Sofia stepped into the office, her heels clicking a little too loudly against the polished floor. The fluorescent lights buzzed above her, and the usual hum of keyboards and ringing phones greeted her like any other day.
But something felt... off.
People were smiling. Not the polite, distracted kind, but the kind that lingered a second too long. Too knowing. Too amused.
Her heart skipped.
From the front desk to the elevator lobby, eyes followed her—subtle glances from HR to Finance, a barely disguised grin from someone, and whispers that paused the moment she passed by.
She straightened her spine and kept walking.
They couldn't possibly know what happened, could they?
As she reached her department, her footsteps slowed. Her officemates greeted her with forced cheer, smiles that didn't quite reach their eyes. And still, no one said a word. I just... watched her.
When she turned the corner and finally saw her desk, she froze.
A massive bouquet of deep red roses—lush, extravagant, and almost theatrical—sat squarely in the center of her table. The arrangement was so large it threatened to topple over, petals spilling onto the files and keyboard she hadn't touched since the day before.
Sofia blinked, stunned. Her breath caught in her throat.
Her manager, who had just stepped out of a nearby cubicle, came to a dead stop at the sight of it. His eyes darted from the bouquet to her, mouth slightly ajar.
"That... wasn't there an hour ago," he said slowly, clearly rattled. "Do you know who sent them?"
She didn't move. Couldn't. Her stomach twisted with unease. She didn't have to open the card.
She already knew who it was from. And suddenly, she wasn't sure whether to scream, cry, or laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Adam Ravenstrong.
Of course, it was him.
Sofia didn't wait for anyone to comment. She grabbed the oversized bouquet—thorns and all—and stormed out of the office without a word. The scent of roses, once intoxicating, now made her stomach churn. She needed to throw them away. She needed to erase the gesture before it branded her with assumptions she didn't ask for.
Her heels clicked furiously against the tiled hallway as she marched toward the larger trash bins near the back exit—far enough that no one would see her toss away something so grand.
But just as she rounded the corner, she came to a dead stop.
Carla.
Leaning casually against the wall just a few feet away, arms crossed and eyes glinting with smug delight. Her smile curved with wicked precision—the kind that wasn't born from curiosity but from cruelty.
"Wow," she drawled, pushing off the wall and taking a slow step forward. "You went that far?"
Sofia frowned, confused. "What are you talking about?"
Carla let out a sharp laugh, loud and biting.
"Buying yourself a massive bouquet and parading it into the office like some tragic soap opera lead? Do you have any idea how pathetic you look right now?"
She tilted her head, mock sympathy dripping from her voice. "Sofia, sweetie... desperation doesn't suit you."
Sofia froze.
Her grip on the bouquet tightened, the stems digging into her skin. The flowers she had planned to toss now felt like a weight she had to defend.
For a moment, she couldn't breathe—stunned by the sheer audacity. Her cheeks flushed with heat, not from shame, but from a fury that had simmered since yesterday. A fury she had buried beneath pride, silence, and survival.
She blinked slowly, steadying her breath. Then she took one step closer to Carla—just enough for her voice to slice cleanly through the air.
"You think I bought these for myself?" Sofia said, calm and sharp as broken glass.
"You think I need flowers to prove anything to people like you?"
Carla's smirk faltered.
"You don't know a damn thing about what I've been through. But keep laughing if it makes you feel bigger." Sofia glanced at the bouquet, then tossed it unceremoniously into the trash bin beside them.
"Go ahead. Enjoy your little show. Just remember—I don't need roses to remind me of my worth. Especially not ones I didn't ask for."
Sofia had barely turned away when Carla's voice rang out again—sharper, more intrigued this time.
"Wait... what's this?"
Sofia paused mid-step, dread curling in her stomach as she glanced back.
Carla had reached into the bin, pushing past the crushed stems and torn petals until her fingers landed on something small and white. The card.
Her eyes scanned it quickly—and then narrowed, her entire face shifting from mockery to calculated disbelief.
"No way," Carla murmured, her lips twisting into a slow, poisonous smile. "This isn't real."
She looked up, holding the card between two manicured fingers like it was a loaded weapon.
"You actually wrote Adam Ravenstrong's name on this?" Her voice rose slightly, just loud enough for a nearby intern to glance their way.
"Wow. Just when I thought you couldn't sink any lower."
Sofia's blood turned cold.
"Give me that," she said, her voice low but firm, stepping forward.
But Carla took a step back, waving the card just out of reach.
"No, no, this is gold. You're actually using his name now? Dropping the most powerful CEO in the city like he's your fiancé or something?" She let out a laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "This is sad, even for you." Surely, she knew who Adam was.
Carla was one of those women who memorized the names of every eligible bachelor in the elite social circle, always scheming for a chance to be part of that glittering world.
They stalked headlines, whispered over wine about CEOs and heirs, digging through wealth and status like it was a treasure map.
