The Wounded CEO

POV: Julian Wolfe The revolving doors pulled open before I even touched them. Everyone stepped aside without needing a signal. "Good morning, Mr. Wolfe," the front desk murmured, almost beneath breath. My shoes echoed against the marble. The violinist near the elevators shifted melodies again. I didn't have to look to know. Something softer. Almost hesitant. That was new. "Did the investor deck arrive?" I asked, passing Irene without stopping. "It’s on your desk, along with the Tokyo briefs," she replied, heels clicking behind me. "And Eva Maren’s been approved." I paused in front of the elevator. Not for the name. Just a flicker. A familiar one. "She was in strategy?" "Marketing, but cross-departmental." The elevator opened. Silence. She didn't follow me in. I liked that. "Schedule her. Tomorrow." "Yes, sir." The doors closed. No music. No reflection. Just the sound of the violin fading behind me. Stillness. Just how I needed it. "You’re two points under. Slide the numbers into Q3 projections instead." I didn't look up. The click of my mouse, the weight of the reports, and the cool press of the ring tapping rhythmically against the glass table. Everything was in its right place. "Understood," Gabe said from across the boardroom. "Do we want to leak that adjustment to the press first?" I stopped the ring. "No leaks. Let Adrienne overreact first." He gave me that half-smile. The kind that said, Still playing chess, huh? The boardroom cleared. Chairs shifted. Footsteps receded. But Gabe lingered. "You keep tapping that ring. You know that, right?" I looked up at him. "You keep watching like it means something." He shrugged. "Maybe it does. Maybe I’m just waiting for it to crack the glass." "It won’t." He turned to leave. "Everyone cracks, Jules. Just depends who’s watching." The ring tapped again. Louder this time. I didn’t hear her come in. She never makes a sound. Irene knows how I like things. Precise. Silent. Anticipated. She placed the coffee near the right edge of my desk, steam curling like a question left unspoken. I didn’t glance up. I didn’t need to. But she paused. Just long enough that it wasn’t an accident. "You didn’t schedule her for today," she said. "I know." Her hands folded in front of her. "She’ll be in the building by noon." Still tapping the ring. "She can find her own floor." "She’s not Adrienne’s pick." That caught me. I looked up. "Then whose?" "Legal. Brought her up through performance review. Said she doesn’t break." "Everyone breaks," I said. The words came out before I meant them to. Irene gave the faintest nod. "Then I suppose we’ll find out what she sounds like when she does." She left. The steam kept rising. I looked down at the ring. For a second, I thought about taking it off. Just a second. The metal had warmed against my skin. My hand flexed. No reason. Reflex. Then a voice crackled in through the intercom. "Mr. Wolfe, Ms. Maren is arriving at the east elevators. Would you like me to redirect?" I didn’t answer immediately. The ring sat still. "No. Let her find her own way up." "Understood." The line cut. The ring stayed still. That wasn’t silence. It was the sound of something beginning. POV: Eva Maren "Is this... the right floor?" I asked the violinist. He didn’t answer. Just looked up and smiled. His bow slowed, shifting from something sharp and technical to a waltz that floated like a memory. I held the strap of my bag tighter and kept walking. The receptionist didn’t make eye contact. The walls were glass and silver, untouched by fingerprints. Everyone was dressed in muted tones and walked like they’d already survived the war. "Ms. Maren?" someone called. "They’re expecting you." I nodded. The elevator opened before I reached it. Inside, my reflection stared back at me. Hair tight. Lip color muted. Pulse… loud. I breathed in. Not out of fear. Just memory. I’d worked years for this. I belonged here. Still, the violin kept playing. Slower now. Like the building knew I was here. Like it was watching me back. "Eva Maren. Strategy and Integration," I said, extending my hand. Julian Wolfe looked at it. Then at me. He didn’t shake it. The pause wasn’t long, but it was enough. Enough for everyone in the room to watch. Enough for Adrienne Vale to raise a brow without turning her head. Enough for me to feel the cool slide of rejection, and leave my hand hanging a breath too long. Julian’s voice was soft. Controlled. "We move fast here, Ms. Maren." I pulled my hand back slowly. "Then I’ll keep up." He nodded once, eyes already on the projection behind me. Gabe Dane, seated near the end, smirked like he'd seen that dance before. Maybe he had. Maybe he recognized the girl who didn’t flinch when a handshake fell