The first day back in the office after Christmas was hard for everyone.
The city was slow to wake — streets dusted with frost, the sky a dull silver that never quite brightened.
Isabelle walked through the glass doors of Hale & Partners with a coffee in one hand and a stack of files in the other, work she'd insisted on doing over the break. The lobby smelled faintly of disinfectant. The tree and garlands were gone, and with them, every trace of warmth.
Inside the open-plan office, the air buzzed with the sounds of return — low laughter, greetings, the rustle of coats and papers. Yet as Isabelle crossed the floor, something shifted. The conversation softened, then resumed again — quickly, casually.
"Morning," she said, setting her bag down.
The new marketing assistant, Carla, turned from her desk with a bright, overly rehearsed smile. "Morning, Isabelle! I rescheduled the Barton meeting for eleven, and Richard asked to see you when you have a minute."
"Thanks," Isabelle said, forcing lightness into her voice. But something uneasy stirred beneath it. Carla reminded her of Sienna — all enthusiasm and too much initiative, always in the middle of things that weren't her concern.
She slipped off her coat, sat for a moment, and looked out across the city. The skyline shimmered faintly in the cold light — beautiful, distant, untouchable. Like she'd taught herself to be.
Her phone buzzed.
Robert: Have a good day, my love. Don't let them wear you down.
She smiled faintly, replying: Trying. It's already a crazy morning.
For a while, she lost herself in the rhythm — emails, calls, a meeting about the frozen foods campaign. By mid-morning, she even let herself feel hopeful again.
Then a new message appeared from Jacques.
You need to see this.
He'd attached a link to an online article — one of those glossy digital tabloids that lived somewhere between gossip and news.
Exclusive: Ex-husband claims "Never Settle" CEO promotes anti-male bias.
Her pulse stumbled. She clicked.
Clive's photo appeared first — the same carefully mournful smile he used whenever he wanted sympathy.
He spoke about being "alienated from his children," about "men being silenced by the modern feminist narrative."
He mentioned Isabelle by name, saying she had "an anti-male agenda dressed as equality."
And then, worse — cruelly calculated.
"My ex-wife doesn't believe fathers deserve a voice. She's built a career on pretending to empower women while teaching them to cut men out of their lives."
For a moment Isabelle just stared, her heart hammering. Then she stood abruptly, knocking over her coffee. Brown liquid bled across the papers she'd been working on.
"Damn it," she muttered, grabbing tissues, trying to steady her breathing.
When she looked up, Carla was standing in the doorway, pale. "Isabelle… Richard wants to see you. Now."
Richard's office was bright. The morning light made everything sharp — his suit, the glass walls, even the look in his eyes.
"I'm assuming you've seen it," he said quietly.
She nodded, her voice tight. "It's lies, Richard. Every word of it."
"I know." He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "But perception matters. You've built your company around women's advocacy, and now your ex-husband's accusing you of bias. It's… a sensitive climate."
"Sensitive?" she echoed. "He's accusing me of keeping him from his children because I wouldn't tolerate his neglect. He hasn't called them since September."
"I understand," Richard said softly, "but the firm's being pulled into it now. Reporters are calling. The partners want an internal review of your conduct."
She blinked, disbelieving. "The partners? Why?"
He rubbed his temple. "Because your name was in the papers after the Christmas party. You've become part of the firm's public image, Isabelle. We can't afford the wrong kind of attention. Just… let this cool off. Stay quiet for a few days."
"Stay quiet?" she repeated, incredulous. "While he destroys my name?"
He hesitated. "Sometimes silence is the only thing that doesn't make it worse."
She made it through a few more hours on muscle memory alone — speaking in careful tones, keeping herself occupied with emails, pretending not to notice the whispers that seemed to float around her from room to room.
By three o'clock, her chest ached from holding herself together. Her stomach churned with equal parts nausea and rage. When she finally stepped out into the cold, the air hit her like glass — sharp, bracing, real.
Her phone vibrated. She answered on the second ring.
"Hey."
"You sound off," Robert said immediately. "What's wrong?"
She tried to breathe evenly. "It's Clive. He gave an interview — about me, about Never Settle. He's saying I'm turning women against men."
There was a beat of silence. Then, low and dangerous: "Where are you?"
"Outside the office. I couldn't stay."
"I'm coming to get you."
"You don't have to —"
"Isabelle. Stay there." His voice was calm, but there was no room for argument.
She sank onto a bench by the entrance, pulling her coat tighter, the cold biting at her cheeks. The city moved around her — cars, footsteps, the distant wail of a siren — all of it muffled, like she was underwater.
Her phone buzzed again — a colleague forwarding her the article, followed by a single question mark. She turned the screen face-down.
By the time Robert's car pulled up, the world had blurred into a dull roar behind her eyes.
He was out of the car before it had fully stopped, striding toward her. "Hey," he said softly, crouching in front of her. "Look at me."
She opened her eyes. His expression was fierce, controlled — protective in that quiet way that made her chest ache.
"He's not going to get away with this," he said.
Her voice cracked. "He already is. It's everywhere. People are reading it. Believing it. Richard says the partners want a review."
Robert's jaw tightened. "Then we'll get ahead of it. We'll make sure the truth gets out."
Her lip trembled. "You can't fix everything for me."
"I'm not fixing it," he said softly. "I'm standing by you. There's a difference."
She gave a shaky laugh, tears blurring her vision. "You shouldn't have to keep saving me."
He smiled faintly, brushing a tear from her cheek. "It's not saving you. It's protecting what's important to me."
For a moment, neither spoke. The city moved around them, cold and uncaring, while they sat still — the quiet between them strong as steel.
Finally, he said, "Come on. Let's go home."
She nodded, her voice a whisper. "Okay."
As they walked to the car, Isabelle looked up once more at the glass façade of the building — the place she'd poured years into, her name, her reputation.
Now, sliding into the passenger seat beside Robert, she knew it was only the beginning.
That the storm hadn't passed; it had just found her.