The champagne flute felt slick in Sharon's hand. She forced a smile as another colleague from Nakamura Corp clinked their glass against hers.
"To Sharon! The woman who brought Hayashi Tech to its knees!"
A cheer went up around the office. The music pulsed. The laughter was too loud. The bright, triumphant faces surrounding her seemed to blur at the edges.
She was the center of attention, the hero of the hour, and she had never felt more invisible.
Every congratulation was a tiny hammer on an anvil of guilt inside her chest. The "CONGRATULATIONS!" message on the monitor glared down at her, a lie in bold letters.
She saw Mr. Tanaka watching her from across the room. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze was heavy. He knew. He saw the emptiness behind her eyes.
The noise became unbearable. A sharp, throbbing pain began to pulse behind her temples.
She set her full glass down on a nearby desk. She approached Leo Nakamura, who was holding court in the center of the room.
"Leo, I'm sorry," she said, forcing a pained smile and pressing her fingers to her temple. "A massive migraine is coming on. I need to go home and lie down."
His face fell for a second, then brightened with false sympathy. "Of course, of course! You've more than earned your rest. Get some sleep. We have a lot more work to do next week!"
He clapped her on the back, a little too hard, and she stumbled away from the celebration.
The elevator ride down was a descent into blessed silence. She leaned against the cool metal wall, closing her eyes. The image that flashed behind her lids was Kenzo's face.
The look of shattered betrayal in his eyes just before he turned and walked out of that boardroom.
She stepped out into the cool night air. It did little to clear her head. The city felt different now. The lights weren't glittering; they were accusing.
She walked to her apartment building on autopilot, her body moving while her mind was miles away, trapped in the memory of her own victory. Her heels clicked like a lonely sound on the pavement.
She reached her door and fumbled in her purse for her keys. The metal jangled in the quiet hallway. She just wanted to get inside. To collapse and forget everything.
A shadow detached itself from the wall beside her door.
Her heart leaped into her throat. She froze, her keys clutched tightly in her hand.
He stepped into the dim light of the hallway sconce.
It was Kenzo.
He was still in the suit he'd worn for the presentation. But the polished CEO was gone. His tie was loose, the top button of his shirt undone. His hair was disheveled, as if he'd been running his hands through it for hours. His eyes were dark, stormy pools of raw, unfiltered fury.
"Was it worth it?"
His voice was low. It wasn't a shout. It was something worse. A venomous whisper that sliced through the silence and went straight through her.
She couldn't speak. She could only stare.
"My company's reputation?" he continued, taking a slow step forward. "The trust of my team? The public humiliation? Was that your price, Sharon?"
She found her voice, a thin, reedy thing. "Kenzo, not here. Please." She turned back to the door, her hands shaking so badly she couldn't get the key in the lock.
He moved with startling speed. His hand slammed flat against the door, holding it shut. He was close now. She could feel the heat coming off his body, smell the faint, clean scent of him mixed with the sharp tang of whiskey.
"You stood in my home," he hissed, his face inches from hers. His breath was warm against her cheek.
"You let my grandmother put that comb in your hair. You smiled. You laughed. You looked me in the eye and played the part of the loving fiancée."
His words were lashing her, each one a fresh wound.
"And the whole time," he said, his voice dropping to a pained whisper, "you were preparing for that?" He jerked his head, a sharp, angry gesture toward the city. "You used them. You used her."
The accusation broke her. The dam of her composure shattered.
"What did you expect?" she fired back, her own voice rising, trembling with a mix of anger and despair. "You gave up on us! You replaced me without a second thought! Basil, your new tech genius assistant? You were just going to let me walk away and forget I ever existed!"
He let out a short, bitter laugh that held no humor. It was a sound of pure, agonized frustration.
"Let you walk away?" he repeated, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"I was trying to give you what you said you wanted! You stood in my office and told me it was over. You told me you only wanted the money. What was I supposed to do, Sharon? Chain you to your desk? Get down on my knees and beg?"
He leaned in even closer, his gaze searching her face, desperate for an answer she didn't have.
"That bug you left in the system," he said, his voice softening to a dangerous, knowing tone.
"That was your way back. I knew it the second you showed up at my office looking for a hair clip. You wanted me to find it. You wanted a reason to come back. But instead of just talking to me, instead of just saying something, anything real, you did this."
The truth of his words was a physical blow. He had seen right through her. He had understood her desperate, pathetic ploy.
They stood there, trapped in the narrow space between her door and the hallway wall.
The air crackled with their shared pain, their misunderstanding, and the undeniable, magnetic pull that still arced between them. She could see the pulse beating rapidly at the base of his throat. She could feel the warmth of his body. For a wild, terrifying moment, she didn't know if he was going to shake her or kiss her.
Then, the fight seemed to drain out of him all at once. His shoulders slumped. The raw fury in his eyes faded, replaced by a weary, profound sadness that was infinitely worse.
He finally stepped back, removing his hand from her door.
"This isn't business anymore, Sharon," he said, his voice flat and final. "This is war."
He turned and began to walk away down the long, empty hallway.
"And you just fired the first shot," he added, without looking back. "Don't expect me to show you any mercy."
His footsteps echoed, growing fainter until they disappeared entirely.
Sharon stood frozen for a long moment. Then, her legs gave way. She fumbled the key into the lock, shoved the door open, and stumbled inside.
The door clicked shut. She slid down its smooth, cold surface until she hit the floor. She wrapped her arms around her knees, burying her face in them.
The sobs came then, wracking her body, silent and helpless in the dark of her empty apartment.
She could still feel the ghost of his presence. She could still hear the echo of his words.
Don't expect me to show you any mercy.
She had wanted to hurt him. She had wanted to make him see her, to force him to acknowledge her power.
Now, she was terrified that he finally had.