I snapped off the flat-screen TV with a sharp jab of the remote, my glare lingering on the blank screen as if it could feel the heat of my fury.
"How could she?!" I yelled.
The desk in Hellen's corner office at gleamed under the soft glow of the light, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city skyline twinkling against the evening dusk, skyscrapers piercing the purple haze like jagged teeth.
My ankle had mended solid days ago—no more gel packs or pillow props—just a faint phantom twinge when I paced too hard. Thanks to Hellen, I am feeling perfectly fine/
"What happened?" Hellen asked, leaning back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other in tailored green trousers that hugged her long legs just right, a sleek navy jacket unbuttoned over her crisp white shirt—sharp, blonde chignon pinned neat but for that one rebellious strand curving her cheek.
Her eyes flicked from her laptop to me, brow quirking light concern amid the stacks of blueprints and sketches scattered between us. We'd buried ourselves here after the breakfast. This time, I will pitch my idea without any worry—Hellen has promised to hear me out after dodging it for so many days.
"I hate Lily," I snarled, fists clenching at my sides as I spun to face the darkened TV, the ghost of her image burned in—poised on stage under blinding spotlights, crimson gown clinging like second skin, diamonds flashing throat as she gushed to flashing cameras. "Viktor's company announced her as the new brand ambassador. Her. Smiling like she owns the world, babbling how 'thrilled' she is to represent their toxic company."
Hellen's chair creaked as she straightened, fingers drumming the desk once. "She actually landed it? Thought that was just industry whisper—rumours from the trade rags."
"I really, really, really hate her!" The words ripped raw, pacing tighter circles on the rug, eyes with hatred blazing. That woman—Lily—had saved me, earning my quiet debt. Gratitude, even. But this? It was betrayal—she had plunged a knife into my neck. There was no debt left; she'd always hated me, hadn't she?
"Emily, calm down."
"How could she? Stab straight for my throat—Viktor pulling her strings like a puppet. She's filth."
Hellen rose smooth, circling the desk to stand close—her hands hovering my shoulder before dropping respectfully. "Ignore her, Emily. She's noise—Viktor's desperate gambit. He wants to make you feel jealous."
"How?!" I wheeled on her, voice cracking snarl, inches from her chest, heart hammering betrayal-fury. "One glance at her smug face, and I want to beat the shit out of her—drag her off that stage by those fake curls, smash her mic on Viktor's smug grin," My glare pinned Hellen's ice-blue steady, sudden ugly doubt clawing. "Do you like her? Admire her polish, her 'poise'? Tell me."
She blinked, lips parting on a half-breath—mumble lost, something incoherent under the city hum outside.
"What?!" I pressed closer, eyes boring ice, pulse thundering.
Her gaze cleared earnest, hands lifting palms-open surrender, voice low-firm. "I don't like her. Never have. Lily's no one to me—empty gloss, no substance." Truth shone raw in her eyes. "I have never liked her."
Relief flooded hot, chest loosening as I dragged deep breath, raven strands falling forward. "Good. You're my partner. My friend. You can't like her—won't stand for it. Hate her with me, okay? She's poison."
Hellen's lips twitched faint smile, head tilting soft. "Friend?"
"Yeah," I shot back, softer now, stepping into her space unthinking—curves brushing accidental, her warmth anchor. "Friend. You took care of me when I was injured, even cooked for me—you're in my corner. Aren't you?"
Hellen smiled softly, hand squeezing my shoulder gently, but her eyes darkened a bit. "Of course, I am. Always was."
"You will hate her, right?"
"Yes, I will hate her with you," Hellen laughed.
"Don't laugh!"
"Okay, okay—not laughing, happy?"
◆◇◆◇◆◆◇◆◇◆◆◇◆◇◆◆◇◆◇◆
Lily sat at the polished marble breakfast bar in her kitchen, the city skyline sprawling dark and glittering beyond floor-to-ceiling windows, neon veins pulsing against the late-night hush.
She speared a delicate forkful of her seared tuna niçoise—vibrant pink slabs fanned over crisp haricots verts, quail eggs halved creamy, fingerling potatoes warm and herbed, all drizzled in a glossy mustard vinaigrette that caught the pendant lights' glow.
A glass of chilled Sancerre sweated beads beside her blue silk shirt, unbuttoned just enough at the collar to bare the sharp line of her collarbone, long black pants tailored sleek over crossed legs.
Faye lounged opposite on a leather stool, picking at her own plate of burrata with heirloom tomatoes—milky cheese oozing onto ruby slices, basil chiffonade bright, balsamic pearls bursting sweet-tart.
The air hummed with white noise from the espresso machine, remnants of dinner's warmth lingering—fresh baguette crumbs, olive tapenade swirls, charcuterie rinds curling at edges.
"You actually did it," Faye said, voice casual but edged, swirling her Sancerre as she eyed Lily over the rim. "Leonhart's brand ambassador. Viktor's empire—fashion line launch, perfumes flooding shelves. Congrats, or... condolences?"
Lily nodded once, precise, swallowing tuna's clean ocean bite before dabbing her lips with a linen napkin. "Spit it out, Faye. What's your angle now?"
Faye leaned forward, elbows on marble cool, burrata fork paused mid-air. "Just curious about your headspace. Why hitch to them? Leonharts aren't subtle—Viktor's claws in everything, Elena's ledgers bleeding rivals dry. Emily's their black sheep; you know the mess."
"They paid well," Lily replied flat, sipping wine crisp and mineral, blue eyes cool as the glass. "Besides, I wanted to work for them."
"Money's never your driver." Faye's laugh tinkled light, spearing a tomato juicy-pop. "This screams strategy."
Lily's fork scraped porcelain faint. "And?"
"You want leverage." Faye's gaze sharpened, popping a basil leaf. "But aren't you worried? If Emily sees this, her heart will break. You saved her that day, didn't you?"
Lily's laugh spilled cold silk, setting her glass down with a crystal click. "Why care if Emily's sad? She's nothing to me—no value, no threat."
Faye's brow arched slow, burrata oozing forgotten. "Choose words careful, Lily. She'll hate you raw—do you want to be your fate similar to those in the novels?"
"Novels? What the heck are you saying? And why do you care?" Lily shot back, tuna fork stabbing deliberate, silk shirt whispering shift. "You're not her keeper."
Faye shrugged elegant, sipping deep. "Pure curiosity. I mean, both of you hide your real selves. Have opposite genders—you also have seen her masturbate. Coexist? Or combust? Entertaining either way. But I would prefer you falling in love with her."
"Keep your nose in your business, Faye—not mine." Lily's tone iced sharper, pushing her plate aside half-cleared, niçoise jewels dimming.
Faye smiled thin, final bite bursting balsamic on tongue. "Lily, my darling cousin—your moves echo loud. One day, they'll bite back. You'll cry rivers—if my prediction is right, Emily will hate you." She rose smooth, grabbing her clutch, leaving Lily alone with cooling plates and skyline stare. "Your road will be full of challenges, Lily."