Emma hadn't expected the request, and her fingers instinctively toyed with the hem of her skirt as she stood frozen between two forces. Her boss—cold, unreadable as ever—sat across from her like an iceberg in a suit, while Bertha, all charm and eagerness, waited with a hopeful smile that felt impossible to ignore.
Emma's heart twisted in turmoil. Declining Bertha would be impolite. But accepting without consulting Alexander? Potentially disastrous.
"Ma'am, do you mind if I discuss this with Mr. Allan first? I'll get back to you right after," Emma said with a polite smile, though her voice trembled.
Bertha, ever gracious, nodded. "Take your time, my dear. I understand this could add to your workload, so I respect whatever decision you make." She reached out gently, giving Emma's hand a reassuring pat before exiting the office.
The moment the door clicked shut behind her, the air turned arctic. The room seemed colder than the water in the dispenser. Even distant street sounds somehow felt louder in the unnerving silence.
Alexander didn't look up. He flipped through the file in front of him like nothing had happened, yet Emma could feel the tension radiating from him.
Finally, he spoke, voice laced with arrogance. "I hope you remember why you're here, Miss Stone. You're not a model. So whatever Bertha said—forget it. Understood?"
The chill in his words stung more than the room's temperature. Emma's expression faltered, and tears gathered in her eyes. But she held them back, forcing herself to breathe through the tightness in her chest.
"Yes, sir. I understand. I simply didn't want to let her down," she said calmly, emotion wiped clean from her face. "But I'll let her know I won't be available."
That unnerved him. Alexander wasn't used to composure. He wanted a reaction—and her calmness irritated him.
"You really don't get it, do you?" he muttered, his eyes gleaming with provocation. "You don't carry the elegance of a lady. And that face—your 'pig face'—would ruin the reputation of my brand."
It was a cruel jab, sharp and meant to hurt. But Emma didn't flinch.
Instead, she glanced at him coolly and asked, "Will you be having lunch in the office, sir? I can get it for you."
Alexander blinked, thrown off. "It's lunch already?" he muttered, then added, avoiding her gaze, "You can wrap up your work and leave early today. I won't be around much longer. Meeting."
"Thank you, sir. Oh—and your father called. He requested your presence at the old mansion for dinner. He asked you to bring Miss Blossom along."
"Fine," he said curtly, standing up and leaving without another word.
Emma sighed and returned to her desk. She focused hard for another hour, determined to finish early. For once, she'd have time for herself—and maybe even treat her friends to dinner. Since taking this job, most of her time had been consumed by her boss's whims and childish tantrums.
As she stepped into the elevator, finally ready to head home, fate decided to stir the pot.
Miss Blossom stood there, eyeing her like prey. Her lips curled into a mocking sneer.
"Well, well, look who we have here—the office charity case. Since we're alone, let's get one thing straight," she said, waving her Ferrari keys like a scepter.
"I didn't expect to see you again, harlot," Emma said calmly, not even glancing up from her phone. "Still as tactful as ever, I see."
Lucy's face twisted in fury. "Do you even know who I am? One word from me and you're out of a job!"
"If this company values spoiled brats over actual skill, feel free to get me fired," Emma shot back, eyes still on her screen. "At least I'll be free from this uncultured circus."
Lucy, seething, raised her hand to strike.
Emma caught her wrist mid-air.
"Miss Blossom," she said slowly, voice like steel. "Stay in your lane. Or I'll pop those balloons you've stuffed in your chest. I know how delicate they are."
Lucy let out a screech and kicked off her high heels, hurling them at Emma. But Emma sidestepped with ease. Lucy lunged at her, fists flying in rage.
Emma dodged, then calmly hit the emergency stop on the elevator.
"I warned you," she said, turning fully to face her attacker.
The next punch landed squarely in Lucy's gut, making her double over and cough blood. Emma didn't stop. Her own fury, long buried, exploded. She yanked Lucy's hair and delivered strike after strike to her cheek until it puffed and bruised.
"Next time, I won't be this nice," she hissed. "You think I'm weak? No, sweetheart. I'm your worst nightmare."
She restarted the elevator, fixed her hair and blouse like nothing had happened, and stood tall as the doors opened.
The lobby fell silent at the sight of the two. Emma walked out with calm grace, turned back for one last look at the battered Lucy, and smiled. Then she walked out and caught a cab.
In the cab, she dialed the IT department. "Send me the CCTV footage from the CEO's elevator, please," she said. "I want the evidence in case I need it tomorrow."
At the Blossom estate, Lucy burst into her father's study, her face bruised and her clothes stained.
Mr. Blossom's eyes widened in horror. "What the hell happened? Who did this to my daughter?"
"Daddy," Lucy sobbed. "I visited Alexander at work, and his secretary dragged me into the elevator and assaulted me! In front of people! I'm so humiliated—I can't face him again!"
Fury boiled in his veins. "She what?! I'll make them regret this. No one lays a finger on the Blossom family."
He immediately called the Allan mansion.
"Old Allan," he thundered. "We've been friends for decades, but your employee just beat up my daughter! If you don't handle this, I'll press charges."
"What are you talking about?" the older Allan replied, confused.
Mr. Blossom relayed the entire (dramatically revised) tale his daughter had spun. Upon hearing it, Mr. Allan was furious too.
"That woman will be fired. Immediately. And I'm sorry for what Lucy went through. We'll reschedule dinner for now."
He hung up, barely managing to hold himself together. The handset hit the desk with a crash.
Servants rushed in, panicked by the old man's pallor. One of them quickly called Alexander's assistant.
"Sir," the assistant stammered. "Please return to the mansion. Your father isn't well—it's urgent."
"What happened?" Alexander asked sharply.
"We're not sure, but… it has something to do with your secretary."
Alexander's expression darkened.
"That woman again," he muttered. "If my father's harmed… she'll pay. With everything."