Chapter 52
Most of the office in the Barrett Industries was deserted, save for a few lights still glowing behind glass-paneled doors. Emma sat alone in her temporary workspace, reviewing the latest draft of a press release Marcus had sent over.
Emma’s eyes skimmed the words on the page, but the sentences blurred together, their meaning lost in the whirlwind of thoughts racing through her mind. She sat at her desk, the cool surface grounding her only slightly as her fingers hovered over the edge of a document she had read twice already.
Her mind refused to stay on task, instead looping back to Alex and the emotions he had stirred within her—a complex mix of frustration, doubt, and something she couldn’t name. Every conversation with him lately had been loaded, his words measured, his actions deliberate. Was it all for her, as he claimed, or was there something else beneath the surface?
The PR campaign he had launched on her behalf had been nothing short of remarkable. Articles once filled with venom now painted her as a brilliant leader, a visionary unfairly maligned by scandal. The industry leaders who had quietly distanced themselves during the height of the controversy were suddenly reaching out again, their messages filled with encouragement. On the surface, it was everything she could have hoped for—a complete reversal of her reputation.
And yet, skepticism gnawed at her.
Alex had always been a master of control. His ability to navigate crises, to manipulate outcomes with surgical precision, was what had made him a titan in the corporate world. But was this campaign truly about clearing her name? Or was it a calculated move to reclaim power—over her, over the company, over a situation that had spiraled beyond his grasp?
She leaned back in her chair, exhaling sharply, her frustration mounting. Each carefully crafted headline, each glowing endorsement, felt like another puzzle piece in a picture she wasn’t sure she wanted to see. Even if Alex’s intentions were pure, they did feel too heavy to Emma, full of strings waiting to be pulled.
And then there was Sophia.
Her presence loomed like an unwelcome shadow, a constant reminder of the chaos that still clung to Emma’s life. Whether it was during company meetings, charity events, or casual moments in the office, Sophia always seemed to orbit Alex like a perfectly polished satellite. Her bright smile was just a little too wide, her laughter just a little too eager, and her hushed conversations with Alex too frequent to be ignored.
Emma tried to tell herself it didn’t matter. She and Alex weren’t together, at least not in the way that should make Sophia’s antics sting. Their dynamic was now purely professional—a tenuous alliance forged to salvage the reputations they had both nearly lost. Whatever Alex chose to do with Sophia, or whoever else, was none of her business.
And yet, it ate at her.
Every time Emma caught Sophia leaning in too closely, her manicured hand lightly brushing Alex’s arm or her whisper lingering too long near his ear, a sharp pang twisted in Emma’s stomach. She despised the feeling, that hint of possessiveness she had no right to claim.
The idea of confronting Alex was absurd. What would she even say? That she didn’t trust him? That despite everything he’d done to repair her reputation, she still suspected his motives weren’t entirely selfless? That Sophia’s very existence felt like a crack in the fragile truce between them?
Emma rubbed her temples, the conflict swirling in her chest. She wanted to believe Alex’s efforts were genuine, but doubt lingered like an unwelcome guest.
Her phone buzzed on the desk, the sound sharp in the quiet room. She glanced down at the screen: a message from Marcus.
“Can you stop by Alex’s office before you leave? He’s reviewing tomorrow’s media plans and might want your input.”
Emma sighed, the tension mounting. The last thing she wanted was another charged meeting with Alex, especially with Sophia always so conveniently nearby. But she knew avoiding him wasn’t a solution.
Taking a steadying breath, Emma stood, smoothing her blouse and preparing herself. Whatever lay ahead, she would face it head-on.
The office halls were quiet as Emma made her way to Alex’s corner suite. The soft sound of muffled voices reached her before she turned the corner, and she slowed her steps, her curiosity piqued.
Emma paused just outside the door, her hand frozen on the handle. The faint crack of light spilling into the dim hallway illuminated two figures inside, their silhouettes sharp against the warm glow of the office. She held her breath, her pulse quickening as fragments of their conversation drifted toward her.
Sophia stood near Alex’s desk, her posture lithe and deliberate, like a predator circling its prey. Her voice was low, intimate, laced with a flirtation that made Emma’s stomach churn. Alex was seated behind the desk, his hands clasped tightly together, his jaw taut as he watched Sophia’s every move.
Emma’s heart sank when she saw Sophia reach out, her manicured fingers trailing languidly along the edge of Alex’s tie. The gesture was slow, deliberate, intimate. A soft, almost sultry laugh escaped Sophia’s lips, and Emma felt a pang of something sharp and bitter twist in her chest.
“You know,” Sophia said, her voice clear now, as if she wanted to be overheard, “we were good together once. We could be again.”
Alex leaned back slightly, his body stiffening as he avoided Sophia’s gaze. “Sophia, stop,” he said, his tone clipped, though Emma could detect an undercurrent of tension.
But Sophia ignored him, her movements calculated. She stepped closer, the scent of her expensive perfume likely filling the space between them. Her hands brushed the desk as she leaned in, her glossy hair spilling over her shoulder like a curtain.
“Why?” she murmured, tilting her head. “You don’t really think Emma’s going to forgive you, do you? She’ll never trust you again—not after everything you’ve done. You don’t have to keep pretending.”
Emma’s fingers tightened around the edge of the doorframe as Sophia’s words hit her like a slap. The bile of hurt and anger rose in her throat, but she stayed frozen, unable to tear her eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of her.
Sophia moved even closer, and then, to Emma’s horror, she sank gracefully to her knees in front of Alex, her hands resting lightly on his thighs. The movement was intimate, suggestive, as if she had rehearsed it a hundred times before.
Emma’s vision blurred, her breath catching in her throat. A part of her wanted to burst in, to demand answers, to rip Sophia away from Alex. But her feet remained rooted to the floor, as if her body refused to move under the weight of her anguish.
Sophia tilted her head up, her voice soft and dripping with seduction. “You don’t have to fight this, Alex. We both know it’s inevitable. Emma doesn’t have what it takes to handle you. But I do. I always have.”
Emma couldn’t take any more. The image of Sophia on her knees, her hands on Alex, burned itself into her mind. Her chest felt tight, suffocating, and the tears she had been holding back threatened to spill. She turned abruptly, walking away as quickly as her legs would carry her.
She didn’t hear Alex stand, his chair scraping against the floor as he shoved it back. She didn’t hear the sharp edge in his voice as he said, “Get up, Sophia. Now.”
Emma didn’t hear the rejection, didn’t see Alex step away from Sophia with an expression of anger and disgust.
She didn’t hear his voice grow colder as he continued, “This conversation is over. There’s nothing between us, and there never will be. Get out.”
Instead, she rushed down the hallway, the image of Sophia leaning into Alex, her hands so casually possessive, seared into her mind. Emma’s breath came in shallow gasps, her chest heaving as she reached the elevator and slammed her hand against the button.
By the time the elevator doors opened, tears had begun to blur her vision. As she stepped inside and the doors closed behind her, she leaned against the mirrored wall, her hands trembling.
She had told herself not to care, that she was done with Alex, that their connection was nothing but a tether to a painful past. And yet, seeing him with Sophia—a woman who had once been part of his life, who still seemed to think she had a claim on him—had cracked open something raw and unhealed inside her.
The elevator ride down felt endless, her thoughts a chaotic storm of anger, hurt, and disbelief. She replayed the scene over and over, each time convincing herself that her worst fears had been confirmed.
Of course, she thought bitterly. Why would I ever believe he’d changed?
The elevator descended, but her thoughts spiraled upward, tangled in confusion and hurt.
Why did it still matter? Why did he still matter?
