The next morning came too fast.
Amelia barely slept — her mind replaying every second of that meeting, every word Christopher King had said.
She was being pulled right back into the lion's den, this time with no shield.
By six-thirty, she was already outside King's Corporation, clutching a thermos of coffee like a lifeline.
Nova Heights' skyline glowed with sunrise gold as sleek cars pulled up and executives hurried in, suits crisp and expressions colder than steel.
She straightened her blouse, squared her shoulders, and walked in.
---
Mark spotted her near the elevators. "Miss Jones. Early as usual."
She smiled faintly. "Trying not to get fired before breakfast."
He chuckled. "Smart move. He's been in since five."
"Five?"
Mark lowered his voice conspiratorially. "The man doesn't sleep. I'm convinced he runs on caffeine and suppressed emotions."
That actually made her laugh — a tiny, nervous sound — just as the elevator doors slid open.
Inside, the ride was quiet except for the soft hum of jazz playing faintly over the speakers. Amelia could feel her own reflection staring back — collected on the outside, chaos on the inside.
When she stepped out onto the executive floor, she could already feel it — that energy that came with being in Christopher King's orbit.
Every assistant typing faster, every employee's voice hushed just a little lower when he walked by.
Mark gestured to the double doors ahead. "He's waiting."
---
Christopher's office was all glass and precision — minimalist furniture, city skyline view, the kind of room that said I own this world and everything in it.
He was already there, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, scanning over a tablet. His expression unreadable as always — that perfect CEO poker face.
She hesitated at the door. "Good morning, Mr. King."
"Morning." He didn't look up. "You're late."
Her heart dropped. She checked her watch. "It's 6:58—"
"Two minutes late to being early," he said smoothly, finally glancing up. "You'll learn punctuality means anticipation, Miss Jones."
She swallowed the reply sitting on her tongue. "Understood."
He set the tablet down. "You'll start by reviewing the guest list for next week's investors' summit. Cross-check every credential and confirm logistics. I don't want a repeat of the launch fiasco."
"Of course."
"And I'll be copying you on all executive communications. You'll respond when I don't have the time — meaning, most of the time."
"Got it."
His eyes lingered on her for a moment, sharp and unreadable. "You're quiet."
"I'm focused," she replied evenly.
A hint of something — maybe surprise, maybe amusement — flickered in his gaze. "Good. Stay that way."
---
Hours passed like minutes. She buried herself in spreadsheets, schedules, and phone calls, trying not to notice every time his deep voice cut through the silence or when his cologne drifted across the room.
He was ruthless, efficient, infuriatingly meticulous — but he was also brilliant. Watching him command a room during a virtual board call made her understand why he ruled Nova Heights' corporate world like a king.
Still, working beside him felt like walking a tightrope — one wrong move and she'd fall straight into chaos.
---
By noon, she was done triple-checking the summit list when the office door opened and in breezed Clara Bennett — flawless as ever.
"Christopher," she purred, stepping in with that model-perfect smile. "I brought you lunch. You've been skipping meals again."
Amelia froze.
Christopher didn't even glance up. "Clara. You didn't need to."
Clara's gaze slid toward Amelia like a blade wrapped in sugar. "Oh. I didn't realize you had company."
Amelia stood, polite but guarded. "Miss Bennett."
"Amelia, wasn't it?" Clara's tone dripped with feigned sweetness. "I heard you were reinstated. Congratulations. Not everyone gets a second chance after… well, public disasters."
Christopher's jaw tightened. "Clara."
She smiled innocently. "Just being friendly."
Amelia returned the smile — faint, razor-sharp. "I appreciate your kindness."
Clara's lips twitched. The air in the room was suddenly thick with quiet tension.
Christopher finally looked up. "I have a meeting in five. Clara, I'll call you later."
That dismissal was soft, but it landed like a hammer.
Clara's eyes darkened for a split second before she turned on her heel, perfume trailing behind her like poison.
When the door shut, silence filled the room.
Amelia exhaled slowly. "She doesn't like me much."
Christopher leaned back in his chair. "She doesn't like anyone who occupies my attention."
Amelia blinked. "And do I?"
He looked at her — that unreadable look again, part ice, part curiosity. "You're doing your job. That's all that matters."
But the way his gaze lingered said otherwise.
---
That night, as she packed her bag, Mark stopped by her desk.
"You survived your first day back," he said, smiling. "That's a miracle in itself."
Amelia laughed softly. "Barely. I feel like I just went through a twelve-hour interrogation."
Mark handed her a file. "That's tomorrow's schedule. Oh, and Amelia—"
"Yeah?"
"Don't let Clara get to you. She plays dirty."
She nodded. "I figured."
As she left the building, the city lights reflected on the glass doors — her reflection caught between who she was and who she was becoming.
For the first time since returning, she didn't feel broken. She felt… ready.
Ready to fight back.
---