deep, and she was beginning to see them clearly.
She had initially planned to merge Cinz with her first company, an empire she had built from the ground up. The merger would have created something unparalleled in the industry—a powerhouse with innovation and legacy. But now? Now she couldn't trust Cinz. Not with the current chaos. She had to get everything under control before she could even think about touching her original brand with it. If this cancerous rot spread to her foundation, everything she had built could crumble.
Back in the office the next morning, Kamila walked in earlier than usual. Her heels echoed in the marble-floored lobby as Chris rushed to keep up.
"Coffee. Black. No sugar," she said curtly.
Chris nodded and disappeared instantly.
Her mood was dark. She summoned the HR department into the boardroom and waited at the head of the long glass table, eyes scanning the faces of the people who were supposed to ensure professionalism and safety in the workplace.
They filed in quietly, sitting one by one, avoiding her eyes.
Kamila didn't waste time. "I want to know who assaulted Melinda."
No one responded.
"I'm not here for silence. I'm not here for your politically correct bull. One of you knows who did it. One of you heard something, saw something, or was involved. Speak. Now."
Still, silence.
"Don't try me," she said, her voice rising. "I own this place. I will not let this story hang over my company like a curse. Tell me who it is!"
One of the women in HR, a middle-aged woman with round glasses, finally spoke up. "There's no official complaint, ma'am. And we didn't see anything on the security footage we were given. The incident—if it happened—left no trace on our logs."
Kamila blinked slowly. "If it happened?" she repeated coldly.
"I-I mean," the woman stuttered, "without proof, we can't accuse anyone…"
Kamila slammed her hand on the table. "Don't stand here and gaslight a victim!"
The table went silent again.
Her knuckles clenched as she stepped away from the table. "You're all useless. Every last one of you. If this is how you've been running HR, it's no wonder filth has been thriving under your watch."
She turned to Chris, who had entered quietly with her coffee. "Get security. I want every single security footage from this building—past six months. Elevators. Corridors. Basement. Storage. Anywhere someone could've cornered her."
"Yes, ma'am," Chris said, immediately taking out his phone.
Kamila's voice turned to ice. "And if I find out anyone deleted footage or tampered with anything—there will be hell."
After the meeting, she stayed behind in the room, hands gripping the edge of the table. She was tired. But she had to clean up the mess. If she didn't, no one else would.
Hours passed. Meetings were postponed. Emails were ignored. She sat in her office going over employee records, timelines, call logs—anything that could give her a lead.
But nothing.
It was like the ghost of this crime was determined to vanish.
Later that night, she drove home in silence. The traffic lights blurred past her as she stared forward, her thoughts too loud to allow music. By the time she got to her gate, she just wanted to collapse into her bed and pretend the world didn't exist for a few hours.
As soon as she walked in, Callum rushed toward her, barefoot, pajamas slightly wrinkled.
"Mommy!" he beamed.
Kamila's body responded before her heart did. She bent and hugged him, but the warmth she gave wasn't full. Her mind was still at the office, still on the bruises on Melinda's arms, still on the silence in the boardroom.
Callum pulled back, looking up at her.
"I waited for you! I wanted to show you the picture I drew at school. You said—"
"Not now, Callum," she said tiredly.
His face fell. "But—"
"Callum, please! Just go to bed!" Her tone was sharper than she intended.
The little boy stared at her for a moment, then turned and walked away slowly, dragging his feet. He didn't cry. He didn't complain. He just disappeared down the hallway, leaving Kamila standing in the middle of the room with a knot in her chest.
She exhaled shakily, removing her shoes and dropping her bag onto the couch. The silence of the house was now loud—too loud.
Kamila walked into her kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Her hands trembled slightly as she lifted it to her lips. She leaned against the counter, the cold marble pressing into her back as she stared blankly at the tiled floor.
What was she doing?
Her dream of revenge had taken her far, yes—but now she was fighting on all sides. The company was at risk. Her reputation was on trial. And worst of all—her son was beginning to see the cracks in her armour.
She took a long sip of water, then walked slowly to Callum's room. The door was half open. He was curled under his blanket, facing the wall, his drawing still clutched in his little hand.
Kamila's chest tightened.
She crouched beside him and gently took the paper from his hand. It was a crude but colourful drawing of him and her holding hands in front of a building with a big sign: "Mommy's New Office."
Tears stung her eyes.
"I'm sorry, baby," she whispered, brushing his hair softly. "I'm trying."
She stood and walked out of the room, closing the door gently behind her.
Tomorrow, she would fight again. Tomorrow, she would fix this. But tonight, she would let herself feel the weight she carried. Because she knew—if she broke, everything would fall with her.