A Six-Month Deal We Call Love

POV Emilia/Isabella

“Isabella, darling, you look absolutely radiant today. That blouse is divine—where did you find it?”

Brittany’s voice slices through the pre-meeting chatter like sugar-coated glass.

I don’t look up from arranging my reports, but I can feel her predatory smile from across the conference room. The others are already circling her like moths to a flame, all giggles and breathless compliments.

“Target,” I say, sliding the Q4 flash drive between my fingers. “Clearance rack.”

The lie rolls off my tongue effortlessly. The blouse cost more than most people’s rent, but Brittany doesn’t need to know that Isabella Asher shops anywhere besides discount retailers. The woman who calls herself Isabella Asher, anyway.

“Oh, how practical of you.” Brittany’s laugh tinkles like breaking crystal. “I just adore how you make budget fashion look so… adequate.”

I finally glance up, catch her wide blue eyes sparkling with malice. “Thanks. I aim for adequacy in all things.”

Sarah from Marketing giggles. “Isabella, you’re so funny. I wish I had your confidence.”

If only you knew, I think, but I just smile. The kind of smile that says absolutely nothing while revealing everything about how little I think of this entire exchange.

The conference room door opens with its familiar pneumatic hiss, and Adrian Marlowe strides in like he owns the place. Which, technically, he does. No pleasantries, no wasted motion—just pure, efficient authority in an expensive suit.

“Let’s begin.”

Two words. That’s all he ever needs to command absolute silence.

I slot the flash drive into my laptop, fingers steady as I navigate to the presentation folder. Around the table, everyone settles into their performance of Professional Competence. Brittany’s still smiling that razor-blade smile.

The projector hums to life. I click to the first slide, and my blood turns to ice.