The Deal We Never Made

FIRST DAY

Madison POV

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The elevator doors slid open and I stepped into Blackwell Enterprises like I belonged there—even tho every part of me was screaming that I didn’t.

My blazer was tailored, yeah. But it was borrowed let me say stolen. It still had the scent of Jessica and her expensive-ass perfume that made me feel like I was trying too hard just by wearing it. My heels clicked on the marble floor louder than they needed to way more confident than I actually was.

Everyone stared. Everyone whispered.

"That’s her," someone said.

"Oh my god it's boss fiancée."

I didn’t look their way. I didn’t flinch. I just kept walking, pretending I couldn’t feel the weight of their eyes or hear the sneers tucked between their words. Pretending the badge clipped to my lapel wasn’t practically burning into my chest.

My steps echoed too loudly in the hallway, like they didn’t belong. Like I didn’t belong.

Every single step felt like I was walking deeper into somewhere I didn’t belong. Of course I didn't sign up for this.

My face was holding itself stiff, neutral. Couldn’t relax it, not even a little. I knew if I let it drop, even just for a second, it would crumble. Or worse — scream.

I made my way to the PR floor. Got greeted with these fake smiles that were too-wide, too-white, and voices that had that tight tone like they were trying to sound friendly but not really be friendly.

Lila from HR did a quick tour, her voice chipper and eyes darting.

She talked fast, pointed things out like she was reading from a script. The break room, the server closet, the glass meeting rooms. But her eyes never really settled. She kept glancing toward the open floor, like something there might lunge at her.

"You’ll be heading the PR team, Madison. Quite the responsibility, huh?"

I nodded before I even answered, out of habit. “Yeah,” I muttered. “I guess it is.”

The words tasted flat. Like paper. Like something I’d rehearsed but didn’t mean.

The glass walls didn’t offer any comfort. Neither did the icy stares from a row of desks.

Everyone was already watching me—or maybe they’d never stopped. I could feel the weight of it, the way people look without looking. Side-eyes. Half-hidden smirks. A low hum of judgment crawling under my skin.

One woman in particular—red hair, smug grin, killer heels—stood out. Chloe.

She leaned back in her chair like she was the queen of the floor. Arms crossed, one brow raised just enough to say I see you, and I’m not impressed. Her whole vibe screamed gatekeeper.

"Welcome," she called from across the room, voice like syrup gone sour. "Hope you survive your first day."

It wasn’t even subtle. It wasn’t meant to be.

I didn’t smile. I didn’t have the energy.

What was the point? I wasn’t here to make friends. I wasn’t even sure I was here by choice anymore. I kept moving, head high, trying not to let my nerves leak out through my fingers.

The day felt like walking barefoot over nails.

Tiny cuts in places no one could see. A smile here. A passive-aggressive “oh, you didn’t get the memo?” there. Every minute stretched thin like skin over bone.

Emails conveniently skipped me. A meeting started ten minutes before I was told it would. Someone took my chair and shrugged when I asked about it.

I didn’t fight it. Just stood for an hour like it was fine, like I wasn’t slowly unraveling inside. I tried to tell myself it was just first-day hazing. Office politics. Typical. But something about it felt colder than that. Like they weren’t just testing me—they were warning me.

At noon, I was trying to make it through some leftover salad when Ethan walked in.

Not just into the office—but into the staff cafeteria.

Every fork in the room paused mid-air. People whispered again, louder this time. A few women looked ready to cry. Chloe nearly choked on her green juice.

Ethan walked straight to my table and sat across from me like he did this every day. He even unbuttoned his jacket, like he was staying a while.

"You haven’t eaten," he said, looking at my barely-touched lunch.

I blinked. "Why are you here?"

"To eat."

"Since when do you eat in the cafeteria?"

"Since today."

His calm made it worse somehow. I could feel the heat of jealous stares boring into the side of my face. It wasn’t sweet or flattering. It was threatening.

-----

One girl openly glared at me like she wanted me dead. Chloe watched us like she was filing evidence for a murder trial.

"This isn’t helping me blend in," I muttered.

"You’re not supposed to blend in," he said simply, picking up his fork.

By afternoon, I couldn’t take it anymore. I waited outside the boardroom until I saw him leaving, then stepped right into his path.

"This job is a punishment, not a gift," I snapped.

He didn’t flinch. "You think I’m trying to punish you?"

"You could’ve warned me! At least told me how hated I’d be just for existing."

"You wanted independence. This is it."

"You wanted control. And this? This is your leash."

Something flickered in his eyes. Annoyance. Frustration. Maybe guilt. I couldn’t tell.

"You want to fight, Madison? Do it in the open. I gave you a seat at the table. Take it or leave it."

I didn’t answer. I just turned and walked away before I said something I’d regret.

I got back to my desk feeling like someone had wrung me out like a wet rag.

People still watched me, but now it was different—less curious, more… sharp. Like they were waiting for me to fail. Hoping I would.

I pulled open the drawer, reaching for a pen.

Then froze.

A piece of paper sat there. Folded in half. No envelope. No markings.

I opened it.

You must think you're miss special.

No signature. No name. Just those six words, written in black ink, scrawled fast like whoever did it didn’t wanna get caught. Real messy. Like they were rushing, or scared, or maybe both.

I shifted in my seat, trying to breathe normal but it wasn’t working. My chest felt too tight and my hands were starting to sweat. The office kept buzzing all casual around me, like nothing happened. But everything had. They didn’t know it, but I did. And that was enough to ruin the whole damn day.

What the hell was I even supposed to do now?

Tell Chloe? Yeah right. She’d just laugh, toss her perfect hair, make some snarky comment about Ethan’s idea of foreplay or whatever. Go to HR? And say what? “Hi, I got a creepy note with no name, and now I feel like I’m bein hunted?"

Yeah. No thanks.

I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt. I couldn’t afford to look paranoid. Not here. Not when every step felt like I was walking on glass already.

I thought I was bein clever. Thought getting close to him was the move. Playing both sides like it was some kinda game.

But now? My palms were flat on the desk, trying to stop the shakin. Didn’t help. The chill was still there, crawling up my spine and settling in like it wasn’t leaving anytime soon.