Jealousy, Power Plays & Hidden Threats
The Sterling International boardroom hummed with the low chatter of executives as Isabella placed the final bound report before each member. Her fingers trembled slightly—not from fear, but from the three consecutive all-nighters she'd pulled to perfect these numbers. The scent of freshly printed paper mixed with the sharp tang of Alexander's cologne as he took his seat at the head of the 20-foot mahogany table.
"Page twelve," Alexander's voice cut through the murmurs like a scalpel. His gold pen hovered over a revenue projection graph. "These Q3 estimates are inflated by at least 12%."
Isabella didn't flinch. She'd anticipated this. "Actually, they're conservative." She tapped her tablet, sending a new slide to the wall-mounted screens. "If you check Appendix B, you'll see my model accounts for the Singapore tariffs your team missed—the ones that take effect August 1st."
A stunned silence fell. Then—
"Ms. Monroe is absolutely correct."
Every head swiveled toward CFO Daniel Reeves. The silver-haired executive adjusted his glasses, the overhead lights glinting off his platinum cufflinks. "Her numbers incorporate the new ASEAN trade agreements that our legal department just flagged this morning." He shot Alexander a look that bordered on smug. "Seems your new assistant did her homework better than your analysts."
Alexander's Montblanc pen snapped in half, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet room. Black ink bled across his fingers as he slowly raised his gaze to Isabella.
"Thank you, Daniel," she said, too sweetly, watching Alexander's jaw tighten. The air between them crackled with something far more dangerous than professional rivalry.
"My office. Now." Alexander's voice could have flash-frozen the Hudson River.
She entered to find him pouring two fingers of Macallan M—at 10:17 AM. The amber liquid sloshed dangerously as he knocked it back in one swallow.
"You manipulated Reeves." He still hadn't turned from the floor-to-ceiling windows, his reflection a smudged impression of tailored rage against the Manhattan skyline.
"I did my job." She eyed the empty crystal tumbler. "Are we celebrating or sulking?"
The glass shattered against the titanium accent wall.
"You deliberately undermined me in front of the entire board." He finally turned, and the raw fury in his eyes made her breath catch.
"Or," she stepped over the glittering shards, her Louboutins crunching on broken crystal, "you can't stand that someone finally outplayed the great Alexander Sterling at his own game."
His hand shot out, gripping her wrist hard enough to bruise. **"Let me make something clear, Isabella. Men like Reeves don't praise junior staff unless they want something." His thumb stroked her racing pulse point. "And it's never just professional."
She yanked free, her blouse sleeve tearing at the seam. "My God, you're actually jealous."
The silence that followed was more terrifying than his rage
1. The CFO had openly sided with the new assistant against Sterling himself.
2. Sterling's office required a hazmat team to clean up the whiskey glass embedded in the drywall.
3. His usual lunch order—roast beef on rye, no mayo—had been replaced with a single caramel latte delivered to Isabella's desk with a Post-it: "Drink it." -AS.
She'd just taken her first sip when her coworker Jessica hissed: **"Reeves' last assistant lasted three weeks before Alexander had her transferred to the Anchorage branch. In December."**
Her phone buzzed with an unknown number:
"You have 60 seconds to exit the building." -AS
Then the fire alarms screamed to life.
Isabella barely made it to the emergency stairwell when an iron grip hauled her into a shadowed alcove. Alexander's body caged her against cold concrete, his breath hot on her lips.
"Reeves is under federal investigation for embezzlement," he growled, shoving his phone in her face. The screen showed a text thread:
Unknown Number (Today, 11:43 AM):
"Tell Sterling you quit. I'll triple your salary."*
She laughed, the sound bouncing off metal stairs. "You're intercepting my texts now?"
His palm slammed against the wall by her head. "I own every byte of data in this building. His knuckles grazed her cheek. Including you.
Somewhere below them, the fire doors burst open.