Sofia, on the other hand, hadn't even known Adam Ravenstrong existed until yesterday, when his name crashed into her life like a wrecking ball.
"I didn't write it—"
"Sure you didn't," Carla cut her off with a dismissive wave.
"Let me guess—he just happened to send you flowers right after your ex dumped you and proposed to his beautiful new girlfriend… who just so happens to be me?" she added mockingly, then laughed.
She snapped a photo of the card with her phone before Sofia could stop her.
"Carla, don't—"
"Too late." Carla's voice was practically humming with twisted excitement. "Let's see how long it takes for everyone in the building to know you're playing make-believe with Adam Ravenstrong's name. I wonder what he would say if he found out."
And with that, she turned and walked briskly away, heels clicking like warning shots down the hallway.
Sofia stood frozen, the trash bin beside her and her heart pounding.
The storm wasn't over. It had just begun. As expected, the rumors spread like wildfire.
By mid-morning, nearly every corner of the office buzzed with hushed laughter, side glances, and not-so-subtle whispers. The name Adam Ravenstrong passed through lips like a forbidden spell, paired with mocking giggles and exaggerated sighs.
"She actually used his name."
"Did you see the bouquet? Massive."
"Desperate much?"
Sofia kept her head down, pretending not to hear, but the weight of their stares pressed against her skin like thorns. Every step through the hallway felt like walking through fire—each glance another burn, each smirk another scar.
She wanted the ground to swallow her whole.
But it didn't.
And she couldn't disappear.
All she had left was her dignity—and she clung to it with white-knuckled fists. Let them whisper. Let them laugh. As long as she knew she hadn't lied, hadn't written that card, hadn't asked for those cursed flowers.
Still, their cruelty stung.
She skipped lunch in the cafeteria, choosing instead the musty stockroom, where she sat on a crate of unused folders with a cold sandwich in her lap and her phone screen dimmed to black. The silence there was better than the laughter outside.
Carla had gone full force. She played her part like a seasoned villain—repeating with theatrical concern that Sofia had "not been the same" since John cheated, implying that heartbreak had twisted her mind and now she was living in a delusion where a billionaire wanted her.
Sofia wanted to scream. To slam her hands against the table and shout the truth until her voice broke. But she stayed silent. Let the fire rage around her. She buried herself in reports, in numbers, in anything that could distract her from the burning in her chest.
It felt like her world was imploding from every angle.
At work, she was a walking joke. At home, she was packing up pieces of a life she was about to lose.
In two days, the house would be gone.
And now, she couldn't even find peace in the one place where routine used to protect her.
All because of him.
Adam Ravenstrong. The man who had humiliated her in court, shattered her pride, and then—why?—sent her flowers like some twisted afterthought. Was it guilt? A joke? A trap?
She clenched her jaw as she opened her laptop again, her fingers stiff on the keys. Her chest ached—not just from the pain, but from the numbness creeping in around it.
She was tired of surviving storms she didn't start.
"Why bother, Adam?" she whispered to herself. "Why send anything at all if all you ever wanted to do was reject me?"
No answer came. Just the low hum of fluorescent lights, the ticking of the wall clock, and the suffocating silence of being the target of someone else's entertainment.
And still, she stayed. She worked. She endured.
Because quitting now would mean they won. And Sofia refused to lose what little she had left.
Sofia adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder as she climbed off the bus, the cool evening air brushing against her skin like a warning. She was exhausted—physically, emotionally, and in ways she couldn't even name. All she wanted was to get inside, close the door, and forget the world existed for a few hours.
But as she turned the corner and her house came into view, her steps faltered.
A sleek, black luxury car sat like a predator on her driveway—gleaming, out of place, and wholly unwelcome in the crumbling neighborhood she called home.
Her heart jolted.
For a split second, she considered turning back. Maybe slipping behind a tree. Maybe hiding until it drove away.
Because she thought it was him, Adam.
The very idea of seeing him again sent adrenaline surging through her veins—not out of longing, but out of pure, visceral dread.
But as she moved closer, a breath of relief escaped her lips.
It wasn't Adam.
But that relief was short-lived.
Because standing by the car was someone just as unwelcome—his friend. The same man who'd stood beside Adam in the courtroom, who'd watched her get humiliated without lifting a finger.
Her face hardened. The blood in her veins turned to ice, and whatever fragile peace she had gathered on the way home shattered like glass underfoot.
Still, she didn't stop walking. If anything, she moved with more purpose now—each step heavy with the weight of betrayal, exhaustion, and unspoken rage.
He had no business being here. None of them did. She stopped a few feet away, her voice calm, clipped, and cold.
"I suggest you say whatever you came to say—and quickly." She said flatly.
Because tonight, Sofia wasn't in the mood to be polite. Not after everything they'd already taken from her.