ANNE's POV
The walk from the conference room to my desk was a mile long, every step taken on legs that felt like water. The sleek, modern hallway seemed to warp and tilt, the abstract art on the walls blurring into meaningless smears of color. The only thing in sharp, brutal focus was the echo of his voice in my head.
My asset.
The words were like a brand, searing and possessive. He hadn’t said ‘a valuable employee’ or ‘a talented analyst.’ He had said my asset, like a piece of machinery. A stock portfolio. A building. Something to be owned, controlled, and utilized for maximum return. And the worst part was the dark, traitorous thrill that had shot through me when he’d said it, a thrill I immediately buried under layers of shame and fury.
I had walked in there ready for a fight, armed
