Chapter 93 up
“We want this to end quietly.”
The sentence slid flatly from the mouth of the man in the gray suit across the table. There was no threat in his tone—and that was precisely what made it dangerous.
Nyla folded her fingers together atop the glass table. Her reflection stared back at her, fractured by the harsh line of light from the small conference room lamp. Her heart was beating too fast for a room this cold, this controlled.
“Quiet for whom?” she asked.
The woman beside him—the regional director—offered a professional smile. The kind that never reached the eyes. “For all parties involved.”
She slid a thin folder into the center of the table. The papers inside were neat. Too neat for something this dirty.
“This position,” the director continued, tapping the folder lightly, “will report directly to the central board. Competitive salary. Your own team. Full authority.”
Nyla glanced at the title page. Her name. Her role. Higher than anything she had dared imagine two years ago.
Her hands didn’t move.
“With one condition,” the man in gray added, as if sprinkling sugar over poison. “The internal report against the external consultant—Selena—is withdrawn. For the sake of stability.”
The word stability lingered in the air.
Nyla leaned back. Her chair creaked softly. “So you’re offering to pay me to stay silent.”
The director shrugged lightly. “We want to protect the company from prolonged conflict.”
“By sacrificing the truth.”
The smile remained fixed. “By choosing the future.”
Nyla let out a short laugh. It sounded strange to her own ears. “Whose future?”
Silence crept in. The air conditioner hummed gently, like a clock waiting for a decision.
“Do you know,” Nyla said slowly, “how many times I’ve been asked to step aside for the sake of ‘peace’?”
No one answered. They never did. They waited. They always waited.
“I stepped aside,” she continued, her voice calm but her jaw tightening, “and every single time, people like Selena climbed one floor higher.”
The man in gray leaned back. “This isn’t about the past.”
Nyla leaned forward. “Everything about this is the past.”
She closed the folder and pushed it back without looking at it again. “I need time.”
The director nodded once. “Twenty-four hours.”
Vincent was waiting in the hallway. Standing, not sitting—as if leaning against anything might pull him into a decision that wasn’t his to make.
Nyla walked out briskly. Her heels struck the marble floor sharply, echoing down the corridor.
“Well?” Vincent asked.
She didn’t answer right away. She passed him and walked toward the large window at the end of the hall. The city stretched below them—tiny lights, countless lives moving forward, unaware that a single decision could split everything in two.
“They offered me a position,” she said at last.
Vincent stayed silent. Not surprised. Not curious.
“Higher,” she continued. “Safer.”
She turned to face him. “On the condition that I withdraw the report against Selena.”
Vincent exhaled slowly. He stepped closer, then stopped a pace away, careful not to crowd her. “How does that make you feel?”
Nyla frowned. The question felt heavier than anything the board had demanded.
“I’m angry,” she answered honestly. “And… tired.”
He nodded slightly. “That makes sense.”
“You’re not going to tell me I should take it?” Nyla asked, watching him closely, as if testing the ground beneath her feet.
Vincent shook his head. “This is your life.”
“You’re not going to say I’m stupid if I refuse?”
“I’ll worry,” he said quietly. “But I won’t stop you.”
She swallowed. That kind of support—without pressure—made her chest ache.
“I could be safe,” she said, almost to herself. “I could stop fighting.”
Vincent held her gaze. “Would you be able to sleep?”
The question hit harder than any threat Selena had ever made.
Nyla turned away. Images from the night before flashed through her mind—Selena’s fractured smile, her words hanging like venom in the air.
Fall with me.
Her hands clenched.
“They know I care about the truth,” Nyla said. “And they’re using it as leverage.”
Vincent took half a step back, giving her space. He always did.
“Whatever you choose,” he said, “I’m here.”
Night settled slowly.
Nyla sat alone in her apartment. The lights were off; only the city’s glow slipped in through the window. The thin folder lay open on the table. She finally read it.
Every sentence felt like a sweet promise written over someone else’s wound.
She imagined her name on a new office door. A loyal team. Days without threats.
Then she imagined Selena smiling on another screen—slicker, stronger—because she knew the system would always protect her.
Nyla closed her eyes.
Her hand trembled as she reached for her phone. Not to call. To type.
A message arrived from an unknown number at the same moment, as if the world were testing her limits.
You’re smart. Don’t be a martyr.
—Selena
Nyla let out a quiet laugh. There was moisture at the corner of her eyes, but she didn’t wipe it away.
She replied with a single sentence.
The war started the moment you thought I could be bought.
She placed the phone face down.
The next morning, the same conference room. The same faces. The same thin folder.
“Well?” the regional director asked. “Your decision?”
Nyla stood. Her back was straight. Her voice steady, even as her heart pounded.
“I refuse.”
The man in the gray suit sighed. “Are you sure?”
Nyla nodded. “I won’t withdraw the report. I won’t trade truth for a title.”