The tension that had once cloaked the entire office like a heavy fog slowly dissipated as Celeste clicked her phone shut, her expression unreadable, sharp. The air remained charged, but it was different now — it hummed with newfound respect, surprise, maybe even something magnetic. Celeste stood at the center of it, unbothered by the curious stares and stunned silence.
Damien still hadn't moved from where he stood, one hand in his pocket, the other curled into a loose fist at his side. His jaw was clenched as he studied her — not with his usual piercing scrutiny, but with something more conflicted, layered. Confusion warred with fascination in his eyes.
Celeste calmly walked toward him, her heels echoing across the floor with rhythmic precision, commanding just as much attention as the words she'd spoken minutes ago.
"You didn't think I'd be able to do that, did you?" she said softly, folding her arms, chin tilted up.
Damien finally smirked, just slightly. "I'll admit, you did handle it with… flair."
"Flair?" she raised an eyebrow, mock-offended. "That sounded suspiciously like a compliment, Mr. Leclair."
"Don't get used to it, Miss Moreau."
The tension between them wasn't the same anymore — not the cold, corporate edge it used to be. This felt like a game, a challenge. And Celeste? She was no longer playing defense.
She gave a nonchalant shrug. "I'll take that under advisement."
Just as she turned, Damien cleared his throat. "I'll be joining you for the meeting on Thursday."
Celeste stopped, her back still turned to him. She glanced over her shoulder. "Oh?"
"It's important we show a united front," he said, clearing his throat again as if needing to reinforce the professionalism behind his decision. "And I'd rather not risk you… improvising again."
Celeste slowly turned back to face him, eyes glinting mischievously. "Oh, I'm sure you mean that."
Damien's mouth opened slightly, but before he could reply, she stepped closer. "But," she said, voice dropping to a murmur, "since I've already ensured we got a second chance, I think it's only fair I get to decide the strategy now."
"You're forgetting whose name is on the company, Miss Moreau."
"And you're forgetting who pulled it back from the edge today," she countered, smooth as silk. "You need me at that table, Damien."
She said his name without the 'sir' or 'Mr. Leclair' this time. Bold. Intentional.
His eyes narrowed slightly, but there was no rebuke. Only intrigue.
She leaned a little closer, her tone light, laced with charm. "Besides… we wouldn't want anyone on their team thinking my interest is anything but professional, now would we?"
Damien stared at her, momentarily thrown off.
"Excuse me?" he said slowly.
"Oh, you know how it is," she purred, turning to pace in front of him dramatically, playing her part to perfection. "A young, pretty woman comes into a room with power, talks smoothly, makes deals happen. It doesn't take long before the men on the other end assume she's flirting."
"And you think me being there would prevent that?" Damien asked, more curious than offended.
"Absolutely," she said. "If I arrive with the head of the company — tall, intimidating, very obviously… attached to the outcome — it sets the tone. Keeps eyes where they belong."
Damien blinked, unsure whether she meant 'attached to the outcome' or something else. He didn't ask.
"And," she added, adjusting the cuff of her blazer like it was a crown, "between the two of us, we might just remind them what power looks like."
He let out a quiet breath that might've been a laugh. "Fine. But if we lose this deal, it's on your head."
"Then I better make sure we don't lose it," she said with a glint in her eye.
Before she turned to walk out, she paused once more, lips curling into a soft, teasing smile. "Oh… and wear something that screams 'I'm the boss'. We don't want them thinking I'm the one in charge."
Damien gave her a look that was half amused, half exasperated. "I think it's a little late for that."
She winked, then left, hips swaying, heels echoing.
Back in her office, Celeste closed the door and leaned back against it. The adrenaline of the conversation still buzzed in her chest. She allowed herself a moment — just one — to drop the act, exhale shakily, and let the tension drain from her shoulders.
God, what was she doing?
She'd never flirted in a business setting before, never dared to use her tone and posture like weapons in a battlefield of meetings and contracts. But today… she had.
And it felt oddly right.
This version of her — this sharp, poised, unshakable woman — she liked her. She admired her. And she wasn't ready to let her go.
Back in Damien's office, his assistant walked in just as Damien was pouring himself a drink.
"You're drinking at noon?" Lucien raised an eyebrow.
Damien glanced up. "I've seen hell today. I deserve this."
"She impressed you," Lucien said knowingly.
"I don't know what she did," Damien muttered. "But she handled the entire thing like she's been doing this for decades."
"And she made you go with her?"
"She convinced me," Damien corrected.
Lucien smirked. "Same thing."
Damien stared into his glass, lips twitching. "She's dangerous."
"Good. We need dangerous."
Damien said nothing.
Lucien tilted his head. "You're going to fall for her."
Damien downed the drink.
Celeste had just wrapped up her final reports for the day, still slightly buzzing with the high of everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. The deal was slowly but surely coming back on track, and her standing within Leclair Corp had officially been solidified. She was the Head of Finance now, and her office reflected that — sleek design, state-of-the-art computer systems, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a touch of warmth she'd personally added with small décor pieces.
