Denisse woke to the sharp, impatient knocking on her door.
It cut cleanly through the fog of her sleep—three quick raps, a pause, then two more, louder this time. Someone was calling her name.
"Denisse!"
The voice slipped into her half-dreaming mind, familiar and insistent. Gigi.
She groaned softly and rolled onto her back, blinking at the pale gray ceiling of her apartment. Morning light filtered weakly through the curtains, thin and watery, like it had not yet decided whether to brighten the day. Her head felt heavy, stuffed with cotton. Her limbs ached in that distant, floating way that made her unsure whether she had truly rested at all.
Why is she here?
The last thing Denisse clearly remembered was the office. The soft hum of the air conditioning. The faint scent of brewed coffee lingering in the hallway. The numbers on her computer screen blurring slightly as she tried to blink them into focus. She remembered standing in front of her boss's desk.
After that, nothing.
The knocking came again, louder this time. More frantic.
"Denisse! Open the door!"
She pushed herself upright slowly, pressing her fingers to her temples as a dull throb bloomed behind her eyes. The room tilted slightly before settling. For a moment she simply sat there, trying to gather the scattered pieces of herself. Her heart beat a little too fast. Her mouth felt dry.
"I'm coming..." she muttered, though she doubted Gigi could hear her.
Her bare feet touched the cool tile floor. The cold shocked her awake more effectively than the knocking had. She wrapped her arms around herself as she shuffled toward the door, each step careful, cautious. A strange confusion lingered in her chest, like she had misplaced something important.
When she finally opened the door, Gigi stood there with wide eyes and a Tupperware container clutched against her chest like a protective offering.
"Oh my God," Gigi breathed, immediately stepping forward. "I thought something happened to you while you were here alone. Why didn't you open the door right away?"
Denisse squinted at her, still adjusting to the hallway light spilling into her apartment. "Because I was asleep?" she answered, voice hoarse.
Gigi blinked, then winced. "Oh. Right. Sorry." She stepped inside without waiting for further invitation, her familiar floral perfume drifting into the air. "You just didn't answer your phone earlier, and after yesterday, I panicked."
Denisse shut the door and leaned against it for a second, watching her friend move around her living room like she owned the place.
"What are you doing here this early?" Denisse asked, folding her arms.
Gigi turned dramatically and held out the container. "Here."
Denisse stared at it. "What is that?"
"Food. Obviously." Gigi pushed it into her hands. The plastic was still faintly warm. "Eat that. And drink your medicine, girl. You scared the hell out of me yesterday."
The words hung in the air.
Denisse frowned. "What happened yesterday?"
Gigi froze mid-step. Slowly, she turned around. "You don't remember?"
Denisse's stomach tightened. She shook her head.
Gigi exhaled, setting her bag down on the table. "You passed out. In the office."
Silence filled the room.
"I what?" Denisse's voice came out thinner than she intended.
"You fainted. Just like that." Gigi snapped her fingers. "She told me—one second you were standing, next second you were in her arms unconscious."
A chill slid down her spine. She searched her mind desperately, but there was only blankness.
"And..." Gigi continued, lowering her voice slightly, "I think you scared the hell out of her too."
"Her?"
"Ms. Ashford."
The name tightened something in Denisse's chest.
Lesley Ashford.
Denisse's jaw stiffened.
"Imagine," Gigi went on, pacing now, animated as always, "she insisted on driving you home herself. Wouldn't let anyone else do it. You were completely out of it. I tried to say I could handle it, but no. She practically carried you to her car."
"What?" Denisse's voice sharpened. "Why would she do that?"
Gigi shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe she does care."
Denisse let out a short, humorless breath. Care?
Her mind summoned Lesley's cool, unreadable eyes—the woman who invented pointless tasks to amuse herself, small revenges dressed up as assignments. Who left her at the hotel with no message, no instruction beyond silence. The same absence that set everything in motion, forcing Denisse to manage the return alone, handle the delays, and finally walk through the rain with no one to call but herself.
Care? That was laughable.
"She said you're off for the remaining days of the week," Gigi continued, oblivious to the storm brewing behind Denisse's eyes. "Strict orders. And since you're on leave, I have to assist two executives while you're gone. So I can't stay long."
"But I can go to work now," Denisse protested, straightening slightly. "I've had enough rest."
Even as she said it, a wave of dizziness passed through her.
Gigi noticed. She narrowed her eyes. "You look like you might faint again just standing there."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine." Gigi crossed her arms. "You exhaust yourself. You barely eat. You sleep at ridiculous hours. Then you collapse in front of the CEO. That is not fine."
Denisse opened her mouth. "But—"
"No." Gigi pointed a warning finger at her. "No more buts. Ms. Ashford specifically told me to make sure you do not go to work and that you rest. So please, for once in your life, listen."
The mention of her name again stirred something hot and uncomfortable in Denisse's chest.
"She told you that?" she asked quietly.
"Yes. Very clearly." Gigi studied her expression. "She looked... worried."
Denisse looked away.
Worried.
The word did not sit right. It felt foreign, like trying to force a key into the wrong lock.
"I have to go," Gigi said finally, glancing at the time. "If I'm late, I'll die. Make sure you eat that, okay? I cooked it myself."
Denisse glanced down at the container in her hands. "You cooked?"
"Rude." Gigi huffed. "Just eat."
A reluctant smile tugged at Denisse's lips. "Okay."
Gigi grabbed her bag and moved toward the door. She paused, looking back once more, her expression softening. "Take care of yourself, Denisse. Work isn't everything."
Denisse nodded.
"Bye."
"Bye."
The door clicked shut, and the apartment fell into quiet again.
Denisse stood there for a long moment, listening to the fading echo of footsteps in the hallway. The silence pressed in, thick and contemplative.
She walked slowly to the sofa and sank down into it, the cushions dipping beneath her weight. The Tupperware container rested on her lap, forgotten.
She cares?
Her fingers tightened slightly around the plastic lid.
No.
Maybe it was guilt. That made more sense.
If Denisse had not been overworked, if she had not been pushed beyond her limits, and most importantly, if she had not been left to walk alone and end up soaked in the rain, she would not have collapsed in the first place.
That part lingered.
Being tired was one thing. Deadlines and long hours were part of the job. She could endure that. She always had. But standing there with rain seeping through her clothes, water dripping from her hair, shoes heavy with every step—that had not just been inconvenient. It had been draining. Cold settling into her skin, into her bones. No shelter. No one turning back.
She had shown up the next day as if nothing had happened. As if shivering through the night and drying her clothes with a hairdryer at midnight were normal.
So yes, maybe it was guilt.
Anyone would feel at least a little responsible after that.
Lesley Ashford did not care.
Denisse's gaze hardened.
"You just wait, Lesley," she murmured into the quiet room, her voice low and steady. "I'll get my sweet revenge soon."
The words tasted sharp and satisfying on her tongue, even as something small and uncertain flickered beneath them.
After a while, she pushed herself up and walked to the kitchen. The faint scent of Gigi's cooking escaped when she opened the lid. Warm rice. Savory broth. Something comforting and simple.
Her stomach growled, reminding her that she truly had not eaten much lately.
As she prepared the food, the apartment slowly filled with gentle warmth. The quiet no longer felt oppressive, but suspended. Waiting.
And somewhere beneath her irritation, beneath her pride, beneath the vow she had just made, a single question lingered stubbornly in her mind.
If Lesley truly did not care...
Then why had she carried her home herself?