Chapter Nine
The rumors didn't start loudly.
They never do.
They crept in through silences that lingered too long, glances that slid away when I looked back, conversations that stopped the moment I entered a room. On Julian Thorne's floor, attention was currency—and suddenly, I was expensive.
I felt it before anyone said a word.
By noon, my name was being said without my presence. By evening, it was being measured.
"Elena wants you in Conference Room B," a junior staffer said, not meeting my eyes.
That alone told me something was wrong.
Conference Room B wasn't for schedules or files. It was where problems were addressed quietly. Efficiently. Permanently.
Elena stood when I entered, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"Sit," she said.
I did.
"You understand perception matters
