The stupid man wasn't answering his calls!
Gianna gritted her teeth as she dropped her phone on the table and glared into her mirror. Was he ignoring her?
She contemplated it, leaning closer to inspect her face-beat. This was the fifth call this morning that had gone unanswered.
"Well, he better have a good explanation for costing me my job, or else…" she hissed, pulling her curly hair into a bun, checking out herself.
Her makeup was flawless—an intentional kind of flawless. Her skin, a smooth, warm shade of brown that always looked kissed by golden sunlight, held a soft matte glow.
Her eyes, a stunning hazel-green that shifted depending on the light, were framed by thick lashes and a perfectly blended earth-toned eyeshadow that deepened the intensity of her stare.
Her lips—full, plump, and the kind men paused mid-sentence to admire—were coated in a glossy nude that made them look effortlessly kissable.
A small beauty mark just beneath her left eye gave her face a mischievous edge, matching her naturally arched brows and the slightly pointed tip of her nose.
Stepping back, she took in her entire reflection.
She wore a fitted black blazer over cream palazzo pants that moved like silk when she walked. Her heels—sleek, pointed-toe Lemaire stilettos—added needed height to her 5'7 frame.
Still watching herself, her hand grabbed her bag from the table, a structured Bellanoche Milano tote in wine-red leather, with her phone.
Pleased with her look for the day, she strolled out of her room.
—
"Gianna, won't you have breakfast?"
Florence's warm voice stopped Gianna's beeline toward the front door.
She paused and turned to the side, taking in the table full of family. Not blood-related, but then again, family never only meant blood.
Her gaze swept over each familiar face.
Florence—her best friend's grandmother—sat at the table, elegant as ever in her floral robe, her silver hair pulled into a soft twist. Beside her was Old Mr. Thorne, the grandfather, stoic and unreadable, his brows permanently set in that stern expression that made grown adults sit straighter.
The twins, Kathleen and Nathaniel, Athena's children, sat in their school uniforms, kicking their legs under the table as they ate. They couldn't follow their parents on their honeymoon, but they were surrounded by loved ones, and that counted for something.
Cairo, Florence's adopted eight-year-old daughter, sat between the twins, chattering happily.
It always humbled Gianna that Florence had opened her home to the child—whose real mother had been one of the evil doctors behind the Grey Virus.
Instead of shunning the little girl, the family had embraced her, refusing to let the mother's sins stain the daughter's destiny.
Chelsea and Areso, her friends, were at the far end, both looking up at her as though sensing her rush.
"No, not this morning, Florence. I have an early meeting at work. But I guarantee I will eat at the first opportunity I get." She added the last sentence when Old Mr. Thorne cocked a brow at her.
He was someone she never wanted to get on his bad side, someone she respected a lot, and so she sighed in relief when he gave a faint nod.
"Goodbye! Love you all!"
She received echoes of the same—words of love, warmth, family—as she hurried out of the living room.
Outside, Rodney, Athena's personal driver, was already waiting. Seeing as his boss wasn't around, he had taken to driving her and the kids whenever there was an emergency.
And this morning was definitely an emergency.
"To Aureate Jewelers," she said after pleasantries had been exchanged.
As he drove out of the large compound, her thoughts drifted to the deal that Zane had tried to make with her. She scoffed at the memory.
To imagine herself in a fake-ass marriage because of work? That was for people with no talent, for those who didn't know what they were doing—certainly not for her.
She hadn't spent years refining her craft to need something as low as marriage to keep herself afloat. She shuddered at the disgust of it. At the disgust of the male who had made the offer.
When they arrived at the company, she thanked Rodney and stepped out of the car.
Her eyes checked out the three-storey building before her. The exterior was a refined blend of modern minimalism and rustic charm—glass panels framed with black steel, wooden accents along the balcony rails, marble steps leading to automated doors.
The gold-lettered Aureate Jewelers emblem gleamed above the entrance, though today, it felt as though it stared back at her with judgment.
She remembered when she had chosen to go with Dane instead of the others who had sought after her talents after she won the jewelry competition three years ago. Mostly because he had been the one who believed in her designs a year prior, had taken her as an intern then.
Her mates had thought her foolish because his company hadn't exactly been the "IT" place in the industry. It had been low-tier, bottom-class.
But she had stuck with it.
Luck had shone on them, and now they were in the top ten in the industry.
And now… he had woken up one morning and sold the company to Whitman?
She released a sharp curse, fury boiling within her again. How dare he?
And he had done it without her input, without giving her a heads-up or something. Never minding that she had been the one to bring the company into the limelight.
Fueled by anger, she barreled into the company—but stopped the moment she stepped onto the floor.
Everything was wrong. Looked wrong. Felt wrong. And hence was wrong.
Everyone was moving. Some, whom she knew, were carrying cartons—filled with what she could see were their possessions. Some walked past her, muttering a greeting… just a few.
Others ignored her, eyes downcast. Some scowled as if she had farted the air or committed some unforgivable crime.
The receptionist desk was empty.
Banners and wall designs were being stripped away. Logos and whatnots were already in trash bags.
Slowly, it dawned on her.
Zane Whitman was already refurbishing the company. Already making changes.
This wasn't a joke.
Anger made her fist her hands. She clutched her bag tighter and stopped someone she knew from the marketing department—a young fellow just out of school, Darren.
"Hey Darren, what's going on? Why are you carrying this?" She pointed at the carton in his hands.
He looked at her as if she was the fool.
"Miss Gianna, what are you talking about? Surely you must know of the change in the company, seeing as you work closely with Mr. Dane?"
Gianna shook her head, keeping an earnest surprised look on her face. After all, she wouldn't have known if Zane hadn't said anything to her this morning.
Darren still didn't look convinced, but he pressed on.
"Our company has been sold to Whitman Jewelries. Already, their representatives are here to make some changes…"
"Is Mr. Dane here?" Gianna cut in, her knuckles shining whiter as her grip on her handbag tightened.
Darren shook his head.
"We haven't seen him in the past week."
Dread settled deep within Gianna's stomach.
Where had the idiot gone?
"I see… thank you, Darren."
And then she was off like a bolt, ignoring every stare and murmur, racing toward her office.
But when she reached the place she had transformed into a second home—home to her designs and everything she treasured—she was met with an unwelcome sight.