The morning dawned crisp and pale, the kind of winter light that filtered through glass windows without warmth. I had barely slept the night before, tossing and turning, my mind crowded with images I couldn’t shake—Adrian’s quiet smile, Vincent’s cold stare.

But I forced myself out of bed before dawn. If I lingered, if I hesitated, I knew doubt would swallow me whole.

By the time I stood before the mirror, fastening the buttons of my coat, my hands trembled.

I tried to disguise it as fatigue, but I knew the truth: part of me was terrified. JB Company wasn’t just a rival to Vincent’s empire; it was louder, bolder although I knew no company could compare to KNT.

To walk into those tall glass doors was to step into a world that had the power to lift me—or destroy me.

I told myself I was ready. For my children, for my own freedom, I had to be.

The building loomed like a monument of glass and steel, its polished doors glinting beneath the pale sun. As I approached, the reflection staring back at me seemed foreign—my chin tilted a little higher, my posture straighter.

I had to appear strong even if inside, I still carried the bruises of yesterday.

The staff at the entrance greeted me with polite smiles, their words warm, their eyes curious.

“Welcome, Miss Alice.”

The sound of my name from strangers startled me, but I nodded with a faint smile.

I had barely stepped further when a familiar voice called out.

“Alice!”

I turned, and there was Adrian striding toward me, his dark coat unbuttoned, the early morning wind whipping against his hair.

His expression, usually sharp with authority, softened when he saw me.

Before I could speak, he was already at my side, pulling something from his hand. He draped a soft scarf around my neck in one swift movement.

“Adrian, I can—”

“Don’t argue,” he cut me off, his voice gentler than I had expected.

His fingers lingered briefly at my collarbone as he adjusted the fabric. “It’s freezing. I won’t have you catching a cold on your first week here.”

My lips parted, caught between protest and gratitude, but no sound came out.

The warmth of the scarf pressed against my skin, yet the heat rushing to my cheeks came from something else entirely.

He smiled faintly, then motioned ahead. “The design team is waiting. Let’s go.

The design office buzzed with chatter until the moment we walked in. Conversations clipped off, eyes turned, and silence filled the air. I clutched my bag tighter, every gaze weighing on me.

My eyes swept across the room, counting faces—one, two, three—until I paused.

Four. Not three.

My steps faltered as Adrian’s jaw visibly tensed.

“Janella.” His smile was polite but taut, the word clipped like a blade. “You decided to come back.”

The woman who rose to her feet was elegance embodied.

Long hair cascading down her shoulders, eyes gleaming with smug familiarity, her every movement deliberate.

She smiled at Adrian, but it wasn’t warmth—it was possession.

“Of course,” she said smoothly, her voice carrying across the room like silk and steel.

I forced a polite smile, extending my hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Alice.”

Janella didn’t take my hand. Instead, her smile widened, sharp as glass.

“I’m Janella,” she said, turning slightly so her words projected for everyone to hear. “One of the company’s top designers… and Adrian’s fiancée.”

Her voice rang like a thunderclap, striking deep into my chest.

“Fiancée?”

My breath caught, my smile faltered. I turned quickly toward Adrian, but his lips pressed into a tight line, his silence speaking louder than words.

A lump formed in my throat, but I forced my composure. I gave a faint nod and withdrew my hand. “Nice to meet you all. I hope we can work well together.”

The room’s tension clung like smoke. No one dared speak, but whispers danced in their eyes.

The days that followed blurred into a haze of work, meetings, and the endless scratch of pencil against sketch paper.

I poured myself into designs with a ferocity that surprised even me.

Each line I drew carried defiance, each pattern a quiet rebellion.

The board noticed.

“Miss Alice, your attention to detail is remarkable,” one director praised as he leaned over my presentation.

Another nodded in agreement. “This new line reflects vision. Fresh, daring. It’s been years since JB has seen this kind of spark.”

For a fleeting moment, pride warmed me.

I thought perhaps I had found a place where my efforts would finally be valued.

But shadows lingered.

Janella never missed her chance to strike.

