The office no longer felt the same after the incident.
It wasn't loud, not openly chaotic—but the air had shifted. Conversations paused when certain heels clicked across the marble floor. Glances lingered longer than they should. Whispers trailed like shadows that refused to disappear.
Clariss felt it the moment she stepped out of the elevator.
The murmurs.
Soft. Sharp. Intentional.
"Can you believe her?"
"She really had the nerve to report Amara to HR…"
"She acts like an angel, but honestly? She's terrifying."
Clariss' stride never faltered. Her spine was straight, chin lifted, heels striking the floor with authority. She wore a cream blazer that hugged her perfectly, her makeup flawless as ever. Anyone looking at her would think she was untouched—unbothered.
But inside, something twisted violently.
Wolf in sheep's clothing.
She had heard that phrase before.
A woman near the pantry laughed quietly—not because something was funny, but because she wanted to be heard. "Guess beauty really can hide a rotten heart."
Clariss stopped.
Slowly, deliberately, she turned.
The laughter died instantly.
Her gaze swept over the small group of women like a blade. "If you have something to say," she said coolly, "say it properly. Or better yet—shut up."
No one replied.
She smirked faintly and continued walking, heels echoing like punctuation marks.
Let them talk.
They were jealous. They always were.
And yet—
Even as she told herself that, Clariss could feel the eyes burning into her back. For the first time in years, admiration had been replaced with scrutiny. Worship with suspicion.
And that infuriated her more than anything else.
Across the office, the rumours had found a new favorite subject.
Not just Clariss.
But the triangle.
Kael.
Amara.
Damian.
"They say Kael still looks at Amara like he regrets everything."
"Of course he does. Did you see how Damian openly protected her?"
"I heard HR sided with Amara. Clariss didn't get what she wanted."
"And now Damian's always beside her. Like a wall."
The whispers followed Amara everywhere.
She tried to ignore them.
Tried to keep her head down, fingers steady on her keyboard, posture calm. But she wasn't made of stone. She felt the weight of eyes, the curiosity, the judgment, the speculation.
Especially when Kael passed by.
His presence still did strange things to the room. Conversations dipped, then resumed softly. Amara could feel him even without looking—like a familiar ache that hadn't fully healed.
And Damian?
Damian was always there.
Not hovering. Not obvious.
Just close enough.
A presence at her side when meetings ended. A quiet "You okay?" when things felt too heavy. A cup of coffee placed on her desk without comment.
It was grounding.
And Clariss hated it.
It happened near midday.
Clariss had been watching Amara all morning—how she dressed, how she moved, how people looked at her now with curiosity instead of dismissal.
Today, Amara wore a simple blouse and slacks. No designer labels. No loud colors. Just… her.
And somehow, that made Clariss' chest burn.
She approached Amara's desk slowly, deliberately, heels clicking loud enough to draw attention.
"Oh," Clariss said, eyes sweeping over her. "Is that what you're wearing today?"
The office quieted.
Amara looked up calmly. "Yes."
Clariss tilted her head, a smile curving her lips—not kind, not warm. "Interesting choice. You really don't bother trying, do you?"
A few people shifted uncomfortably.
Damian straightened from where he stood nearby, his jaw tightening.
Clariss continued, voice sweet and sharp all at once. "Maybe that's why Kael never took you seriously. You look like a country bumpkin pretending she belongs in the city."
Silence.
Thick. Suffocating.
Amara didn't respond immediately.
Her fingers trembled slightly beneath the desk. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might give her away. Shame flared instinctively—old, familiar, and painful.
Clariss watched closely, waiting.
Waiting for the crack.
Damian took a step forward. "That's enough—"
Amara lifted her hand.
He froze.
She stood slowly, knees weak but posture steady. When she spoke, her voice was calm—too calm.
"You dress beautifully," Amara said, meeting Clariss' eyes directly.
Clariss smirked. "Of course I do."
Amara's gaze didn't waver. "Then why," she continued quietly, "would Kael still refuse to date you?"
The words landed like glass shattering.
Clariss' smile vanished.
The office inhaled collectively.
Clariss opened her mouth—but nothing came out.
Her eyes flickered. Rage surged up so fast it nearly blinded her. Her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms.
Without another word, she turned sharply and walked away, heels striking the floor harder than before.
Fury followed her like smoke.
The moment she was gone, Amara's breath collapsed out of her.
Her legs buckled.
Damian was there instantly, one arm around her waist, steadying her before she could fall. "Hey," he murmured, low and close. "I've got you."
She clutched his sleeve, knuckles white. "I—I didn't think my knees would—"
"You did great," he said softly. "You were brave."
Her cheeks flushed. "I was terrified."
"Still brave," he replied without hesitation.
Around them, a few women exchanged glances—then smiles.
"About time someone said it."
"Good for her."
"You really shut Clariss up."
Amara laughed weakly, tears threatening. "I thought I was going to faint."
Damian smiled faintly. "You didn't."
Across the office, Kael stood frozen.
He had seen everything.
The way Clariss attacked.
The way Amara stood her ground.
The way Damian caught her—effortless, protective, instinctive.
Something twisted painfully in his chest.
That should have been him.
But it wasn't.
And Clariss—
Clariss watched from a distance, teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached.
I'll destroy her, she thought, rage burning white-hot.
She would not lose.
Not to Amara.
Not again.