"What are you doing here, Sabrina?"
Gianna managed to keep cool as she questioned her cousin, who was lounging on her seat like a smug queen, crossing her legs leisurely while taking stock of the room as if it already belonged to her.
Gianna even managed to keep her composure when the latter ignored her entirely, instead fingering the designs she had worked on the last time she'd been here.
"Sabrina, I won't…"
"Keep shut, Gianna. I don't get how you still have a loudmouth when you've just lost your job…" Sabrina chuckled, a low, taunting sound. "Because I doubt your pride will allow you work for Zane Whitman."
Sabrina, with her fiery red hair falling in arrogant waves around her shoulders and those sharp, icy grey eyes, looked every inch a bitch from hell, Gianna thought.
But she refused to give the latter the satisfaction of seeing anger on her face. Instead, she sighed, taking a page straight out of Athena's book—perfecting her best friend's bored, unimpressed countenance.
"Don't you ever get tired, Sabrina, with this mindless competition of yours, with this zeal of yours to see me miserable?" Gianna paused, letting the silence stretch. "Because I won't be miserable, you see. Instead you will hurt yourself at every turn."
She took a seat on the visitor's chair, crossing her legs elegantly, settling into a stance that would make an outsider think she was the boss—even though she was sitting in the visitor's seat.
Sabrina's response was a mocking peal of laughter.
"Say what you want, cousin, but you are done for this time."
"You are stupid to think so. Dumber than I gave you credit for." Gianna continued in the same calm, collected voice that grated on Sabrina's nerves like nails on metal.
So stoked was this Sabrina—so desperate was she to see a crack in her cousin's armor—that she picked up the sheet of paper housing the new designs Gianna wanted to work on.
With a Cheshire grin stretching across her cruel mouth, she tore the paper in two. Then in three when Gianna still said nothing. And into shreds when Gianna continued sitting, unbothered, watching her with the patience one used on a petulant child.
"Are you done?" Gianna asked, holding back the urge to land a few well-deserved slaps across her cousin's face.
It was what the latter wanted, a reaction. But she knew it would hurt Sabrina more if she did not act, so she chose to remain cool.
She smiled sweetly next. "If you are, get out of my office, or I will call security."
Sabrina's eyes flashed, even as her lips stretched into a sneer.
"What security? Didn't you hear that this company has been purchased? And are you not aware that I work in the Whitman company… I chose this office as mine."
Gianna laughed—even though she wanted to rake and rant, scream her lungs out and maybe break a chair.
"Is that so?" She got to her feet slowly. "I am not surprised really… you are always going after second-hand stuff, after my finished wastes."
Sabrina screamed like a banshee and reached for Gianna across the desk, fingers curled like claws. But Gianna deftly stepped aside, graceful as air, her laughter ringing like wicked music.
"Oh, such a nice look on you, dear cousin. Well, since you are bent on having this used area, allow me to get my stuff, and then I will be out of your hair."
As she spoke, she picked up a carton from the side of the room and began packing her belongings from the table, her movements clean, collected, refusing to spare Sabrina another glance.
When the latter eventually huffed and stamped out of the office—having failed spectacularly at what she came to achieve—Gianna finally exhaled and fell onto her chair, tired.
She dragged her hands across her hair, cursing the life out of Dane. His stupidity had caused this.
At least if he had given her a heads-up, she would have spent the time she used going around conventions, boosting the company's portfolio, securing a job in another company instead!
Now, she was nothing but her cousin's butt of jokes. Her cousin who thought everything in life was a competition.
Gianna would never understand Sabrina's relentless urge to win her in everything. She had even thought—with the way the latter bragged at events—that she'd be the top jewelry designer in the city by now. Or maybe even Zane Whitman's wife.
But Sabrina was neither.
She was only a loud dreamer with bragging rights and nothing to back it up.
Surveying the office again, Gianna took in the familiar space she had worked so hard to personalize. The soft cream walls she'd decorated with framed sketches. The mannequin busts still wearing her half-finished pieces.
The oval desk lamp with the warm glow she liked to keep on during late-night work. Her drafting desk, with rulers and precision tools arranged with pride. The windows that gave her ample view of the city.
Her second home… now destined to be swallowed by someone else's name.
And noting what she would have to pack—because her cousin was right in one thing in her babbling: she would never work for Zane Whitman—she cursed terribly and set to work.
Moments later, helped by her assistant—who luckily had popped in to check on her—she moved boxes into the Uber she had called. Her car was yet to be fixed, so this would have to do.
Seems she would be going home soon, would break the news to her family in the same vein. She wondered what they would think about it.
Just as she moved the last box into the car, a delivery guy approached her, brows furrowed,
"Excuse me, are you Gianna Aldo?"
Gianna blinked, surprised. "Yes…?"
"I have a package for you. Please sign here."
Confused, she shifted the box in her arms and signed the delivery slip, her mind racing through possibilities. Who would be sending her something today of all days?
The man handed over the package—a rectangular box wrapped in thick matte-black paper with a gold ribbon tied neatly across it.
It was heavier than it looked, weighty enough to pull her arm slightly downward. The logo stamped faintly on top looked expensive, unfamiliar.
She thanked the guy, then handed the last item to her assistant.
Her assistant frowned. "Ma'am… what will you do next?"
Gianna shrugged, a weary, tired shrug that masked a thousand frustrations.
"I'll figure something out. Take care, okay?"
The girl nodded and left.
Gianna slid into the backseat of the Uber. The car door shut with a soft thud. She placed the mysterious box on her lap.
With a slow pull, she unravelled the ribbon, lifted the lid and froze.
Inside the box sat a sleek water bottle… and a packet of the morning-after pill.
A folded piece of paper lay between them.
Hands trembling with disbelief and growing fury, Gianna picked up the paper and unfolded it.
The handwriting was bold, confident. Just as she remembered.
"Just in case you forgot to do so.
Send me a picture of the open packets as proof when you are done."
Below it? His number.
Zane Whitman.