Elena’s Point Of View

“Stop your job,” he had said, like it was something as simple as asking me to stop biting my nails.

I turned, slow, deliberate, my heels clicking against the marble floor like warning shots. My eyes locked onto his, burning.

“And why,” I hissed, my voice trembling with anger, “should I stop, Graham? That company is mine. Mine. I built it with my sweat, my blood, my nights without sleep, when all you did was exist in your golden cradle. I wasn’t fortunate ...