The next morning she was already in a bad mood before she even got to headquarters.
Her shoulder was still sore from the day before, her side ached every time she twisted too quickly, and she had spent half the night waking up every time she rolled the wrong way in bed. None of it was bad enough to matter, which made it even more irritating. If she had actually been hurt, people would have treated it like a real problem and moved on. This was just enough to be annoying and not enough to be useful.
By the time she stepped off the elevator on the executive floor, Cedric was waiting for her with that look on his face that usually meant someone somewhere had done something stupid and now expected her to deal with it.
"You look happy," she said.
He started walking beside her.
"You look like you didn't sleep much."
"I didn't ask about me."
"No, but I answered anyway."
She gave him a look as they walked into the conference room.
"What now?"
Cedric set a folder down on the table and opened it.
"People are talking about the district mess."
She pulled her jacket off and threw it over the back of a chair.
"People are always talking."
"Yeah," he said, "but today they're doing it louder."
She looked at him.
"About what?"
He slid one of the pages toward her. She skimmed it and her mouth tightened immediately. It was exactly the kind of thing she hated. Nobody was saying anything straight to her face yet. They were doing that coward thing where they dressed it up in polite words and acted like they were just concerned. The district fight. The attack. Questions about whether her territory was getting harder to control. Questions about whether she had too much on her plate. Questions about whether recent events meant cracks were starting to show.
One line in particular made her want to laugh and punch someone at the same time. Strong leaders don't let small problems turn into public ones. She looked up.
"Who said that?"
Cedric didn't need to check.
"Marcel.
She dropped the page back on the table.
"Of course it was."
Marcel was one of those men who always talked like he thought he was smarter than everyone else in the room. He never said anything directly if he could hide it inside ten cleaner words first. Men like that never got their hands dirty if they could help it.
Cedric leaned against the edge of the table.
"There's a lunch meeting at noon."
She looked at him.
"No."
"Yes."
"I'm not going to some stupid lunch so I can sit there while Marcel pretends he isn't talking shit."
"That is exactly why you're going."
She folded her arms, then regretted it because it pulled at her side.
"That makes no sense."
"It makes perfect sense. If you stay here, they keep talking. If you show up, they have to say it while looking at you."
She stared at him for a second.
"I hate when you're right."
"I know."
She looked back down at the folder. The thing was, he was right. She knew he was right. If she didn't go, the story would keep growing legs all by itself. If she did go, at least she could kill it herself. So of course she had to go.
"That doesn't mean I'm going to enjoy it," she said.
Cedric almost smiled.
"That was never part of the plan."
By the time noon came around, her mood had somehow gotten worse instead of better.
The morning had been full of pointless meetings, numbers that should have made sense before they landed on her desk, and one phone call from legal that made her wonder if anyone in that department had ever made a simple decision in their lives. On top of that, Marcel's little comments had kept floating through her head in the background, which only made her want this lunch over with faster.
The restaurant was exactly the kind of place she expected for this sort of thing. Too expensive, too polished, and trying too hard to look effortless. The view over the water was nice, but not nice enough to make up for the people inside. Cedric walked beside her through the entrance.
"You can still be civil," he said quietly.
She didn't even look at him.
"Don't ruin my mood more than it already is."
He let that go, which was smart. The host greeted them first, all smiles and fake warmth, but she barely paid attention. Her eyes had already found Marcel at the table.
He stood when he saw her and smiled like he hadn't spent the whole morning letting people repeat his version of events.
"Alpha," he said. "Didn't expect to see you."
"That sounds like your mistake," she replied.
A couple of people around the table went very still after that. Good. Let them. She sat down, Cedric taking the chair on her right, and for the first few minutes the conversation stayed on boring, safe things. Shipping. Routes. Port access. Supply delays. The usual. She answered when she had to and ignored the rest.
Then Marcel finally did what she knew he was going to do.
"I heard things got a little messy in the south district," he said, all casual voice and fake concern.
She looked at him across the table.
"Somebody stole money. I dealt with it."
He nodded like he was being reasonable.
"Sure. Still, that kind of thing makes people nervous."
She sat back slightly in her chair.
"Then they should stop stealing."
A few people looked down at their plates.
Marcel gave a small laugh.
"You know what I mean."
"No," she said. "Actually I think you should say what you mean."
That shut the table up properly. He held her gaze for a second and then tried again.
"I'm just saying that when too many things happen too close together, people start wondering if things are slipping."
There it was. No fancy words now. No dressing it up. Just the same old thing in a cleaner shirt. She leaned forward a little.
"If you want to ask whether I still control my territory, just ask that."
Cedric went very still beside her. Marcel's smile tightened.
"I'm talking about stability."
"No," she said. "You're hoping I've got too much on my plate."
Nobody said anything. She kept going.