through. My pulse slowed. Good. Let them wonder how soft I really was. "Excuse me," Adrienne said, folding her arms. Her nails were red. Not bright. Blood red. Her voice was colder than the boardroom AC. "How many board-facing transitions have you managed, Ms. Maren?" "Three complete." I met her gaze. "Two national. One at crisis-level valuation." "From marketing?" "With direct reporting to strategy leads." A beat. She leaned back. "Not quite the same as legacy structuring, is it?" "No. But neither is Vega’s current position. You're pivoting out of reputation damage, not market loss. It’s a different kind of rebuild. Optics-first. Trust-second." Someone cleared their throat. I think it was Gabe. Julian didn’t move. Just tapped the ring once. Tap. Tap. I kept my voice level. "I don't pretend to know everything, Director Vale. I only know I learn fast." Adrienne's smile didn't reach her eyes. "We’ll see if that's enough." I didn’t blink. "Yes. We will." POV Shift: Julian Wolfe She didn’t back down. That was rare. She also didn’t try to please. She stated facts. Clean. Calm. Disarming in her quiet. Back in my office, I didn’t replay the words. Just the tone. The cadence. The fact that she didn’t look away when Adrienne fired. My finger traced the edge of the ring. Not tapping. Just touch. "She’s not Adrienne’s type," Irene had said. Now I saw why. But maybe that’s why Legal pushed her. I opened her file. Degrees. Performance scores. Internal reviews. Her mother left when she was nine. That wasn’t in the report. But I could see it. She’s used to building from absence. The kind that doesn’t make noise, but stays. I closed the file. Let’s see what she breaks first. The board. Or me. POV: Eva Maren "You're over-delivering on pitch assets," I said, sliding the summary deck across the table. Julian didn’t respond immediately. His eyes scanned the line graph, not my notes. "The numbers don’t justify the overhead," I added. "It makes us look nervous." He flipped the page. Still silent. "I can reframe the strategy around retention optics," I offered. "Do it," he said flatly. "By tomorrow." That was it. No acknowledgment. No challenge. No conversation. "Right," I said, gathering my things. Irene raised a brow as I stepped out of the glass conference room. "That bad?" "He said five words." "That’s five more than most people get on day two." I smiled faintly. "I’m honored." "Don’t be." She sipped her coffee. "That usually means he’s watching." I stopped. "Watching for what?" She shrugged. "What cracks first. The numbers. Or the person." "You're really staying late again?" Dani’s voice buzzed through my phone as I locked the door behind me. "It’s my second day. I’m not here to make friends." "Yeah, but you’re not there to be a martyr either." I kicked off my shoes and flopped onto the couch. "He doesn’t talk much," I said, letting my head rest back. "Silent type, huh?" "Silent, icy, unreadable type." Dani laughed. "Dangerous combination." "You think everyone’s dangerous." "Because most people are. Especially men who look like that and speak like they’re allergic to intimacy." I snorted. "I don’t even know his favorite color." "You’ll find out the hard way when he uses it to build a wall." I paused. "He’s not cruel. Just… distant." Dani grew quiet for a beat. "Then keep your heart locked, Eva. Especially around quiet men. They say the least, but leave the loudest scars." The next morning, the office was already humming by the time I got to my desk. Irene nodded at me from her station. The coffee cart downstairs had played something lively. But up here, everything was still glass and whispers. I checked the client log and scrolled through the revised briefs. My eyes flicked to the boardroom. Empty. Then I felt it. That shift in the air you can’t explain. I glanced up. Julian stood at his office window. Watching. Not the city. Me. It lasted a breath too long. He looked away the moment our eyes met, but the pause had already spoken. I turned back to my screen, cheeks burning. Not from embarrassment. From recognition. He had noticed. Not the deck. Not the pitch. Me. And now he couldn’t unsee me. POV Shift: Julian Wolfe The rooftop was quiet except for the city wind and the faint clink of metal from my lighter. Gabe lit his cigarette. Didn’t say a word. I leaned on the railing, watching the people below. Everyone looked like pawns from up here. Even me. "You’re thinking," he said finally. "I’m working." "You always work. Doesn’t mean you’re not thinking." Silence again. I flicked the lighter closed. Slid the ring up and down my finger. Gabe exhaled slow. "You looked at her today." I didn’t respond. "I mean really looked." More silence. "Just say it," he said. "Once. Admit she got