Terms and Conditions

“Let’s be honest,” I said, uncapping my pen as the table fell silent. “You’re not afraid of risk. You’re afraid of regret.” The CEO of Meridine Securities blinked. “That’s not—” “—True?” I signed the final page, slid it forward, and looked him in the eye. “Then walk.” No one moved. The air held its breath. Sweat clung to collars. I stood, smoothing down my blazer. “You don’t win in this room by asking for permission.” Applause followed me into the elevator. It didn’t reach me. “Selene, impressive as always,” one board member said. I smiled. “I wasn’t trying to impress. Just close.” The doors shut before he could respond. In my penthouse, the silence was absolute. I kicked off my heels, poured the scotch. City lights shimmered through the glass. My phone buzzed. Unknown number. Declined. I stared at the untouched drink. Some victories taste like ash. “Play it back again,” Nova whispered, her fingers hovering over the trackpad. The negotiation scene blinked to life on the screen. Selene Warrick, poised and still, sliced through a room of senior executives without raising her voice. Nova leaned in, barely breathing. “She’s everything,” she said. “Yeah?” someone muttered from the back. “She’s nothing if you ask around.” Nova turned her head. Dylan—one of the senior associates—leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “What do you mean?” He shrugged. “She wins, sure. But no one works late to talk to her. No birthday cards. No happy hours. Just cold deals and high heels.” Nova frowned. “That doesn’t make her less.” “Doesn’t make her more either.” Onscreen, Selene rose and walked out of frame, expression unreadable. Nova paused the video. The image froze—Selene mid-stride, back turned, alone in a room full of men still watching her. Nova whispered, “Still… she never flinched.” And for now, that was enough to admire. “Ladies and gentlemen, the woman of the hour—Selene Warrick.” Applause flared like a match, loud and hollow. I stepped onto the platform, heels slicing through the hush that followed. The lights burned white against my skin. A flute of champagne was handed to me. I didn’t touch it. “Thank you,” I began, voice cool and clipped. “I don’t believe in luck. Just preparation… and consequences.” A few chuckles. Mostly polite. Mostly male. “And if you want the former without the latter—don’t come to my table.” I smiled. Sharp. Controlled. They clapped again. From the podium, I scanned the crowd. Glittering gowns. Loosened ties. Laughter that tried too hard. Then—him. Michael. My ex. Leaning against the bar, sipping whiskey like it was a slow-burning dare. His eyes found mine. He smiled. I looked away first. “I’ll leave through the side,” I murmured to my assistant. She nodded, already used to my exits. Outside, the air kissed cold across my collarbone. Rain pricked the pavement like static. I opened my black umbrella and walked, heels clicking, the city swallowing the sound. Behind me, the echo of applause had already faded. The lock clicked behind me. I dropped my heels by the door, the sound landing soft against the marble. My blazer slid off my shoulders and onto the single hook by the fridge. I didn’t bother turning on the overheads. The city lit everything anyway. I pulled open the drawer near my desk. Buried under old envelopes and USBs, there it was. A faded Polaroid. I was seven. My mother’s arm wrapped around me like I was something breakable. Her smile was crooked. Mine was real. “Still hiding in the dark, huh?” I whispered to the photo. The scotch bottle was already open. I poured one finger’s worth—out of ritual, not desire. The glass felt too cold. My phone lit up. Dad. I stared at it for the full five seconds. Then I pressed decline. I set the photo back down, face down. “Not tonight.” The ice in my glass hadn’t even begun to melt. Outside the window, the skyline blinked like a warning I refused to read. Inside, I was the only thing that didn’t glow. The elevator was already closing when I slipped inside. Alone. Until it wasn’t. The doors slid open halfway down. A man stepped in. Sharp suit. Sleeves slightly rolled. Clean cologne that cut through my perfume. He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. I recognized the posture—someone used to being watched. We stood in silence. The floor numbers glowed between us. He glanced sideways. Not in a way that demanded attention—just enough to let me know I had his. “I’ve heard about you,” he said, voice low. Smooth. Measured. My eyes flicked to his reflection on the elevator panel. “Have you?” I said flatly. “All good things, I’m sure.” He smiled. “Not all.” I returned it. Just enough. “Then at least they’re accurate.” The elevator stopped. He stepped out first. Paused. No parting remark. Just a glance over his shoulder and a nod that didn’t ask for permission. When the doors closed again, I exhaled without meaning to. And for the first time in years, I wondered who was watching who. “Ms. Warrick, I— I think I sent the wrong version to legal,” Nova stammered, clutching a crumpled folder. The conference room froze. Half the department turned toward us. “You think?” I said, voice even. “Or you did?” “I… I did.” I took the folder from her and flipped through the pages. Mismatched formatting. Unverified numbers. I closed it slowly. “In this office, Nova, one mistake isn’t just a mistake. It’s leverage someone else will use against you. Do you understand that?” She nodded. Her voice barely a breath. “Yes, ma’am.” The meeting moved on. I didn’t look at her again. Later, from behind my glass office wall, I watched her at her desk—shoulders drawn in, jaw clenched, redoing the report line by line. My assistant approached. “Do you want me to talk to her?” “No,” I said. “She’ll figure it out.” I turned away from the glass, but not before I caught my reflection overlapping hers. Just for a second… it looked like we were the same. And I hated that I noticed. The screen blinked. Matilda Warrick – Incoming Call. I let it ring twice before picking up, already pouring wine into a crystal glass. “Another win?” she said by way of greeting. “The merger’s stable,” I replied. “Numbers came in above forecast.” “I didn’t