Orien stands in the boardroom, the edges of his suit uneven, tie loosened, dark hair falling haphazardly into storm-gray eyes. His jaw is clenched as Lysa reads the numbers projected onto the wall, her silhouette sharp and precise against the cold blue screen. Her lips move, reciting lines she no longer believes, but her steel posture—shoulders squared, jacket crisp—never falters, even as the silence in the room grows poisonous. Marin slides a single document across the polished table. There, in stark letters, the truth glares: Lysa’s deception, laid bare, and with it, the fragile trust that’s held this team together for years. Orien’s pulse hammers beneath his skin. He looks at Lysa, searching for the woman he once built worlds with, but finds only glassy composure and the faintest tremor at her jaw.

Selene stands near the door, thin arms folded hard around her chest, her black hoodie zipped up to her throat; her knuckles are white where she grips the fabric. She watches Orien, every muscle tight, her breath shallow. There’s a swirl of vindication, and yet an ache beneath it—she wanted justice, not this public undoing. Jorel, all smirk and swagger, hovers behind her, frowning as he senses the room’s shift. He glances at Lysa, then at his phone, something venomous hardening his gaze.

No one speaks. Only the clatter when Lysa’s tablet slips from her hand, the single, accidental release of emotion. When she finally raises her head, her mask slips entirely. Her eyes, wide and brimming, flick between Orien and Selene, then land on Marin—the betrayal is total and unfixable. “Is this what you wanted?” Her voice is smoke, shaking. “A bloodletting?” The room shrinks around them, each breath heavy with grief.

Orien closes the distance to Lysa, his movements slow, as if approaching a wounded animal he still loves. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His words are softer than he intends. “We could have found another way.” Lysa’s hands clench and unclench at her sides—she’s trembling now, the shield of logic shattered. “You don’t know what it’s like. You never did.” The ache in her throat is raw, and under the fluorescent lights, her precision crumbles. Orien’s face contorts; anger and longing war within him. He bites it back—then fails.

There is no warning when he pulls her into a kiss that’s nothing like forgiveness. Their bodies collide, all bruised memory and rage, her mouth hot and frantic against his, his fingers digging through her frost—seeking something warm, something true. Lysa pushes back, her nails leaving half-moons at his shoulders, mouth breaking into a sob against his teeth. They stagger together into an adjacent office, glass walls now their only privacy, heartbeats thudding in the hush beyond. Clothes tug loose with rough urgency, Lysa’s blouse half undone, Orien’s shirt untucked, their bodies finding each other with a desperation only old lovers possess. Her hair scatters wild against his cheek; his voice stutters her name, half-curse, half-plea. Tears mix with sweat, and when they come together, it is as much goodbye as it is recognition—something breaking open, something irreparable. Her breath hiccups against his neck: “I’m sorry. God, Orien, I’m so sorry.” His reply is silence, a shudder, a final press of lips that tastes of regret and lost years.

When he leaves her, both of them shaken and half-dressed, there is no turning back. Lysa sits in the empty boardroom, blazer draped around her like armor, mascara streaked, hands twisted in her lap. Marin watches from the hall, eyes inscrutable, already planning what comes next.

Selene finds Orien in a corridor, his hair rumpled, lips bruised, eyes wet and faraway. She hesitates, then reaches for his hand. He flinches—barely—but lets her close the distance, their joined fingers trembling. In the distance, Jorel’s raised voice erupts from Lysa’s office—a storm breaking.

And just as Orien thinks the worst is over, his phone vibrates: A single message. Jorel’s threat—screenshots of texts, evidence, the words “Meet me or I go public.”

Orien’s heart stops. Betrayal is never finished.

To be continued...