The office learned a new kind of quiet.
Not the peaceful kind—
but the kind that came before a storm.
After Clariss walked away that day, something shifted irreversibly. The whispers didn't stop. They multiplied, sharpened, grew bolder. People no longer lowered their voices as much when her name was mentioned. Some even stopped pretending they admired her.
Clariss noticed everything.
She noticed the way conversations paused too late when she passed.
The way smiles felt forced now—thin, fragile, false.
The way admiration had turned into scrutiny.
And she hated it.
She sat in her office that afternoon, posture straight, hands folded neatly on her desk. On the surface, she looked calm. Composed. Regal.
Inside, she was burning.
Amara Castellanos.
The name alone made her nails dig into her palms.
That girl had embarrassed her.
In front of everyone.
Clariss had always been the one admired, the one desired, the one envied. Men wanted her. Women wanted to be her—or resented her for it.
And now?
Now they were cheering for Amara.
For that quiet girl who used to keep her head down. Who wore simple clothes and spoke softly. Who never fought back—until she did.
Clariss' lips curled slowly.
"Oh, you think you've won?" she murmured to the empty room. "You haven't even seen the game yet."
She reached for her phone.
Across the office floor, Amara tried to focus.
She really did.
But the adrenaline from earlier hadn't worn off. Her hands still trembled slightly as she typed. Every now and then, her chest tightened when she replayed the moment Clariss had mocked her—and the moment she'd finally spoken back.
Why would Kael still refuse to date you?
The words echoed in her head.
She hadn't planned them.
They had simply… come out.
And once they did, there was no taking them back.
A shadow fell across her desk.
She looked up to see Damian standing there, holding two cups of coffee.
"Break," he said gently, placing one beside her keyboard.
She smiled faintly. "You're spoiling me."
"You earned it."
She hesitated, then sighed softly. "I didn't think I could do that."
"Do what?"
"Stand up to her." She glanced down. "I thought my voice would shake. Or I'd freeze."
"But you didn't."
She looked at him. "Because you were there."
Something quiet passed between them.
Damian didn't respond immediately. His gaze softened, something warm and unguarded flickering in his eyes. "You would've done it anyway," he said finally. "You're stronger than you think."
Her cheeks warmed again.
Lately, that had been happening far too often.
She couldn't look at him for too long anymore. Not without feeling that strange flutter in her chest, the heat rushing to her face. She still told herself it was just embarrassment. Residual awkwardness from that day when they'd fallen—when she'd ended up on top of him.
That's all, she told herself firmly.
Just that.
Still…
When Damian smiled at her like that, she had to look away.
Clariss' retaliation didn't take long.
By the next morning, rumours were already circulating—but this time, they were sharper. More deliberate. Whispers slithered through hallways, slipped between cubicles, and clung to people's ears like poison.
"Did you hear Amara got special treatment?"
"Of course she did. Why else would Damian protect her so openly?"
"Maybe she's sleeping her way up."
The words were cruel. Calculated.
Amara heard them in fragments—half-lowered voices that fell silent when she passed, glances that lingered a second too long before darting away. Her fingers paused above her keyboard, shoulders stiffening as the weight of it pressed down on her chest.
She said nothing.
But she wasn't alone this time.
The women in the department—especially those who had long been annoyed, belittled, or quietly insulted by Clariss—began to move.
Not loudly.Not dramatically.But effectively.
"She didn't get special treatment," one woman said casually near the pantry, loud enough to be heard. "HR cleared everything. Clariss was the one who filed a baseless complaint."
Another added, arms crossed, "Funny how rumours only start when someone feels threatened."
By mid-morning, the narrative began to crack.
The same mouths that had whispered now hesitated. The same eyes that judged now avoided Amara's gaze—not out of contempt, but embarrassment.
Amara noticed.
She felt it in the subtle shifts—the way conversations changed when she approached, the way a few co-workers smiled at her encouragingly, the way someone quietly slid a cup of coffee onto her desk without a word.
Still, the damage stung.
Damian noticed immediately.
He caught the whispers the moment he stepped onto the floor. His eyes darkened with every sentence he overheard, every cruel assumption disguised as gossip. His jaw tightened, anger simmering beneath his calm exterior.
He wanted to shut it down.Wanted to confront them.Wanted to burn every rumour to the ground.
But when he leaned toward Amara, she stopped him.
"Please," she said quietly, fingers curling around the edge of her desk. "Not again."
"Amara—" His voice softened, conflicted.
"I don't want more attention," she whispered, eyes downcast. "I just want to work."
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he nodded.
For her.
What Amara didn't see was what happened next.
In the shadows, Damian moved.
Discreet conversations. Quiet warnings. Carefully placed truths. The kind that didn't scream—but spread fast.
And soon, a different kind of rumour began to surface.
Sharper.Uglier.Far more deliberate.
"Did you hear Clariss manipulated HR reports before?"
"I heard she's done this to other women. Always plays the victim."
"No wonder she panicked. Someone finally didn't bow to her."
By lunchtime, Clariss felt it.
The stares had changed.The admiration was gone.The smiles were edged with suspicion.
Across the room, Clariss watched Amara—still quiet, still composed—and satisfaction curled briefly in her chest.
But it didn't last.
Because the whispers around her were growing louder now.
And for the first time, Clariss realized—
If she couldn't break Amara publicly…
She might have just taught everyone exactly who the real villain was.
Kael stood by his office window, watching everything unfold.
He hadn't missed a thing.
Not Clariss' growing hostility.
Not the way Damian stayed close to Amara.
Not the way Amara's eyes softened when she spoke to Damian now—something gentle, something new.
And not the way she no longer came home to the villa.
That thought gnawed at him.
His grandfather's words echoed in his mind.
Six months.
They weren't finished.
Yet Amara had quietly moved out.
He clenched his jaw.
Why?
He wanted to ask her. Needed to.
But every time he tried, something stopped him.
People flocked around her now—colleagues asking questions, managers calling her name, even AJ stopping by her desk.
When he finally picked up his phone and called her extension, her line rang only once before disconnecting.
A moment later, his phone buzzed.
Amara:
I'm in the middle of something. I can't come to your office right now. I'm sorry.
His chest tightened.
She wouldn't even see him.
You don't get to decide that, he thought bitterly. You're still supposed to be there.
But he stayed silent.
Because deep down, he already knew the answer.
That evening, Damian walked Amara to the elevator.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
She nodded, then shook her head. "I don't know. I feel… tired."
He hesitated. "Want company?"
She looked at him, surprised. Then smiled—small, genuine. "Yes."
The elevator doors slid shut, enclosing them in quiet.
Neither spoke at first.
Then Amara said softly, "Thank you. For always there for me."
Damian turned to her. "Anytime you need me, I'll always be there for you."
Her heart skipped.
She looked down quickly, afraid he might see too much.
Clariss watched them from across the lobby, eyes cold and calculating.
Her phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
Unknown:
Everything is in place. One push, and she falls.
Clariss smiled.
That night, Kael stood alone in the villa.
The house felt emptier than it ever had.
Amara's room was untouched—but lifeless. Like a space that had already said goodbye.
He exhaled sharply, fingers curling into fists.
"You don't get to leave like this," he muttered.
His phone buzzed.
A single message.
From Clariss.
Clariss:
If you don't want to lose her forever… you should pay attention tomorrow.
His eyes darkened.
Across the city, Amara lay awake, staring at the ceiling—unaware that something was already moving beneath her feet.
And Clariss?
Clariss smiled into the dark.
The game had begun.