Rain spatters against the floor-to-ceiling windows as the boardroom teeters on chaos. Yulian stands, jaw clenched, dark hair disheveled like he’s been running fingers through it all morning. His tailored shirt looks crisp, but his hands—trembling, white-knuckled—betray the storm beneath. Laerise sits opposite, back perfectly straight, sharp in a scarlet suit that shames the sterile chrome around her. She meets his glare with a half-smirk, lips twitching with secrets only she understands.

Sciro lounges by the door, all lithe elegance in a navy suit, arms folded as if the unraveling drama is his private entertainment. The glint in his eyes is hungry, predatory. Belise, usually in the shadows, has taken a seat at the table; her posture demure, blouse understated, but one manicured finger taps a steady rhythm against a folder—her composure flawless, only her gaze giving away the calculation at work.

Yulian’s voice is raw, accusation laced with heartbreak. “You think you can wreck me and just smile about it? You’re not untouchable, Laerise.” His words hang in the air, heavy and desperate. Laerise’s jaw tightens, her cool mask slipping just enough to expose the faintest tremble. “You’re a child with a match, Yulian. Burn it down, but don’t cry about the smoke.” Her words cut, but her hands knot together beneath the table, pale against the red.

Sciro steps forward, smooth as silk, voice velvet and poison. “Maybe everyone should stop pretending. We’re all monsters here.” He meets Belise’s eyes, his confidence wobbles—a flicker of something bruised. Belise returns his look with ice. “No, Sciro. Some of us are just better at hiding it.” Her voice is soft, but her eyes are steel.

Suddenly, Belise rises, folder in hand. Her entire body taut with the ache of decision. “I could end all of you right now,” she whispers, voice trembling like the edge of a blade. The room freezes. She looks at Yulian, and for a moment her controlled mask falls—grief and longing flicker there, raw and unspeakable. He falters, all his fury lost as he meets her gaze, desperate for understanding.

Laerise stands abruptly, stalking across the polished floor, heels echoing like a warning. She grabs Yulian by the lapel, crushing their mouths together in a kiss so fierce it’s war and surrender folded into one. He clings to her, lost, as if she’s the only thing tethering him to the world and the very thing tearing him apart. The boardroom gasps, the air shifting with the sudden storm of want and rage.

Belise turns away, lips pressed tight to keep from trembling. Sciro laughs, but it’s sharp, desperate—a mask cracking. “What’s one more secret?” he bites out, voice brittle. The room fractures: alliances break, truths fracture under the weight of bitter desire.

Yulian breaks from Laerise, chest heaving, voice barely above a whisper. “What now?” he asks, vulnerability bleeding through. She doesn’t answer, just brushes his cheek as if memorizing the shape of him before it all shatters.

Later, Belise stands alone in the CEO’s empty office, the final envelope gripped in trembling hands, name scrawled across it: Yulian Lasker. The city’s lights cast her shadow long across the glass as she hesitates. Her heart beats wild with the choice—a single move could annihilate him forever, or save him at the cost of everything she’s built.

Her lips part, a silent question lost to the dark. Will she destroy him, or herself?

To be continued...