under your skin." I crushed the cigarette beneath my shoe. "She’s temporary." "Then why are you still standing up here, pretending you didn’t feel it?" I didn’t answer. Because I had. And I hated that he was right. “She’s good,” Gabe said, lighting another cigarette like we weren’t in a no-smoking zone. I didn’t look up. “She’s temporary.” He leaned back against the rooftop wall, watching the skyline instead of me. “She’s composed. Knows how to hold a room. Adrienne doesn’t like her.” “She’s not supposed to be liked.” He turned his head slightly. “That never stopped you before.” I scoffed and finally looked at him. “I don’t need another intern with ambition and soft eyes thinking she can impress her way into legacy.” Gabe raised a brow. “That’s what you think she’s doing?” I flicked ash over the rail. “They all try. She’s no different.” “She didn’t flinch in that boardroom.” “She will.” He studied me for a second too long. “You keep watching her like you’re waiting for her to fail.” I looked away. “I always watch the floor before it cracks.” “You know,” he said after a pause, “you used to talk about things like they mattered.” I didn’t move. “I remember the version of you that argued with numbers. Who sat in the back row with Ezra and tore strategy memos apart for fun.” “That was years ago.” Gabe nodded. “So was she.” I froze. “You said that about feeling things too.” The silence between us was not casual. “She’s not like her,” I muttered. “No,” Gabe said, looking directly at me. “She stayed.” My jaw clenched. My hand curled into a fist near my jacket pocket. “She’s temporary,” I repeated. He shrugged. “Then stop looking at her like you’re afraid she’s not.” I said nothing. Because there was nothing I could say that wouldn’t sound like a lie. I shifted my weight and reached for the lighter again, but didn’t strike it. “She’s assigned to the Marlowe project. The board expects drafts by Monday.” Gabe smirked. “Just like that. Back to work.” “There’s nothing else to say.” “There’s always something else,” he said. “You just stopped saying it.” I didn’t answer. He pushed off the wall and moved toward the rooftop door. “I’m not your therapist, Julian. I just remember what it looked like when you gave a damn.” I stayed quiet, watching the smoke from his cigarette curl upward. Thin. Fragile. Disappearing before it could drift too far. Gabe didn’t look back when he left. I stayed on the rooftop five minutes longer than I meant to. Just… breathing. The hallway buzzed with controlled noise, murmured greetings, clipped heels, paper whispers. I didn’t usually take this route, but Irene had blocked the elevator to reroute a press team, so I turned the corner… and saw her. Eva stood by the glass conference room, speaking with two junior analysts. One was laughing. The other leaned in like he wanted to memorize the way she smiled. She wasn’t performing. She wasn’t trying to be seen. She just was. Present. Unbothered. Unafraid. I slowed. She noticed me. Only barely. Her posture didn’t change. Her smile didn’t falter. But her eyes flicked to mine. Then back to the analysts. She didn’t acknowledge me. That was… new. I stood there a moment longer than I should have. Watching. Then turned away. And for the first time since the rooftop… I wasn’t sure who had more power in that moment. “Vega needs soft control optics,” Adrienne said during the morning huddle. “The media’s already bleeding us.” I didn’t respond. I simply waited. Gabe spoke up instead. “Assign Eva Maren to co-lead the Marlowe rollout with Julian.” Adrienne blinked. “That’s... ambitious.” “She’s earned it,” he said. I glanced at Eva. She met my gaze. Steady. No flinch. “You’ll take lead on audience retargeting,” I told her. “Yes, Mr. Wolfe.” “Julian,” I corrected, almost by accident. Adrienne raised a brow. Eva nodded once. “Understood, Julian.” Her voice was even. Neutral. But something flickered. Something not afraid. We ended the meeting without more words. But everyone in that room understood a line had just shifted. And I had drawn it. Right between her name and mine. The elevator closed behind us with that familiar metallic sigh. She stood to my right. Not too close. Not too far. The distance was... deliberate. I kept my eyes forward. She didn’t speak. Neither did I. The floor numbers lit one by one. Slow. The violinist downstairs had stopped playing hours ago. But somehow, I could still hear that faint, slow note in my memory. The one she brought with her. She inhaled through her nose. Soft. Focused. Preparing. “You always stand this still?” she asked suddenly. My gaze shifted. “You always talk in elevators?” She smiled faintly. “Only when the silence starts staring at me.” I didn’t answer. But I didn’t look