Julian's office was exactly how the novel described it: a cold, glass-and-steel fortress on the 80th floor, overlooking the city like a throne room.
Usually, when Seraphina came here, she'd spend an hour in the lobby crying into her lace handkerchief until his secretary felt enough pity to let her in.
Clara, however, didn't have time for a lobby performance. She had things to do, and she needed to handle the "Iceberg" first.
She kicked the double mahogany doors open with the toe of her designer heel.
BANG.
Julian didn't even look up from his desk. He was staring at a set of acquisition papers, his pen tapping against the wood with a slow, predatory rhythm that usually made people tremble.
"You're thirty minutes late for your own humiliation, Seraphina," Julian said, his voice dropping an octave into that dangerous, low frequency he used for hostile takeovers. He finally looked up, his gaze icy enough to freeze a tropical rainforest.
"I've already signed the papers. By tomorrow morning, your father's logistics company will belong to me. You'll be penniless, homeless, and—most importantly—without a reason to ever bother me again."
Clara didn't scream. She didn't faint. She didn't even drop her iced coffee. Instead, she pulled out a chair, sat down with a dramatic flourish, and propped her legs up on his pristine desk, narrowly missing a stack of "Top Secret" documents.
"Great," she said, taking a loud, slow sip through her straw. "Can you hurry it up? My manicure is at five, and I was just about to call Arthur to see if he's free for dinner tonight. I'd hate for your corporate tantrum to make me miss the window to invite a better man."
Julian's pen snapped in his hand. Snap.
"A corporate... tantrum?" He stood up, towering over her, his shadow swallowing the desk.
"I am destroying your life. You should be on your knees begging me to stop. You should be telling me how you'll do anything to save your father's legacy. And now you're talking about calling Arthur?"
"Julian, sweetie," Clara leaned forward, her sunglasses sliding down the bridge of her nose to reveal eyes full of mockery.
"You've been 'destroying' me for three chapters—I mean, three years. It's getting a bit repetitive, don't you think? Either buy the company or don't. But if you do, make sure you pay the employees' bonuses. I'd hate for my father's legacy to be ruined by your famously bad management skills."
She checked her gold watch, ignoring the way his jaw was working in fury.
"Also, tell your secretary the coffee in the lobby is burnt. It's an embarrassment to your 'Dark CEO' aesthetic. If you're going to be a villain, at least have good beans."
Julian was speechless. The script in his head was screaming at him to call security, but his eyes were stuck on her.
She wasn't wearing the cloyingly sweet, floral perfume she usually used to attract him—the one he'd told her he hated.
Today, she smelled like sandalwood, expensive leather, and pure, unadulterated confidence.
"Why are you doing this?" Julian hissed, leaning over the desk until they were so close she could see the flecks of gray in his stormy eyes. "You spent your entire life trying to marry me. You once threw a vase at a girl for just looking at my car. Now you're planning dinner with Arthur?"
"I'm not just planning dinner, Julian. I'm upgrading," Clara whispered, her lips curling into a smug, sharp smirk.
"Arthur listens. Arthur smiles. And most importantly, Arthur doesn't carry wet girls around like they're prize poodles who forgot how to walk. It's called personal growth. You should try it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to see if he's available to take me somewhere with better lighting than this cave."
Suddenly, the air in the room warped. The giant floor-to-ceiling windows behind Julian flickered, the city skyline replaced for a split second by lines of glowing green code.
[WARNING: CHARACTER DRIFT DETECTED]
[RECALIBRATING SECOND MALE LEAD AGGRESSION...]
Clara winced as a sharp, piercing pain stabbed her temples. The "System" was angry. She was breaking the Second Male Lead's logic by treating his "ultimate revenge" like a minor inconvenience.
"You're hiding something," Julian said, his voice losing its cold edge and turning into something closer to predatory curiosity.
He reached out, his fingers almost touching the stray hair behind her ear.
Clara swiped his hand away like he was a pesky mosquito. "I'm hiding my boredom, Julian. Now, are we done? Or do I need to stay and watch you scowl at more photos of me being happy? Because honestly, my iced coffee is getting watery, and that is the real tragedy in this room."
She stood up, adjusted her blazer, and headed for the door without a second glance.
"Seraphina!" Julian called out, his voice sounding strangely hollow, as if the script were failing to provide him with the right words.
She paused at the door, pulling out her phone and tapping the screen as if searching for a contact.
"Yes, Julian? Oh, wait—do you think Arthur likes French or Italian? Actually, never mind. I'll just ask him."
"Don't expect me to save you when Arthur realizes you're just as empty inside as you are outside," he spat, trying desperately to regain his "Dark CEO" armor. "He won't even pick up the phone."
Clara just let out a genuine, beautiful laugh that echoed in the cold office.
"Julian, that's not a business strategy. That's a cry for help. Get a hobby. Or maybe a therapist. See you at the auction tomorrow—try not to trip over any fountains on your way out!"
She slammed the mahogany door behind her, the sound echoing like a gunshot.
Inside the office, Julian sat back down, his heart racing in a way it never did for Daisy's "delicate" sighs. He looked at the acquisition papers, but he couldn't see the numbers anymore. All he could see was the sharp, confident curve of Seraphina's lips.
What is she up to? he thought, his eyes narrowing as he gripped the armrests of his chair. This isn't just about Arthur. She's too calm. She's too... happy.
He remembered the way Daisy had cried at the fountain, her eyes red and pleading.
Normally, that image filled him with a protective rage. But now, a darker thought crept in. If Seraphina is this different with me, what kind of cruel scheme is she cooking up for Daisy? He knew Seraphina's history. She was a master of psychological warfare.
Using Arthur to get close to the inner circle? Publicly humiliating Daisy at the next charity gala? Or worse—making Daisy look so pathetic that even Arthur would get bored of playing the knight in shining armor?
Julian felt a cold chill. Seraphina wasn't chasing him anymore, which meant she was finally focused. And a focused Seraphina was far more dangerous than an obsessed one.
Whatever she had up her sleeve, he was certain of one thing: she was going to make Daisy bleed tears, and he was the only one who could see the storm coming.