"The district issue is handled. The people who tried to use it are either caught, dead, or running. So if you're sitting here hoping this means I'm getting weaker, you're wasting your time."
That landed hard enough that even the people who had wanted to stay neutral looked uncomfortable. Marcel tried one last time.
"I think you're taking this personally."
She gave him a look so flat it almost felt bored.
"You're talking about my territory. Why would I not?"
He opened his mouth again, then shut it. One of the women further down the table cleared her throat and dragged the conversation back toward shipping routes and contracts, and after that nobody tried anything else. They still looked at her. They still thought things. But no one had the nerve to say it again.
By the time lunch was over, she was tired of all of them. When she and Cedric got back into the car, he waited until the door closed before speaking.
"That went well."
She turned to look at him.
"That's what you call that?"
He shrugged.
"You shut him up."
"I should've done it sooner."
"You did it when it mattered."
She looked back out the window as the car pulled away from the curb.
"He thought I'd sit there and let him circle around it."
"He was hoping you'd stay polite."
She snorted softly.
"That was stupid."
"Yes," Cedric said. "It was."
Back at headquarters, the rest of the afternoon felt easier than the morning had. Not better, exactly, but cleaner. At least nobody wasted her time trying to hint around things anymore. She signed what needed signing, sent one report back for correction, and took two calls she didn't want before finally leaving for the evening.
The penthouse was quiet when she came in.
She kicked off her shoes, dropped her jacket over the arm of the sofa, and walked toward the kitchen where Leonel was already finishing dinner. He looked up as soon as she came in.
"You look less angry today."
She stopped near the island.
"That obvious?"
"Yes."
She pulled out a chair and sat down.
"Marcel tried it."
Leonel glanced at her while he turned the heat down.
"Tried what?"
"That fake polite thing where men talk around what they actually mean because they don't have the nerve to just say it straight."
He leaned one hand against the counter.
"And what did he mean?"
"He wanted to know if the district attack meant I was slipping."
Leonel was quiet for a second.
"And what did you say?"
She picked up the glass of water already sitting in front of her.
"I told him if he was hoping I was getting weaker, he was wasting his time."
That got the smallest shift out of him, not quite a smile but close enough that she noticed.
"You enjoyed that."
"I enjoyed shutting him up."
He plated the food and set it in front of her.
"That sounds healthy."
She gave him a look.
"Don't start."
He actually smiled then, just a little. She ate for a minute before speaking again.
"It's always the same with men like that," she said. "If they can't challenge directly, they try to chip away at you in rooms like that. Little comments and fake concern. Talking like they're just trying to help while they're really just checking whether you've gotten tired enough to let them push."
Leonel stayed quiet and let her keep going.
"I can handle people coming at me straight," she said. "I'd actually rather they do that. At least then I know where I stand. It's the other kind that gets old. The ones who smile while they try to make you smaller."
He rested his forearms lightly on the counter across from her.
"And did he manage it?"
She looked up at him.
"No."
"I know."
That answer sat there for a second. It should have been nothing. A simple answer. Instead it hit differently than it should have, maybe because there was no performance in it, no trying too hard, no telling her what she wanted to hear. He had just said it like it was a fact. She looked back down at her plate.
"It still gets old," she said after a moment. "Having to do it over and over."
He nodded once.
"I know."
She frowned slightly.
"How would you know."
He didn't answer right away, and when he finally did, his voice was calm as always.
"Not your version of it," he said. "But I know what it's like when people keep trying to see what they can get away with."
That was close enough to honest that she didn't push. For a little while they just stayed there, the kitchen quiet around them, the city dim beyond the glass. It felt easier than the lunch had. Easier than most things had lately. She didn't have to hold herself a certain way or watch every word in a room like this. When she finished eating, she didn't get up right away. He noticed that too.
"Tired?"
"Yes," she said, not bothering to lie.
He nodded toward her shoulder.
"That still bad?"
"It's annoying."
"That's not what I asked."
She looked at him.
"You do that too much."
"Do what?"
"Ask normal questions and then act like my answer wasn't enough."
"That's because your first answer usually isn't the real one."
She stared at him for a second, then let out a tired breath that almost turned into a laugh.
"That was annoying."
"Yeah," he said. "I know."
This time she did smile, even if it was brief. After he cleaned the kitchen and said good night, she stood at the window for a while, looking out over the dark water and the broken lines of light across it.
The day should have stayed with her for one reason. The district attack. The people behind it. The lunch and Marcel. The fact that her enemies were getting bolder and louder and more organized.
But what stayed with her instead was something smaller and, in some ways, more inconvenient. He hadn't looked at her the way the others did. Not like something to test. Not like something to soften. Not like something to use.
He had just looked at her like she was exactly what she was. And for reasons she still didn't want to look at too closely, that mattered more than it should have.