Chapter 5
870 Words
Rhea’s second full day at ColeTech started with spilled coffee and a snarky comment from a woman in hot pink heels.
“New girl,” the woman said with a loud sigh, dabbing her blouse with tissue. “You really should look where you’re going.”
“I should,” Rhea replied, tight-lipped, even though it was the woman who’d barged out of the elevator like a runway model late to a shoot.
The woman walked away without a backward glance.
Rhea let out a slow breath. Day two. Don’t punch anyone. Please.
She straightened her blouse and headed toward her desk. Mira waved from across the floor.
“Rough start?” Mira asked as Rhea slumped into her chair.
“You have no idea.”
“Was it Penelope in pink?” Mira smirked. “Yeah. She’s allergic to kindness and personal responsibility.”
Rhea chuckled. “Noted.”
As Mira leaned over with a conspiratorial whisper, someone behind them cleared their throat.
It was Thomas—mid-thirties, serious, and probably allergic to fun. He was the supervisor for their unit, which mostly handled internal communications and project coordination. Everyone respected him, but no one exactly liked him.
“Rhea,” he said. “Follow me.”
She glanced at Mira, who offered a quick thumbs-up.
Rhea grabbed her notebook and trailed behind Thomas, trying to ignore the prickling feeling in her stomach. Was she already in trouble?
But Thomas didn’t lead her into a lecture. Instead, he opened a door marked Strategy Wing – Team B, stepped inside, and gestured for her to follow.
“We’re assigning you to handle updates for the Northern project. Mostly reports, minutes, and some internal presentations,” he said, handing her a folder. “You’ll be coordinating with the lead team. They work fast. Keep up.”
Rhea flipped through the pages. Everything inside was sharp, clean, expensive.
And stamped with one name in bold: Damian Cole.
Of course.
Thomas’s phone rang, and he stepped away, leaving her standing in the hallway with the folder.
Rhea stared at the thick packet in her hands.
This is it, she thought. This is how I get closer.
Not that she wanted to spend more time in the presence of that ice-hearted, brooding man. But every connection was a thread. Every thread pulled her closer to the core. To the truth. To justice.
Back at her desk, Mira leaned in the second she sat.
“New assignment?”
“Apparently,” Rhea said, keeping her tone neutral.
Mira’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you look like you just got invited to the Hunger Games?”
“Because I did.”
They both laughed quietly. It was… nice. Real.
Lunchtime came faster than she expected.
ColeTech’s café wasn’t exactly a cafeteria—it looked more like a trendy downtown brunch spot. Marble counters, fresh salads, baristas who actually knew how to spell names right.
Rhea stood in line, debating between tea and coffee, when someone bumped her from behind.
“Sorry—oh. It’s you.”
She turned. Penelope. Of course.
Rhea forced a smile. “Still pink, I see.”
Penelope raised an eyebrow. “Still clumsy?”
They stared at each other for a beat before someone behind them cleared their throat. Rhea stepped forward, smiling to herself. She didn’t have time for petty drama. Not now.
As she picked a quiet corner to eat, she spotted a familiar figure sitting alone by the window.
Damian.
His sleeves were rolled up, shirt open at the collar, eyes fixed on his tablet. He didn’t look up, didn’t speak. Just stared at the screen like it held the answers to the universe.
Rhea watched him for a second longer than necessary.
Why do you always look like you’re carrying something no one else sees?
Before she could stop herself, her mind whispered: What if you’re wrong about him?
She shut it down immediately. No. You’re not wrong. You can’t afford to be.
Back at her desk, Mira dragged her chair over.
“Okay. Be honest. You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The ‘I’m pretending not to be stressed but I’m totally spiraling’ look.”
Rhea laughed. “Fine. I’ve been assigned to the lead strategy unit. Which includes him.”
Mira’s eyes widened. “Wait—you’re working with Damian Cole?”
“Not directly,” Rhea said quickly. “But close enough.”
Mira whistled. “Girl. Welcome to the pressure cooker. You’ll be fine. Just don’t let his face scare you.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Right. You’re... concerned.”
“I’m clear-headed,” Rhea said, then paused. “Okay, I’m... slightly nervous.”
“Good. You’re human.”
Rhea leaned back in her chair and smiled genuinely. For all the fire in her chest, the plans she carried, this moment—this simple conversation—felt good.
Maybe too good.
She glanced down at the folder on her desk. Damian’s name stared back at her, cold and bold.
She wasn’t here to make friends.
She was here to avenge her family.
Still, her conscience whispered: Can you do both?
She didn’t have an answer.
Not yet.
- Writer
