Chapter 88 up
“You know she deliberately inserted herself into this project, right?”
Vincent’s voice was sharp, nearly bouncing off the walls of Nyla’s office, which was still cluttered with documents from the late-afternoon meetings. The door was firmly shut. The curtains were half drawn. A desk lamp burned brightly, casting hard shadows across both their faces.
Nyla didn’t answer right away. She set her bag down slowly, then hung her blazer over the back of her chair. Her hand lingered there for a moment, as if weighing something invisible.
“I know,” she said at last.
Vincent exhaled harshly. He began pacing the room, fingers dragging through his hair in frustration. “Not just know. This was intentional. I checked the contract. Selena pushed her own name forward as an external consultant. She lobbied the client before this project was even announced.”
Nyla turned toward her laptop screen, which still displayed the project summary. Selena’s name was printed neatly in the column marked External Consultant—black on white, formal, official.
“She waited for the right moment,” Vincent continued. “And now she’s in. Directly under a structure you lead.”
Nyla pulled out her chair and sat down. She crossed her legs, resting her chin on one hand. Her face appeared calm, but her eyes weren’t. Something pulsed there—sharp, alert, awake.
“So?” she asked.
Vincent stopped pacing. “So you step away from the project.”
The words came quickly, without hesitation.
Nyla lifted her head. One eyebrow arched slightly. “Step away?”
“This isn’t about your competence,” Vincent said immediately. “It’s about safety. Psychological. Reputational. She’s going to play dirty—and she’s already started.”
Nyla let out a soft, humorless smile.
“She’s always played dirty,” she said quietly.
Vincent moved closer, both hands pressing down on the desk. “Exactly. Which is why you don’t need to prove anything by staying.”
Nyla stood. Her movements were controlled, but there was intention in every step as she walked around the desk and stopped directly in front of him.
“If I walk away now,” she said, “what will they see?”
Vincent didn’t answer.
“They’ll see me retreat,” Nyla continued. “Not because of performance. But because of pressure. Because of one name.”
She met his gaze squarely. “That’s not safety. That’s surrender.”
Vincent shook his head, jaw tight. “Or it’s strategy.”
Nyla let out a quiet scoff. “Strategy for whom?”
Silence stretched between them.
Vincent straightened, his voice lower now. “I saw the way she looked at you in that meeting. Not like a professional rival. Like a target.”
Nyla didn’t deny it. She remembered that look clearly. Cold. Measured. As if every reaction she had was being recorded and filed away.
“I’ve been a target long before this project,” Nyla said. “The only thing that’s changed is the stage.”
Vincent closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. “I don’t want to watch you break just to prove your dignity.”
Nyla stepped closer. The distance between them shrank to barely a hand’s breadth.
“I’m not staying to prove anything,” she said softly. “I’m staying because I refuse to be pushed out of a space I built myself.”
The word space landed with weight, as if she were talking about more than offices and projects.
Nyla’s phone vibrated on the desk.
The vibration was brief. One pulse. But it was enough for Vincent to glance over instinctively.
Nyla turned and picked up the phone. The screen lit up.
Sender: Selena.
Vincent noticed the change in Nyla’s expression—not fear, not surprise. Something colder than both.
“What?” he asked.
Nyla didn’t answer immediately. She opened the message.
The sentence was short. Clean. No emojis.
This time I didn’t abduct you. I’m just taking your space.
Silence.
Nyla stared at the screen longer than necessary. Her fingers didn’t move. Her breathing remained steady.
Vincent read her face. “She contacted you.”
Nyla locked the phone and placed it face down on the desk. The movement was calm. Too calm.
“Private message,” she said.
“What did it say?” Vincent pressed.
Nyla shrugged slightly. “A threat wrapped in politeness.”
Vincent clenched his fists. “That’s harassment. We report it.”
“Not yet,” Nyla replied quickly.
“Not yet?” Vincent stared at her. “She’s already—”
“She hasn’t crossed a written rule,” Nyla cut in. “And she knows it.”
She walked back to her chair, sat down, and opened her laptop again. Her fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard, pulling up project documents.
“Selena doesn’t want me scared,” Nyla said without looking up. “She wants me reactive.”
Vincent watched her from behind. Her shoulders were straight. There was no visible tremor.
“You realize this is a power war,” he said quietly.
Nyla nodded. “That’s why I won’t step aside.”
“And if she dismantles your reputation piece by piece?” Vincent asked.
Nyla stopped typing and looked up.
“If I walk away now,” she said, “she wins without resistance.”
Vincent fell silent.
“I’m not choosing to stay because I’m fearless,” Nyla continued. “I’m staying because I’m tired of being relocated, narrowed, taken over.”
Her gaze fixed somewhere beyond Vincent, as if she were staring at the past trying to slip back in through a familiar crack.
“She can take space,” Nyla said. “But she can’t take my position—unless I hand it to her.”
Vincent let out a long breath. “Then we need a strategy.”
Nyla nodded once. “We already started.”
Vincent glanced at the phone on the desk. “And that message?”
Nyla picked it up again, staring at the black screen that reflected her own face.
“That’s the official signal,” she said. “She’s no longer hiding.”
She lifted her eyes to meet Vincent’s.
“The psychological pressure has begun,” Nyla said calmly.