On the sixth floor of one of the tallest buildings in the neighborhood, Athena sat at her desk with a file open before her—unread, untouched. Her eyes were fixed on the page, but her mind was far away, drifting through memories she tried daily to suppress. The hum of the office, the tapping of keyboards, the muted conversations around her all faded into background noise.
"Ms. Annabella."
She blinked and looked up. One of her coworkers stood beside her desk, polite but cautious.
"The Vice President has requested to see you."
Her fingers stiffened slightly before she nodded. "Alright. Thank you."
She rose, smoothing her skirt, and released a slow breath as if steadying herself. The elevator doors slid shut behind her, sealing her in with her reflection. Pale. Tired. Eyes dulled by sleepless nights. With each ding of passing floors, her unease tightened its grip.
When the elevator finally opened on the fifteenth floor, the air felt colder. Quieter. More dangerous.
She knocked once and stepped inside.
Emma Black sat behind her desk, posture elegant, gaze sharp enough to cut through steel. She didn't gesture immediately, only studied Athena as though assessing a puzzle.
"Sit."
Athena obeyed, folding her hands tightly in her lap, shoulders drawn in despite her effort to appear composed.
"I'll be direct," Emma said at last. "And I expect the same courtesy in return." Her eyes didn't waver. "How did you meet Stephan Black?"
The question struck like a blade wrapped in silk.
"I—" Athena hesitated. "What do you mean, ma?"
Emma leaned back slightly. "What is your relationship with him?"
A beat. Then, quietly, "He's… like a brother to me.".
A faint smirk touched Emma's lips—not amused, but knowing. "Don't insult my intelligence, Anna. My son brings you here every morning. Picks you up every evening. Buys you gifts. That isn't brotherly affection."
Athena's throat tightened. "Ma, I really don't— I don't have anything to do with him."
The temperature in the room dropped.
"I hate being lied to," Emma said, her voice sharpened to ice.
"I'm not lying," Athena replied, her voice trembling despite her effort. "I swear."
Emma stood. Her heels echoed softly as she walked around the desk, stopping beside Athena. A hand came down on her shoulder—light, almost gentle, yet heavy with authority.
"I won't force you to explain," Emma said calmly. "But from this moment onward, you will stay away from my son."
The words pressed down like a verdict.
"Okay, ma," Athena whispered.
"You may go."
Athena stood too quickly, her chair scraping softly against the floor. She bowed her head and walked out, her steps unsteady, her chest aching as she held her breath to keep the tears from falling. The hallway felt endless, hollow, as though she were walking through the aftermath of a silent explosion.
Moments later, Tyrion entered the office.
"Keep a close watch on her," Emma said without turning. "I want to know exactly why she's near my son."
"Yes, ma."
When the door closed again, Emma moved to the window. The city sprawled beneath her—bright, powerful, merciless.
"Son," she murmured, her reflection faint against the glass, "I've finally brought you home."
Her fingers curled slightly.
"And I will protect you… even if it means becoming the villain in someone else's story."