Anastasia.
The moment I stepped into my apartment, the silence wrapped around me like a heavy cloak. I kicked off my heels at the door and let my bag slump against the wall, shoulders aching from the long day. A shower was the first thing on, lukewarm water to wash away the tension, the exhaustion, and perhaps the gnawing anxiety that had taken root ever since the announcement earlier on my way home.
Steam curled around me as I stood beneath the spray, letting it cascade down my skin. It was temporary relief, fleeting but welcome. When I stepped out, wrapped in my robe, I was already thinking of dinner. Takeout, I decided, fumbling for my phone. I didn't have the energy to cook, not after the weight of the company's current storm.
But when I opened the fridge for a bottle of water, my eyes snagged on a small square of color.
A sticky note.
My breath caught as I leaned closer, fingertips trembling when I plucked it free. The handwriting was unmistakable, loops and flourishes that belonged only to my mother.
"I know the company's situation. Don't starve yourself and rest well. I have cooked your favorite food. Enjoy, my daughter.
Your mother."
My throat tightened instantly. Tears blurred my vision, sliding down my cheeks before I could stop them. I clutched the paper like it was a lifeline. God, how long had it been since I had sat across from my mother, laughing, complaining, being simply… her daughter? Work had stolen that time, the company crisis had devoured the rest. And now, this battle I was thrust into, it made me ache for her warmth all the more.
"Mom," I whispered, clutching the note as though it were something fragile and holy. I really missed her.
The thought of takeout dissolved immediately. With trembling fingers, I reheated the food she had left for me. The aroma filled the apartment, familiar and comforting. The first bite was like heaven, savory, rich, perfectly seasoned the way only she knew. A small laugh escaped me in between tears.
For the first time in weeks, I felt like I belonged somewhere other than the endless halls of Blackwell Corp. I wiped my tears, laughing softly through them. "If this ends well, I'm going to spend every moment I can with them," I promised to the empty room.
I finished dinner, applied layers of sheet masks, and settled on my bed. But sleep didn't come. I tossed and turned, my body restless and my mind crowded with thoughts I couldn't silence, figures, strategies, words I might stumble over, the sharp image of Alexander Blackwell's cutting gaze.
Finally, surrendering to the insomnia, I sat at my desk and pulled out the files. Redrafting, reshaping, refining, anything to keep my hands busy and my thoughts sharper than my fears. Hours went by. I was finally overwhelmed by a deep, restorative sleep, heavy and merciful.
The alarm broke the fragile peace with its piercing cry. I groaned, dragging myself upright. Routine was my anchor: wash up, dress, a quick breakfast, a glance in the mirror to check the determination in my own eyes. Today, though, everything felt sharper, brighter. I prep talk myself, you can do this, Ana, you are the best.
The morning sun spilled across the skyline, gilding the city in a brilliance that was almost mocking. The day was gorgeous beyond words, as though the world had dressed up to contrast my nerves.
When I reached the company, my pulse had already quickened. I stepped onto our floor, my teammates' faces turning toward me. I braced myself.
I forced a smile. "Good morning."
"Morning," one of them murmured, then exchanged glances with another.
The news traveled fast, perhaps too fast. They knew. Of course they did.
"You're the one presenting to the board," Michael said, his voice low, almost sympathetic.
The words settled like lead in my stomach. I nodded once, trying not to show how fast my pulse jumped.
"Anastasia, that's…" Maria trailed off, her expression conflicted.
"…a tough position," Michael finished for her. "No one envies you."
A bitter smile tugged at my lips. They were right. This wasn't the kind of honor anyone dreamed of; it was survival, pure and simple.
"But you'll do great," Maria said quickly, her voice too bright, as though she needed to convince herself as much as me. "You're… you're the best shot we have got."
Their voices blended into a chorus of apprehension, and I felt the weight of their words settle on my shoulders. Because they were right.
It wasn't just the work. It was him.
Alexander Blackwell, the CEO, whose name alone sent shivers through the entire country. Cold. Ruthless. Unforgiving. He did not tolerate mistakes, not even the smallest misstep. And now, I was to stand before him, carrying the work of my team like a shield I wasn't sure could withstand his cold gaze.
We finally managed to get the final draft, polished and precise, and my team wished me luck in tones that sounded more like condolences.
As I gathered the documents, my hands trembled. I pressed them against the cool surface of the table, forcing them to steady. I had always been called a genius, but even brilliance faltered under Alexander Blackwell's stare.
My stomach clenched. This was it. This was him. The man who gave goosebumps to even the most seasoned employees. And now, I was about to face him.
God, please help me.