2025-07-27 23:40:26
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Deals aren't made like that
The conference room was colder than it needed to be…its sterile glass walls and brushed steel fixtures doing little to ease the tension humming beneath Miley’s skin.Across from her, Leonard Ramsey reclined, legs crossed, one hand stroking the trim of his salt-and-pepper beard while the other tapped an expensive Montblanc pen against the surface of the table. His smile was the kind that made Miley want to clench her fists. Polished! Practiced! Predatory!“You understand, of course,” he said, his tone oozing mock sympathy, “these things need some more... personal touch. I do not just invest capital, Miss Rowe. I invest faith. And I need to know…” he leaned forward, voice dropping low, “....if your leadership holds up under pressure.”Miley met his eyes squarely. “Then I hope you have brought a checklist.”Leonard chuckled as if she were a child playing at business. “Confidence. I like that.” He flipped the pitch folder open and skimmed the executive summary Miley had printed for him.
Mockery
The Solstice Atrium shimmered like a gilded dream. Ice-sculpted chandeliers hung like frozen constellations, and sleek silver walls gleamed with reflected grace. The who’s-who of the industry swirled in floor-length gowns and pressed tuxedos, murmuring over flutes of champagne and signature cocktails named after AI algorithms.At the center of the opulence, Julius Colton and Miley Hart entered with quiet dominance. No cameras, no fanfare, yet heads turned. His presence was carved in obsidian. Hers? