Ashes of Ambition

CHAPTER5

When Mary entered the office the following morning, the atmosphere felt especially thick, as if everyone was privy to a secret she was unaware of. She felt it immediately, the conversations that stopped when she entered the break room, the sideways glances exchanged between colleagues and the polite smiles that felt devoid of authenticity.

His assistant, a man known for his expressionless face, approached her desk and stated, “Mr. Ace wants to see you.”

Mary smoothed out her skirt with trembling fingers. She repeated to herself that it was just another meeting to do. But her heart did not listen.

As she entered, he was standing at the window,

“Mary,” he said, his voice smooth as silk, “you made quite an impression last night.”

Mary felt her mouth go dry. “I… thank you.”

James turned around with a smile that meant nothing and everything. “Loyalty, Miss Blake, is hard to find. One does what they can to keep that loyalty to themselves. They are rewarded, remember that.”

Mary’s heart kicked against her ribs. She thought of the alert.

Her fingers tightened on the pen. She thought of rent, wilson, Lana’s voice whispering leave before he owns you. And then, almost against her will, she signed.

When James took back the contract, his eyes gleamed with satisfaction.“Very good, You’re proving yourself to be indispensable.”

The word made her shiver.

In the late afternoon, Mary retreated to the break room. She poured herself a cup of coffee, hands trembling. There were two women near the back wall, mumbling. Their voices were hushed, insistent, but one sentence escaped:

".don't stay after dark."

Mary's arm hairs stood on end. She spun, faking stirring sugar into her beverage, attempting to hear more. But when the women caught sight of her, they ceased speaking, their gazes shifting aside.

It was Susan who found her later, by the elevators. Her face twisted, her voice barely above a whisper. "You can't win, Mary. You can only survive."

Mary's heart closed. "What do you mean?"

But Susan shook her head, eyes glinting with something like pity, before she scurried away.

The words echoed in Mary's brain all day long.

By nightfall, James called her back to his office. His mood was relaxed, proximity, as though the contract had bound some new intimacy between them.

"I've got a trip coming up," he said, sliding a crystal tumbler of whiskey across the desk to her. "Chicago Important meeting, I want you to accompany me."

Her throat constricted. "Me?"

"You'll take notes, handle correspondence, keep everything running smoothly. Good career experience." His eyes locked with hers, unyielding. "I'm expecting you to say yes."

It was not a question.

When she left his office, her head spun. By the time she reached her apartment, exhaustion pressed down on her like a physical force. She dropped her bag by the door, kicked off her shoes and halted.

There was a box on her kitchen table. Elegant. Black ribbon in a neat bow.

Her hands shook as she opened it. Tissue paper rustled around a dress within. Silk. Dark emerald, the fabric shining like water in light. A note, in James' tidy handwriting:

Wear this. No excuses.

Mary's breath caught.The kind of dress she couldn't afford, never hope to own.

Her reflection in the window looked back at her, uncertain. She remembered Lana's warning. Susan's scowl. Wilson's words, begging her not to disappear.

But James infused everything. Work, home, her bank account. Even in the clothes she would put on her body.

The walls of her apartment tightened around her, too confining to contain her terror. She clutched the dress to her breast, the note burning her hand.

Her voice was a whisper, urgent and trembling.

"How do I get out?"

The jet roared under her feet as it sliced through the inky sky. Mary held rigid in the leather seat, gazing at the champagne glass James had pushed into her hand.

Across from her, James was perfectly at ease, jacket off, tie loosened, the picture of charm. He looked at her as if she belonged there, as if she had been born into this rarefied world of power and privilege.

“You’ll like Chicago,” he said smoothly, as though it were a promise. “It’s a city that rewards loyalty.”

The word hung in the air. Loyalty. She had heard him use it before, always with the same edge, the same quiet warning.

Mary forced a smile. “I’m sure.”

Inside, her stomach twisted. She hadn’t told wilson about the trip. She hadn’t told anyone.James’ instructions had been clear, Pack light,don’t speak about this to anyone.

The hotel was a steel and glass palace, its reception hall glinting with marble and chandeliers that appeared to flow with gold. Mary followed James through reception, her heels banging too loudly on the floor. The receptionists bowed their heads, avoiding looking directly at him as if they knew better than to look at him.

James opened a suite that left her gaping.

"This is mine for the weekend," he said, filling himself up. "You can get to your room through there."

Your room. The words rang in her ear, a thread of dominance woven into every syllable. She was here by his leave, in his world, in his golden cage only the walls were covered in velvet this time.

The next morning, she went with him to a "meeting" at a downtown skyscraper. He walked her down the halls lined with high suited men and women, all of whom looked at him with deference that put shivers down her back.

At the conference table, she saw the women who sat silently with the men. Beautiful, elegant, but dead eyed, their laughter glass sharp when James enchanted the room.

One of them brushed something into Mary’s hand a slip of paper. “Don’t let him own you,”

Mary froze, her heart hammering. But when she looked up, the woman was gone, already seated again with a practiced smile.

James returned a moment later, slipping an arm around Mary’s shoulder. “You’re doing well,” he whispered. “They can see you’re mine.”

That night, in the hotel, Mary stood in front of the window, gazing down into the city. The note clutched in her fist.

Her phone beeped on the bedside table. A transfer notice from her bank. The exact dollar amount of her long-past-due bills.

She felt her knees weaken. He had reached back into her life once more, tightening the strings.

James' voice drifted from the other room. "Mary, come here. We need to talk about tomorrow."

She turned from the window. For now, she moved on his command.

But in the secret recesses of her heart, she asked herself was she preparing to fight, or had she already lost?