Marcel...

The first thing I think about when I wake up is Lori, fussing over me, gently touching my face as she tried to keep me upright.

I can’t remember the last time someone did that—cared enough to help me when I was messy, vulnerable, and more than a little bit drunk.

Even through the haze, I remember her expression, equal parts annoyance and concern, like she couldn’t quite figure out why she’d agreed to look after me, but here she was anyway.

Her arm wrapped around my waist, keeping me steady and tingly. Her insistence on getting me home, even though we ended up at the wrong place before finally the right address.

The worst part is, I’d almost let myself lean into her—sink into her warmth and touch and just kiss her.

The fact that I wanted to, that I even let myself consider it, feels a little too close to dangerous lines.

Today, though, I have to shove it all down, lock it up somewhere I can ignore it. I have meetings to get through, clients to impress, and if I let Lori distract me, I’ll lose focus.

So I do what I always do. I armor up in my best professional smile, the one that makes me look perfectly put-together, and I walk into the office like I own the place.

Which, one day, I will.

But it’s like the universe is conspiring against me because the first person I see when I step into the lobby is Lori.

She’s leaning against the wall, scrolling on her phone, oblivious to everything around her.

The sight of her, relaxed and unbothered, makes something twist inside me. Annoyance. Definitely annoyance.

I clear my throat, and she looks up, one eyebrow raised over her glasses.

“Morning, princess,” she says, all casual like last night never happened.

Like she didn’t see me at my absolute worst.

“Don’t call me that,” I snap.

My voice comes out harsher than I intended, but she just shrugs, slipping her phone into her pocket.

“Noted,” she says, clearly unimpressed by my irritation. “You ready for the meeting with Daddy?”

“Of course.” I brush past her, holding my head high even though every nerve in me is hyperaware of her. Of her voice, her gaze, the way she’s watching me. I can feel it all, like a pull I don’t want to think about.

Dad’s waiting when I step into the conference room, sitting at the head of the table, looking every inch the king of his empire.

Sharp suit, barely-there smile, eyes scanning a document in front of him. But it’s the tension in his posture that makes my chest tighten.

I know that look.

He’s ready to dissect whatever we’re about to present.

Lori is right behind me, and I can feel her eyes on me again, and it makes the back of my neck prickle.

It’s this awareness of her, of every movement she makes and every time her gaze flicks in my direction. I need to shake it off, and fast, because now’s not the time to lose focus.

Dad glances up, his eyes settling on me.

“Marcelina. Lori.” His tone is level, but I can sense the unspoken question behind it.

I clear my throat, slipping into my usual composed, professional mode as I step forward and gesture to the layout on the screen behind me.

“We’ve made some significant progress on the MedVax campaign. We’ve revised our approach based on the feedback from last week and incorporated new elements to enhance community engagement. Our focus is on simplifying the brand message to reach a broader audience, with an emphasis on authenticity. We believe this approach aligns well with Voxel’s reputation and MedVax’s goals.”

My voice sounds steady, at least on the surface. But every now and then, I catch a Lori out of the corner of my eye. She’s watching me so intently that it’s nearly impossible to ignore.

That gaze, almost like she’s studying me, or maybe daring me to look back. But I keep my eyes fixed on my father, focusing on the pitch, willing myself to stay professional.

Lori chimes in next, backing up my points with her own insight. Her voice is confident, and for a second, I’m relieved to have her support, to have her there holding up her part of this.

It feels seamless, our ideas bouncing off each other, filling in gaps. We’re actually good together, at least in this.

I see why Dad likes her.

Dad sits back, considering, as the silence stretches. Finally, he gives a nod of approval, a rare one, and I can feel the knot in my stomach loosening.

“This is good. I like where this is going. But…” he starts, and my pulse pauses as he leans forward, fingers steepled under his chin. “We’re going to need more to make sure this direction is solid. Present it to me by next week. Convince me that this is the right approach.”

“Yes, absolutely,” I say too quickly.

The word slips out almost on instinct, but the satisfaction in Dad’s eyes says I’ve given him exactly what he wanted.

And I can feel it—a faint sense of pride, of proving myself just enough for today.

The moment he leaves the room, though, Lori steps closer, arms crossed.

I turn to meet her gaze, but for a second, the words catch in my throat. She is studying me, as if she can see right through the mask I put on in front of my father.

“What?” I ask, forcing a note of impatience into my tone. Anything to break whatever tension is winding itself between us.

“Nothing,” she says, her mouth curving into a faint smirk. “Impressive performance, princess. Daddy looked happy.”

I let out a sharp breath, refusing to rise to the bait.

“I’m here to do a job, just like you,” I reply, with an edge to my voice.

She tilts her head, her eyes unreadable.

“Sure. But I know that look.” Her voice is soft. “Still dying to impress him, are we?”

It’s too close, too accurate, and I can feel my defences shaking.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say coolly, brushing past her and gathering my notes. “Also, I don't care. We have a lot of work to do.”

I try to act unbothered but her words stay on my mind the entire day.

Lori is so fucking right but what else is there to do? I need to make him happy. I need to make sure he trusts me enough to leave the company in my hands.