Chapter 10 TEN
Lena’s POV
The alarm blares like a fire siren at 6:30 a.m., yanking me from a dream where Sebastian’s hands were still on my ankle, his breath hot against my skin. I slap the phone silent, groaning as I roll over in the tangled sheets. My ankle throbs—a dull, insistent reminder of yesterday’s chaos—and I peek under the bandage. Purple bruising, swollen like a balloon.
Great. Just great.
I hobble to the bathroom, splash cold water on my face, and stare at my reflection. Puffy eyes, hair like a bird's nest, and the faint imprint of the couch cushion on my cheek from where I passed out after getting home from Onyx. Avery’s bracelet delivery mission feels like a fever dream now—limping through the alley, her squeals of gratitude, the bass thumping like a second heartbeat.
I pop two ibuprofen, chase them with coffee that tastes like burnt regret, and force myself into work clothes. Black slacks that hide the bandage, a crisp white blouse, and flats instead of heels—practical, no nonsense. No more spraining anything today. I need to focus. The pile of work waiting at my desk is a mountain, and I can’t let yesterday’s disasters derail me. Sebastian’s face flashes—his cold dismissal in the office, the unexpected gentleness last night. Take care of yourself.Unkind with his words in the morning, almost… human in the evening. I shake my head, tying my hair into a low ponytail. No. There is no need to think about him. He’s my boss, Wes’s dad, a complication wrapped in a forbidden package. Focus, Lena. Career. Revenge on Wes. Survival. That’s the plan.
The PATH train is a sardine can, bodies pressed too close, someone’s elbow in my ribs. I clutch the pole, favoring my good foot, and scroll through emails on my phone. Project briefs, meeting invites, and a welcome note from HR. My inbox is already a war zone. By the time I limp into Lancaster Industries, the lobby’s marble expanse feels like a gauntlet. Security nods; the elevator ride up is mercifully empty. I slide into my cubicle at 8:15, boot up my computer, and dive in. Spreadsheets, competitor analysis, brainstorming docs. The work piles up like snow in a blizzard—endless, overwhelming, but mine. I’m good at this. Brilliant, even. I’ll prove it.
My mind drifts anyway. Last night replays in technicolor: Sebastian spotting me at Onyx, his eyes narrowing across the VIP rope. I’d frozen in the alley, Avery’s hug still warm, when he appeared like a shadow—tall, imposing, that charcoal coat making him look like darkness incarnate. “What are you doing here?” he’d demanded, voice low, gaze dropping to my ankle. “Did you not sprain it?” I’d stammered something about Avery needing help, but he’d just grunted, muttered about recklessness, and disappeared into the crowd. No ride home this time. No bandage. Just that piercing look that made my stomach flip. Unkind, distant. I tell myself it’s better this way. Focus.
The morning blurs. Coffee runs, printer jams, and a team huddle where I pitch a tagline that gets polite nods. I’m in the zone, fingers flying over the keyboard, when my phone vibrates on the desk. Wes. His name glows like a poison dart. I stare at it, thumb hovering, then hit end. Voicemail. Good. Let him stew.
It buzzes again. Wes. End. Again. End. The fourth time, a coworker two cubicles over—curly-haired, friendly smile, nameplate reading “Mia Chen”—leans out.
“Everything okay?” she asks, tilting her head. “That’s been ringing off the hook. Boyfriend drama?”
I force a laugh, pocketing the phone. “Ex. Persistent one. And no, I really don’t want to take the call.”
Mia winces sympathetically, rolling her chair closer. “Been there. Mine stalked my Instagram for months. I’m Mia, by the way. Graphics team. Saw your pitch yesterday—killer stuff. That eco-angle? Genius.”
Warmth spreads in my chest, the first genuine smile all morning. “Lena Sawyer. Marketing. Thanks—I was sweating bullets up there.”
“Tell me about it. Tessa’s terrifying. But you held your own.” She grins, offering a fist bump. I tap it, laughing for real. We chat—office gossip, best coffee spots, her cat’s Instagram account. It feels normal. Human. A lifeline in this corporate sea.
I’m mid-smile, typing a note about Mia’s font recommendations, when a shadow falls over my desk. Tessa Hale, impeccable in a navy sheath dress, her silver-blonde bob sharper than a blade. Her eyes scan me, Mia, and the open chat on my screen. “Settling in well, I see,” she says, voice smooth but laced with ice. “Getting comfortable. Chatting away.”
Mia straightens, murmuring an excuse about deadlines, and wheels back to her cubicle. I bunch my shoulders up, bracing. “Just introducing myself. Team bonding.”
Tessa’s lips curve, not quite a smile. “Well, I have information from the boss.”
My stomach drops. Sebastian. What now? Another lecture? Firing me for the ankle? I swallow, keeping my voice steady. “What would that be?”
“You’ll be teaming up with someone.” She taps a manicured finger on my desk, the sound like a gavel.
I raise a brow, confusion flickering. “Teaming up? But I was told I’ll be the sole marketing strategist. It was in the contract I signed.”
Tessa’s smile thins, triumphant. “Well, I’m certain you didn’t read everything, dear. There’s a clause that says the company may make modifications where necessary.” She gestures vaguely, like swatting a fly. “It’s all standard.”
Before I can argue—clause? What clause? Someone sashays in from the aisle, heels clicking with purpose. Red dress, glossy hair, that predatory grin. Sienna Rowe. My blood turns to ice.
“Meet Sienna Rowe,” Tessa announces, like she’s unveiling a prize. “You’ll be teaming up with her for the marketing project. You two should make a great team and work well to execute this. The company is counting on you, and I’m sure the last thing you’d want is to disappoint the boss.”
“Wait, what? Sienna? I’m going to be working with her?” The words burst out, stunned, my voice pitching higher than I want. Sienna plasters a smile on her face—fake, saccharine—and extends a hand, nails perfect.
“I look forward to working with you, Lena?”
“Sawyer,” I snap, barely acknowledging the hand, my eyes locked on Tessa. “Can I have a word with you, Tessa?”
She leans in, voice dropping to a whisper that drips venom. “If this is you wanting to find a way to avoid working with Sienna, then don’t even think of it. It’s done. It’s Sebastian’s decision, and you’re not escaping it.”
She pulls back, face shifting to a bright, professional smile. “What is it you were going to ask me again?”
I go silent, jaw clenched, the fight draining out as reality sinks in. Sebastian’s decision. Of course. Pairing me with Wes’s sidepiece, the woman who called me a prude to my face. This is punishment. Or a test. Either way, I’m trapped.
“Good,” Tessa says, satisfied. “I thought as much. That will be all for now.” She turns on her heel, leaving a trail of jasmine perfume.
Sienna thanks her—sweet as poison—watching Tessa go before turning to me. “I guess we are stuck together now. Aren’t we?” She folds her arms, resting on one hip, that smug tilt to her brow.
I look around—the open-plan office, heads peeking over cubicles, whispers already starting. Mia’s eyes were wide, and another guy was pretending not to stare. Heat floods my face. No way I’m doing this here. I grab Sienna’s hand—her skin cool and manicured—and drag her toward the hallway, ignoring her surprised yelp.
We end up in a quiet alcove near the emergency stairs, fluorescent light buzzing overhead. I release her, whirling to face her.