ask for a forecast. I asked if you won.” I sipped the wine. “Then yes. I won.” “Good,” she said. “Just don’t get soft. You’re not at the top yet.” “I’m not here to be soft,” I said quietly. “You raised me better than that.” There was a beat of silence. “Mm,” she said. “Glad to hear it.” “I’ll send over the final terms tomorrow.” “You do that. Good night, Selene.” “Good night, Aunt Matilda.” I ended the call. The wineglass was half full. The city lights danced inside the red. I lifted it, just high enough to catch my reflection. Same tilt of the chin. Same eyes. Just sharper now. The glass touched my lips, but I didn’t drink. "Your calendar for next week is finalized," my assistant said, hovering at my doorway. “Drop it,” I replied, not glancing up. My fingers moved absently across the trackpad. The latest project documents were open, pristine—until I saw it. Calderon Holdings. The logo sat in the corner like a fingerprint someone forgot to wipe clean. I clicked the header. Laz Calderon – Co-Lead Executive, M&A Sector. "Do you need me to—" “No.” My voice came out sharper than intended. “I’ll handle it.” My assistant nodded and disappeared. I sat still, the silence pressing in. His name blinked on the screen. Simple. Unassuming. But it stayed too long. I shut the laptop and stood. The city glared at me through the glass. “He’s just a name,” I told myself aloud. But the glass didn’t answer. It only showed me—still, unreadable, and alone—with something quietly cracking behind my eyes. The conference room was empty except for Eli Grant, lounging back in a leather chair with one ankle resting over his knee. His phone buzzed once—then again. He tapped the screen. Joint Lead Announced: Warrick x Calderon Merger. He read it twice. Then once more, just to savor it. “Selene Warrick,” he murmured, his voice smooth as the espresso cooling beside him. “Of course.” A junior associate poked his head in. “Sir, you wanted me to—” Eli held up a finger, eyes still on the screen. He set the phone down, face-up. “Call off the press brief,” he said casually. “And tell Marcy to cancel Friday. I want to see how this plays out.” The associate hesitated. “Should I—?” “No,” Eli said, leaning forward with a slight smirk. “Just watch. The queen’s about to touch fire.” He stood slowly, adjusting his cufflinks, the gold glinting beneath the dim lights. The polished soles of his shoes echoed against the marble as he walked to the window. The city looked soft from this high up. But his eyes weren’t watching the skyline. They were already following her. “Selene.” I didn’t look up. My assistant hovered in the doorway again. She cleared her throat. “You’ll want to see this.” “I’m busy.” “It’s public.” I clicked. The press release loaded mid-scroll. WARWICK & CALDERON MERGER GOES OFFICIAL. CO-LEADS ANNOUNCED. My name was there. Of course it was. So was his. Laz Calderon. My grip on the glass tightened before I even noticed. “Should I hold your schedule open next week?” she asked, hesitating. “For what?” “For travel. For him.” I turned my head slowly. “That’s not his office yet.” She nodded. “Understood.” The glass cracked. A sharp, thin line along the rim. Barely visible. I set it down, gently, like it was still whole. “Cancel Thursday’s lunch with the PR team,” I said. She paused. “All of it?” “All of it.” Outside, the city blinked in rhythm. Inside, I didn’t blink at all. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, barefoot. The city stared back, windows pulsing like distant heartbeats. The skyline always looked better at this hour—sharp, golden, untouchable. Tonight, it flickered. I whispered to my own reflection. “Don’t blink.” Behind me, the penthouse was still. Too still. The cracked glass from earlier sat untouched on the counter. Scotch turning bitter. A single drop traced the fracture like it knew exactly where to split. “I don’t care who he is,” I said to the window. “This doesn’t change the game.” But my voice sounded off. Too controlled. Too clean. The city didn’t answer. I stepped closer, until my forehead nearly brushed the glass. From this angle, my reflection blurred—just enough to see someone else in the shape of me. “I’m not afraid of fire,” I murmured. But it was the first time I’d had to say it out loud. And I wasn’t sure if I believed it. The office was nearly empty, except for the low hum of the printer and the buzz of Nova’s desk lamp. She refreshed the company news feed for the third time. And there it was—bold headline, all caps: SELENE WARRICK TO CO-LEAD HISTORIC CALDERON MERGER. Nova leaned in, squinting at the attached photo: Selene on the right. Laz Calderon on the left. Eyes forward. Both unreadable. “She’s working with him?” she whispered. Her cursor hovered over the embedded video: ‘Strategy is silence with timing,’ – Selene Warrick (from a past interview). Nova clicked. The screen lit up with Selene in grayscale lighting, answering a panel of executives. “Emotion is the fastest way to lose a room. I don’t do softness. I do certainty.” Nova exhaled, barely realizing she’d held her breath. “Maybe…” she muttered, voice thinner now, “maybe she’s not untouchable after all.” She minimized the clip. The desktop flickered with its own reflection—her face, tired, uncertain, lit by the woman she used to want to become. And for the first time… she didn’t know if that was still the plan. I looked up the moment I felt the shift in air. He was walking past. Laz Calderon. Same measured steps. Same unbothered posture. Hands in his pockets like this hallway belonged to him. The glass between us caught everything. Fluorescent ceiling lights. His reflection. Mine. He didn’t stop. Just turned his head—once. His eyes met mine like he’d been waiting to. Neither of us flinched. I didn’t nod. He didn’t smile. He walked on. The silence thudded in my ears louder than the pulse in my throat. I blinked once. Then reached for my laptop. Click. The lid shut. Final. Clean. Through the window’s reflection, I saw myself framed in glass. Not moving. Not shaking. Not safe. Just there—still trying to decide whether I was made of steel or already starting to crack. Let’s see how much I can lose before I break. Fade to black.