Monday morning rolled in quietly, and with it came the unmistakable hum of reality. Grace sat behind her desk in the Elan Mode's sleek office, scrolling through a stack of legal documents on her tablet. Her hair was pulled into a high bun, eyes sharp, lips set in a line of quiet determination.
Eva walked in with a coffee in each hand, her heels clacking against the marble floors. "Your poison," she said, handing Grace her espresso.
Grace offered a faint smile. "I needed this. Have you seen the updated contracts from Rivelle Labs?"
Eva nodded, already pulling up her laptop. "Yeah. Their legal team added three new clauses. All subtle power plays. I flagged them. They're trying to retain more creative control than agreed."
Grace sighed. "We're not compromising the brand's visual language for anyone. If they don't trust us to tell the story, we walk."
Eva grinned. "There she is. The Laurent fire."
Grace tilted her head. "You love lighting it."
"Only when it's for the right war," Eva replied, taking a seat on the arm of Grace's sofa. "Speaking of wars, Sebastian texted."
Grace looked up. "And?"
"He wants to 'define things.' Whatever that means."
Grace blinked. "You've been sleeping with him for four months. You don't think that's... something?"
Eva waved a hand. "It's just sex and sarcasm, not a love story. He knew the terms."
Grace leaned back, curious. "Would you ever consider something more with him?"
"With Sebastian? No. He's got good abs and better jokes, but I'd rather date a mirror. At least that won't ask me if I 'see a future.'"
Grace laughed, a rare, unfiltered sound. "You're colder than me."
Eva took a sip of her coffee. "Darling, you've been a glacier with charm since Silas entered the picture."
The name hung in the air like incense, sweet, thick, and impossible to ignore.
Grace didn't answer. Instead, she turned her attention back to the documents. "Let's rewrite the Rivelle terms. Keep visuals under our jurisdiction and add that clause about final cut approvals."
Eva smirked. "Now you're speaking my love language."
Their discussion turned sharp and surgical, weaving through legal clauses and branding semantics with the ease of practiced minds. They built empires with words, carved power through precision. But beneath the professionalism, something unspoken lingered, a tremor neither of them dared acknowledge aloud.
Grace glanced at Eva as the meeting wound down. "Are you okay?"
Eva hesitated, just for a beat. "Yeah. Just tired. Might crash early tonight."
Grace didn't press. She knew that Eva never admitted when something gnawed at her until it roared.
Later that afternoon, the office dimmed under the golden weight of a setting sun. Grace stood by the window, sipping the last of her espresso, watching the skyline burn orange. Her reflection stared back at her, a woman who built walls so high, only someone who'd start a war would climb them.
And someone already had.