Chapter 2

The next day, when I stepped into the office, the air felt so tense that one could cut it with a knife.

Everyone's eyes were like sharp needles, stabbing right into me.

Some people shot me looks of sympathy, some were clearly here for the drama, but most acted like I was contagious, keeping their distance without saying a word.

I'd become the office pariah, the one who'd gotten on Samuel and Ayla's bad side.

At my desk, the plants that used to be so full of life now had drooping leaves, and someone had ripped off a few just to be spiteful.

I didn't say a word. I just silently watered it.

Ronan Arery, Samuel's nephew, strolled into the office right on the dot. He was decked out in the latest streetwear, his hair slicked back so shiny it looked like he'd just stepped out of a magazine.

As he passed my desk, he deliberately stopped and slammed a cup of scalding coffee down on the edge of my desk.

A few drops splashed onto the back of my hand, leaving a small red mark.

"Hey, Ayla, how was that seafood feast last night?" he said, his voice just loud enough for everyone in the office to hear.

A wave of stifled snickers rippled through the office.

"Heard you managed to eat five tables' worth all by yourself. Damn, you must have a bottomless stomach," Ronan said.

His sarcasm was like a poisoned blade, aimed right at me.

I glanced up at him over my glasses, taking in that face that just screamed nepotism.

"It was fine," I said.

I just tossed out those words, then buried myself in my paperwork, treating Ronan like he was just some annoying fly I could swat away.

Clearly, my ignoring him got under his skin.

"You?" he sputtered, clearly fuming.

Just as Ronan was about to lose it, Samuel came out of his office, looking like thunder.

"Ronan, get in here," Samuel barked.

Ronan's swagger vanished in an instant, and he hurried after Samuel like a whipped puppy.

It didn't take long before Samuel couldn't hold back his rage any longer, and his yelling shook the whole office.

"How can you mess up something this simple? Are you brain-dead or what?" Samuel shouted. "The client wants it this afternoon. What the hell are we supposed to do now?"

A moment later, Ronan came out of the office looking like he'd just been chewed out, clutching a stack of papers. He slammed them down on my desk with a loud thud.

"Mr. Arery, my dad wants you to fix this proposal. It has to be done by the end of the day," he said, acting all bossy, like he was the one running the show.

I flipped open the proposal, and after just a glance, my brows furrowed in disbelief.

This was a partnership proposal for a major client, and everything about it, from the data to the logic to the layout, was a total mess.

Especially in the procurement section, the prices for several key materials were way above market value, totally out of whack, and made zero sense.

This wasn't a fix; it was a total rewrite.

"Did you do this?" I asked.

"Obviously, just fix it. Stop nitpicking," Ronan snapped, his impatience written all over his face.

I didn't say another word. I just silently took on the mess.

I knew this was just Ronan and Samuel setting me up, making things as difficult as possible for me.

If I managed to pull it off, Ronan would get to look like the hero.

If it crashed and burned, I'd be the one they blamed for everything.

By the end of the day, everyone clocked out right on time, leaving me as the last one standing in the office.

The sound of my keyboard echoed through the empty room, sharp and clear.

I didn't bother with Ronan's mess of a file.

Instead, I opened up a fresh document and started from scratch.

I made sure every single part was top-notch, from market research, data analysis, rebuilding the logic, to recalculating the budget.

When it came to those ridiculous procurement quotes, I was extra careful.

I left them untouched in Ronan's original file, just as they were.

But in my proposal, I ran the numbers again using actual market prices.

It was late, and the city outside sparkled with lights, but in the office, I was the only one left, with just the single lamp above my head still burning.

I made encrypted backups of both files, the original and my revised version, before sending them directly to Samuel's inbox.

Once I was done, I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my sore neck.

I eyed the procurement numbers in Ronan's original proposal on my screen, suspicion creeping in.

My gut told me there was something a lot shadier going on here than just office drama.