away either. The room was warm from too many voices and too much money. The Marlowe team arrived overdressed and underprepared. I watched them fumble the conversation for three minutes too long before Eva stepped in. “Let’s skip the fluff,” she said. “You want to shift perception. That’s not branding. That’s confession in a tailored suit.” They froze. She smiled. Not cruel. Just clear. “If Vega partners with you, we don’t just polish the surface. We bury the story you’re afraid will leak and replace it with something you’ll want remembered.” I leaned back. The room went quiet. Eva continued. Measured. Sharp. Warm when she needed to be. Cold when they pushed. She didn’t ask for permission. She just handled it. And I… let her. Because the truth was, I didn’t want to take the lead. I wanted to watch what happened when she did. The door closed behind me. I didn’t turn on the lights. The city glowed through the glass. Distant. Cold. Beautiful. I sat down at my desk and opened the Marlowe file. I didn’t read it. I just sat there. The hum of the building, the murmur of the floors below, it all faded under the memory of her voice. That line she used. “Confession in a tailored suit.” She understood this world better than I thought. She wasn’t here to be decoration. She wasn’t here to impress me. She was here to win. I touched the ring. Not tapping. Just… resting. Then I began typing. Quietly. Deliberately. Because now I knew the sound of her voice when she wasn’t afraid. And it was still ringing. POV: Eva Maren "You’re breathing like someone who forgot she has lungs," Dani said as I stepped out of the building, my phone pressed to my ear. “I’m just decompressing,” I murmured. “It was a long day.” "Eva, you do this thing where you shrink to fit a room that doesn’t deserve you." "It’s not like that. He lets me work." "He lets you? That’s your metric now?" I sat down on the curb outside the cafe, heels dangling over pavement. “He’s intense. But not unkind.” "Some people don’t soften," she warned. "They cut sharper the longer you stay. You keep thinking you're going to find the soft spot, and you end up bleeding instead." "I’m not trying to change him." "Good. Because he won’t. Not for you. Not for anyone." I didn’t answer. But the silence wasn’t disagreement. It was the sound of wondering if she was right. POV Shift: Julian Wolfe The headline caught my eye: “Felix Roane Finalizes PowerPort Merger—Disruption or Destruction?” The photo showed him smiling that too-easy smile. Tie loose. Shirt open at the collar. Charisma bleeding off the page. I scrolled past the numbers. Straight to the quotes. He’d said something clever. Something glib. Of course he had. Felix never met a press room he couldn’t seduce. But what caught me wasn’t what he said. It was who they quoted after him. Eva. Just a single line. “Power means nothing if it can’t hold.” I leaned back in my chair, the ring pressing against my palm. So she had eyes on other storms. Interesting. She wasn’t chasing my approval. She was building her own crown. And for some reason, that unsettled me more than anything Felix could buy. POV Shift: Eva Maren "You’re here early," Irene said as I placed my bag down beside the copier. "Couldn’t sleep," I replied. She handed me a printout. "You make him nervous, you know." I blinked. "Julian?" "Mr. Wolfe," she corrected, then softened. "He watches you when you’re not looking." "I noticed." She adjusted her glasses. "Don’t mistake silence for judgment. With him, it’s usually protection." I raised a brow. "Protection from what?" "From saying something he can’t unsay. Or wanting something he shouldn’t." I hesitated. "Do you think he’s... cruel?" She smiled faintly. "He’s not cruel. Just buried." The way she said it made something in me ache. "You talk like someone who’s seen him different." "I’ve seen him... before." I looked down at the paper. And wondered who she meant. Before what? Before me? Or before he gave up speaking for himself? The message came in just as I returned to my desk. From: Adrienne Vale Subject: Note of Caution You’ve made an impression. That’s good. But don’t confuse visibility with value. You’re a placeholder. Don’t forget that. I stared at the screen. There was no signature. No warmth. No room for interpretation. Just power in a paragraph. I clicked out of it and let the words settle into my ribs like cold metal. Then I looked up. Julian stood across the floor, speaking with two department heads. He didn’t look at me. But he knew. He had always known how things moved behind glass. I squared my shoulders, turned back to my laptop, and opened the Marlowe draft. If I was a placeholder... I would make damn sure they remembered what it felt like when I was gone.