She slipped into her blazer, checked her phone for messages, and headed toward the door. The sun was dipping beyond the skyline outside, casting gold over the cityscape. Her heels tapped rhythmically against the polished marble floor of the corridor as she turned to lock her office door. But just as she was about to pivot away —
"Oh! I'm sorry," a voice chimed, soft, musical.
Celeste turned, and her gaze met a woman she didn't recognize immediately. Late thirties, maybe. Dressed immaculately in a soft beige pencil skirt, a silk blouse that shimmered like champagne, and heels that cost more than a month's salary. Her posture was graceful, every movement precise. She had a smile on her lips that looked too practiced, like it belonged on a brochure model. There was something unnerving about it.
"Are you Celeste Moreau?"
Celeste straightened. "Yes. And you are?"
The woman extended a hand, manicured nails painted a subtle rose gold. "Sepharina Cole. I was just meeting with Damien, actually."
Celeste froze for a second. Not visibly. Just enough to register it. There was something about the name. Something oddly familiar. But she couldn't place it. She smiled politely and took the handshake. "Nice to meet you."
Sepharina's grip was delicate, almost dainty. But her gaze? Calculated. Sharp beneath the sweetness.
"I've heard a lot about you," Sepharina said, her voice laced with syrup. "You're the new miracle worker in finance, aren't you?"
Celeste gave a modest chuckle, playing along. "I wouldn't say that. Just doing my part."
"Oh, come now. Damien doesn't get impressed easily," Sepharina said, glancing toward the hallway like she expected someone to appear. "It took me years to earn his attention. And you? Barely a week."
There it was. That undertone. That odd mix of compliment and comparison.
Celeste kept her expression neutral. "Well, we had a crisis to fix. Sometimes pressure brings out unexpected results."
Sepharina laughed, too musical. Too rehearsed. "Of course. Well, he mentioned we might run into each other. Said you were… unforgettable."
That gave Celeste pause. She wasn't sure if it was meant to flatter or disarm her.
Before she could respond, Sepharina stepped back and gently touched her own earring, the motion oddly performative.
"You'll have to forgive me," she added. "I'm terrible with new faces. But I feel like I've seen you before. Somewhere. Maybe an event? A gala?"
Celeste blinked. She'd never been to anything that posh. Not in this life, at least. Still, she played it cool. "Maybe. Or maybe I just have one of those faces."
"Maybe," Sepharina echoed, still smiling. "Well, don't let me keep you. I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other."
Celeste nodded politely. "I'm sure. Have a good evening, Ms. Cole."
She walked away, her mind racing a little.
The name. The face. That voice. She had seen her before. She was sure of it now. But not from an office.
Not from any finance meeting.
It was a faint memory. One drenched in expensive perfume and high laughter. A glimpse, maybe, from the past — but not one Celeste could trust just yet.
As she stepped into the elevator, her fingers tightened on the strap of her purse. She might not know where she remembered Sepharina Cole from, but one thing was certain:
That woman wasn't as sweet as she pretended to be.
Celeste sat stiffly at her desk, fingers frozen above the keyboard, the cursor blinking like a taunt. The light from her office window stretched long shadows across the floor, but she didn't notice. Her mind spun in circles.
Sepharina Cole.
That name wasn't even mentioned, but the woman's face was branded in her mind. Sleek brunette waves, that silk blouse tucked too perfectly into designer pencil skirt, and the kind of smile that wasn't warm—it was curated.
There was something disturbingly familiar about her.
Celeste knew she'd seen her somewhere before. Not just in the building—but before that. A magazine? A headline? Her memory clutched at fragments that refused to fall into place.
She leaned against the window frame, staring out blankly.
Why did this bother her so much?
It wasn't like Damien owed her explanations. Whatever they were doing—whatever they were—wasn't clearly defined. Yet something about Sepharina's presence had lodged itself under Celeste's skin. It wasn't just how fake she seemed. It was the way she had looked at Celeste. Sweet. Polite. And absolutely condescending.
Like a queen inspecting a rival before deciding if she was even worth the trouble.
The knock on the door startled her.
Maya slipped inside, holding a coffee and her phone. "Hey. You okay? You're staring into space like you just had an out-of-body experience."
Celeste turned, forcing a smile. "I'm fine."
"You sure? You look like you're mentally fighting for your life."
A pause. Then, without thinking, Celeste blurted, "Do you know someone named Sepharina Cole?"
Maya blinked. "Oh. Her."
The sharpness in her tone wasn't missed.
"You know her?"
"I know of her," Maya muttered, walking over and setting the coffee on Celeste's desk. "She's like this business consultant-investor hybrid with her claws in a dozen places. Shows up whenever the board wants someone to clean house or boost image. Polished, powerful, and extremely punchable."