Denisse kicked the door shut behind her and let the quiet of her apartment swallow her whole.
She dropped her bag onto the coffee table with a dull, tired thump, the sound echoing faintly in the dim living room. The lights were still off, the city glow leaking in through the windows just enough to outline familiar shapes. Home. Finally.
She didn't bother taking off her shoes.
Instead, she walked straight to the couch and collapsed onto it, stretching out awkwardly before letting herself sink into the cushions. A long breath left her chest, the kind that carried the entire weight of the day with it.
God, she was exhausted.
Her calves throbbed in protest the moment she shifted, a deep, aching reminder of what she'd spent the afternoon doing. Floor after floor. Hallway after hallway. Stairs, elevators, polished tiles, carpets, corners she hadn't known existed in the building she worked in every single day.
All for what?
A ridiculously small hair pin.
She stared up at the ceiling, blinking slowly.
Imagine sweeping every single floor of a high-rise building, she thought bitterly, searching for a tiny diamond heart... only to find out it had been in your CEO's pocket the entire time.
Her jaw tightened.
She knew it now. With absolute clarity.
Lesley Ashford had done it on purpose. AGAIN.
Denisse shifted on the couch, wincing as she bent her legs and reached down to massage her calves. Her fingers pressed into the sore muscles, and she hissed softly.
"Ouch—oh my god," she muttered, kneading harder. "How am I even supposed to walk tomorrow?"
The image of Lesley's faintly amused smile flickered through her mind. The way she'd casually pulled the hair clip from her pocket. The way she'd looked at Denisse like she was enjoying every second of it.
"She really couldn't let herself lose. Not to me," Denisse murmured, the words echoing faintly in the quiet apartment.
Before she could chase the thought any further, her phone vibrated on the couch beside her.
Denisse froze.
Slowly, she turned her head and glanced at the screen.
Lesley Ashford.
Of course.
She let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Speaking of the devil," she murmured.
She picked up the phone, inhaled once, and slipped effortlessly back into professionalism.
"Yes, Ms. Ashford?" she said evenly.
"Hey, Denisse," Lesley's voice came through, casual and far too cheerful for the hour. "Can you come in early tomorrow?"
Denisse closed her eyes for a brief second.
"How early?" she asked, already bracing herself.
"Six a.m.," Lesley replied smoothly. "Mr. Clark called and asked if I could attend a breakfast meeting with them. I said yes, so I'll need you there to come with me."
Six.
A.M.
Denisse kept her tone neutral through sheer force of will. "Yes, Ms. Ashford. That's fine."
"Great," Lesley said. "Be ready to brief me on the investor on the way."
"Of course," Denisse replied. "Would that be all?"
A short pause. "Mm. Yes. See you tomorrow."
"See you, Ms. Ashford," Denisse said, her voice still impeccably calm.
The call ended.
...Or was it?
She tossed the phone onto the couch beside her and immediately bent forward again, rubbing her calves with renewed irritation.
"Seriously?" she burst out, the words spilling free now that she was alone. "My legs are still killing me after you made me sweep every floor of your building, and now you want me in early tomorrow?"
She groaned, tipping her head back against the couch.
"You. Are. Impossible, Lesley Nicole Ashford. Absolutely cruel."
The words rang louder than she'd intended.
She exhaled, shoulders finally dropping as the frustration drained out of her.
Then, absently, she glanced at her phone.
Her stomach dropped.
The screen was still lit.
The call timer flickered for a split second longer before disappearing.
Disconnected.
"Oh my god," Denisse whispered.
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.
"Oh my god," she said again, louder now, scrambling for the phone and clutching it to her chest like it might bite her. "Did she hear that? Did she hear me?"
Her mind raced, replaying every word she'd just said, each one sounding worse than the last.
"I am dead," she breathed. "I am so dead."
She slid down into the couch, staring up at the ceiling in horror.
"I am so dead."
And then, unable to contain it any longer, she let out a frustrated, mortified scream that echoed through her apartment.
"Ahhhhh!"
Silence followed.
Denisse groaned and pressed the heel of her hand over her eyes.
Tomorrow was going to be unbearable.
She lay there for a few more seconds, staring up at the ceiling, as if waiting for it to crack open and swallow her whole. It didn't. Of course it didn't. The universe had never been that kind.
With a resigned sigh, she pushed herself up from the couch. Her legs protested immediately, a sharp reminder of hours spent pacing polished floors that definitely hadn't needed sweeping.
"I hate her," Denisse muttered, though the words lacked any real heat.
She shuffled toward the bathroom, shedding her shoes along the way, and turned on the shower. Steam slowly filled the room, warm and soothing, washing away the day's tension along with the lingering humiliation. For a few precious minutes, there was nothing but water, quiet, and the steady rhythm of her own breathing.
When she finally crawled into bed, hair still damp and limbs heavy with exhaustion, Denisse set her alarm for an unholy hour and dropped her phone onto the nightstand without looking at it.
She closed her eyes, already bracing herself.
Six a.m.
Breakfast meeting.
Lesley Ashford.
Sleep came slowly, dragged under by dread, embarrassment, and the uneasy certainty that tomorrow would bring a whole new round in a game she never agreed to play—but somehow couldn't stop.