“Alice’s designs are bold,” she said one evening in a boardroom, her voice honeyed but sharp. “Almost reckless, wouldn’t you say?”

She smiled at the murmurs that followed, her gaze sliding toward me like a blade drawn across silk.

I swallowed hard, refusing to show weakness. I smiled faintly in return and turned back to my sketches.

But the air shifted in the office. The warmth of my first welcome grew colder. Colleagues who once praised me now whispered when I entered the room. Smiles grew brittle. Conversations stopped when I approached.

And Adrian—Adrian grew distant. His shoulders sagged with weight he didn’t name, his eyes shadowed by sleepless nights.

I wanted to ask him to reach across the silence. But each time, his gaze flickered away.

Then came the whispers I wasn’t meant to hear.

“JB is collapsing.”

“It’s because of her.”

“I think Miss Alice is feeding information to KNT.”

The words stabbed through me, leaving me breathless. “Me? A traitor?”

I stumbled from the hall, heart pounding, bile rising.

Before I knew it, my steps carried me back to the place I had vowed to avoid. Vincent’s company. Vincent’s office.

“Mrs. Alice—please, you can’t—” Vincent's Secretary hurried after me, panic in his voice.

“Step aside,” I said coldly, my voice a stranger to my own ears.

He froze, helpless, as I pushed past and slammed open the office door.

Vincent sat behind his desk, posture relaxed, eyes unreadable. As though he had expected me all along.

“You finally came back,” he murmured, rising slightly in his chair.

“Whatever you’re doing, stop it,” I snapped, slamming my hand onto his desk.

He smirked, folding his arms. “What do you think I’m doing?”

“The JB Company,” I hissed. “You’re pulling strings to crush it.”

He tilted his head, his calmness infuriating. “Come back to KNT.”

The words were simple, delivered as though they were inevitable.

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I dismissed you,” he said evenly. “Now I’ll take you back. Isn’t that fair?”

My chest tightened, my voice trembling despite my fury. “Why, Vincent? Why do you love breaking me?”

His smirk faltered for a split second, replaced by something darker. “You’ll still come back.”

My throat constricted. “I give up.”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

“I’ll leave JB. But pretend we’re nothing. And I hope this contract ends soon.”

For the first time, shock flickered in his eyes. Then it hardened, storm clouds gathering in his expression.

Suddenly his hand slammed down on the desk, papers scattering like frightened birds.

I flinched at the sound.

He rose slowly, his every step toward me deliberate, heavy, suffocating.

“Vincent…” My voice quivered as I backed away until the wall pressed cold against my spine.

He stopped only when he stood inches away, his presence overwhelming. He braced one arm beside my head, caging me in. His breath brushed hot against my skin. His eyes—dark, unhinged—devoured me.

“You think you can walk away?” he whispered.

Then his lips crashed onto mine.

It wasn’t tenderness. It wasn’t love.

It was fire and chains, punishment wrapped in desire. His mouth was rough, demanding, each movement stealing the air from my lungs.

His hand gripped the back of my neck, dragging me closer, his other hand seizing my wrist and pinning it against the wall.

I gasped into his mouth, my body trembling in panic.

I tried to push him away, shoving against his chest, but he pressed harder, his weight trapping me.

“You belong to me,” he growled against my lips, his voice vibrating through me like thunder. “Don’t ever forget that.”

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes. The suffocating heat, the helplessness—it was too much.

With a surge of desperate strength, I shoved him back. My palm swung, cracking against his cheek with a sharp slap that echoed through the office.

He froze.

His face twisted, a mixture of rage and hunger burning in his eyes.

“You disgust me, Vincent!” I spat, my voice breaking with fury and grief.

Before he could move again, I wrenched free and bolted toward the door. My legs carried me blindly, my heart thundering, his gaze like fire scorching my back.

Behind me came the sharp sound of his fist slamming into the desk.

“You’ll come back to me, Alice,” his voice rang, venomous and certain. “You always do.”

The sound followed me down the hall, his words burrowing deep into my chest like poison.

And even as I fled, trembling, I knew one truth: this war between us had only just begun.