The West Wing clock said 11:59 PM.
Monday started in one minute.
Katrina stood in front of her closet, fingers pressed to her lips. The navy skirt hung on the door. The white blouse next to it. Heels lined up on the floor like soldiers.
Eight A.M. sharp. Sofia's words. _Ask for me._
She'd said them out loud six times since Friday.
Eight A.M. sharp.
A door closed somewhere East Wing.
Katrina froze.
Alexandra didn't do late nights. Alexandro did 5AM workouts and 7AM board calls. Alexandro did contracts and printers and "thank you" if she was lucky.
But it was 12:01 AM now. And he was moving.
She shouldn't care. Rule #2: _No unnecessary contact between wings after 10PM._
She did care.
The house was a museum after midnight. Footsteps echoed. She heard his go down the main stairs, not toward the garage. Toward the kitchen.
Neutral territory. Clause 9, subsection C.
Katrina waited ten minutes. Then she broke Rule #2.
He was at the island, sleeves rolled up, pouring water. No suit. Black shirt. Hair messy like he'd been running his hands through it. He didn't look surprised to see her.
"Can't sleep," he said. Not a question.
"No." She stayed by the doorway. East Wing, West Wing. The line was invisible but there. "You?"
"I don't sleep before… deployments."
Deployments. Like she was a soldier. Like Monday was a war.
"It's just accounting," she said. Quiet.
"It's Vega Enterprises." He set the glass down. "My name is on the building. Your name is on the contract. People will talk."
_Katrina Vega. Right this way._
Her stomach flipped. "I know."
"Do you?" He finally looked at her. Really looked. No printer between them. No desk. Just 12:07 AM and a kitchen island. "Sofia doesn't play favorites. She fired my cousin's son. I didn't stop her."
"You said that already." Three weeks ago. Or was it tonight? Time blurred.
"I'm saying it again." He leaned back against the counter. Arms crossed. Watching. "Because tomorrow, you're not my wife in that building. You're my employee. If you fail –"
"I won't." It came out sharper than she meant. Sharper than she'd ever spoken to him.
His eyebrows went up. One millimeter. For Alexandra Vega, that was a flinch.
"Good," he said after a second. "Then we don't have a problem."
_We._
The word hung there. Dangerous.
Katrina looked down. Her bare feet against the marble. Her mother's voice: _"Education is the one thing they can't take from you."_
Richard tore the letters. Matteo laughed. Victor said no.
Alexandra said "I'll think about it." Then he set up the interview. Then he drove her. Then he said "Good."
"I packed my bag," she said. Stupid. Filler. "Laptop. Pens. Notebook. The one with the –"
"Black cover," he finished. "You bought it Tuesday. I saw the receipt on the printer."
Of course he did. He saw everything.
"Right." She twisted her fingers. "And I… I set three alarms. 5:00, 5:10, 5:15."
"You won't need them."
"I know. I just –"
"Katrina."
Her name. Full. No 'Mrs. Vega'. No 'wife'. Just Katrina.
She looked up.
"Stop talking like you're going to be executed," he said. His voice was lower. Not kind. Never kind. But… level. "It's numbers. You said you taught yourself Excel. Numbers don't lie. People do."
She blinked. He remembered. That she told him. Once. At dinner. When she said "fine" and he said "good" and somehow she'd added "I've been learning Excel."
He listened.
"Thank you," she whispered. Before she could stop it.
His jaw ticked. Thank you was currency between them. Rare. Expensive.
He nodded. Once. "6:30. Car. Luis drives. Staff entrance. I'll be in the building, but not with you.
He pushed off the counter. Walked past her. Stopped at the doorway. Didn't turn.
"Eight A.M. sharp," he said. "Don't be late, Katrina."
Then he was gone. Footsteps back to East Wing. Door shut at 12:19 AM.
Katrina exhaled. She hadn't realized she was holding it.
She went back to the West Wing. Didn't sleep.
5:00 AM. Alarm one. She was already staring at the ceiling.
5:30 AM. Blouse. Skirt. Blazer she ironed twice.
5:45 AM. She stood in front of the West Wing mirror.
_Katrina Hale-Vega. Junior Financial Analyst. Vega Enterprises._
She looked… professional. Like he said. Like she could do it.
6:25 AM. She was in the driveway before Luis.
6:30 AM. Black car. Luis nodded. "Miss." Not Mrs. He knew the rules.
The East Wing door opened. Alexandra. Suit. Perfect. Mask on. He didn't look at her. Got into his car. Different car.
Two cars. Two wings.
The drive to Vega Enterprises was 18 minutes. Luis didn't speak.
At 6:51, they pulled up to the staff entrance. Glass doors. Early employees with coffee.
Katrina's hands shook on the door handle.
Luis said, "Sofia is on 27. Left at the elevators."
She looked at him. "How do you –"
"Mr. Vega said you might need to know." Then he faced forward. Conversation over.
7:03 AM. She was in the lobby.
7:10 AM. She was on Floor 27.
7:23 AM. She found Sofia's office.
Sofia looked up from her desk. Smiled. "Katrina. You're early. I like that."
Early. Not late.
"Eight A.M. sharp," Katrina said. Her voice didn't shake.
Sofia laughed. "Sit. Let's go over Mexico City before the others get in."
And just like that, it started.
No Alexandra. No contract. No West Wing.
Just numbers.
At 8:02 AM, her phone buzzed. One text.
*A.V.:* Good.
No 'I told you so.' No 'I knew you could.'
Just good.
Katrina put the phone face down. Looked at Sofia. Looked at the ledger.
_Save it to the blood._
Whatever was happening between her and Alexandra Vega – the 12:07 AM kitchen, the 'Katrina', the 'we' – it stayed buried.
Monday started with numbers.
And for the first time in three weeks, tolerable felt like enough.