The morning air at Stone Industries was usually crisp and silent, but today it felt like the static before a lightning strike. Scott Stone sat in his office, the glass walls offering a panoramic view of a city he usually felt he dominated. But today, his mind was stuck on the image of Edna Rivers.
He had spent the night restless, the memory of her laughter in the elevator haunting his sleep. He told himself it was annoyance. He told himself it was the "legal loophole" stress. But he was lying to the best liar in the business—himself.
The heavy glass doors of his office swung open without a knock.
Edna walked in. She wasn't carrying coffee. She wasn't carrying files. She was carrying a small, clear plastic bag filled with white confetti.
"What is this?" Scott asked, his voice dropping into that low, defensive rumble. "I don't recall asking for a parade."
Edna didn't say a word. She walked right up to his mahogany desk—the desk no one dared approach without an invitation—and dumped the contents of the bag onto his pristine blotter. The shredded remains of a five-hundred-thousand-dollar check scattered like snow over his quarterly reports.
Scott's eyes narrowed. He recognized the gold-embossed watermark of his mother's private account.
"Your mother and Theresa visited my home last night," Edna said. Her voice wasn't shaking. It was calm, which was infinitely more terrifying. "They seemed to think I had a price. They seemed to think you were the kind of man who sends women to buy off your 'inconveniences.'"
Scott stood up, his chair screeching against the floor. The cold aura he usually projected was suddenly replaced by a white-hot heat. "They did what?"
"They offered me half a million dollars to leave the city," Edna continued, stepping closer until she was pressing against the edge of his desk. "Theresa told me I was a 'novelty.' Your mother told me I was a 'messy distraction.' Is that what I am, Scott? A line item you're trying to balance?"
"I knew nothing about this," Scott hissed, his chest heaving. The realization that his family had invaded his professional sanctuary—and his private thoughts—made his blood boil. "I don't hide behind my mother's checkbook."
"Then tell them!" Edna shouted, her composure finally breaking. "Tell them to stay out of my life! I came here to work, Scott. I came here to earn a future. I didn't sign up to be a pawn in your family's twisted games of status and spite!"
Scott didn't think. He acted. He rounded the desk in three long strides, grabbing Edna's shoulders. He expected her to flinch, but she stood her ground, her brown eyes blazing with a fire that matched his own.
"You think I want them in my business?" Scott roared, his face inches from hers. "You think I enjoyed hearing my father call you a weakness at dinner? You've turned my entire world upside down in three weeks, Edna! I can't eat, I can't sleep, and I can't even look at a cup of coffee without seeing your face!"
The silence that followed was heavy, jagged, and electric. The "Fallout" wasn't just about the check; it was about the truth that had been simmering under the surface.
"Then why keep me?" Edna whispered, her breath hitching. "If I'm such a disaster for your life, why don't you just let them buy me off? It would be easier for you."
"Because I don't want 'easy' anymore!" Scott yelled. "I've had 'easy' my whole life! I've had people saying 'yes' to me since I was born. You're the only thing in this city that is real, Edna. And if they think they can buy you, it means they think they can buy me."
He let go of her shoulders, but he didn't move away. He turned toward his desk and grabbed his phone, punching in a number with savage force. He put it on speaker.
"Scott, dear? Is that you?" Emily Stone's voice purred through the line.
"Mother," Scott said, his voice so cold it could have cracked the windows. "I am standing in my office looking at the remains of your half-million-dollar mistake."
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. "Scott, we were only trying to protect you. That girl is—"
"That 'girl' has a name," Scott interrupted, his eyes fixed on Edna. "Her name is Edna Rivers. And if you, Theresa, or Father ever set foot in her home again, or even speak her name in a derogatory way, I will resign as CEO of Stone Industries tomorrow. I will take my shares, my patents, and my talent, and I will burn this legacy to the ground before I let you turn my life into one of your staged plays."
"Scott! You can't be serious! Over an employee?"
"She isn't just an employee," Scott said, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper that made Edna's heart stop. "She's the only person who actually sees me. Don't call me again until you're ready to apologize."
He slammed the phone down.
The office was silent again, save for the sound of their breathing. Edna looked at the man she had called a jerk, a king, and an egoist. For the first time, she saw the boy who had been raised in a cage of gold, finally screaming for the door to be opened.
"You meant that," she said softly.
Scott turned back to her, the rage in his eyes fading into something deeper, something far more dangerous. He reached out, his thumb grazing her jawline. The touch was light, but it felt like a brand.
"I meant every word," he whispered. "I'm a jerk, Edna. I'm arrogant, and I'm difficult. But I'm not a coward. And I'm not letting you go."
The tension snapped. Scott didn't wait for an answer. He leaned in, his mouth crashing against hers in a kiss that tasted like desperation, rebellion, and a desire that had been building since the moment the coffee hit his shirt.
It wasn't a "CEO" kiss. It wasn't polished or controlled. It was a fallout—the total collapse of the walls they had both built.
But outside the glass office, through the crack in the door, a pair of eyes watched. Theresa Blackwood stood in the hallway, her face contorted in a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred. She had heard it all.
She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She simply took out her phone and sent a one-sentence text to Scott's father: "He chose her. Start the takeover."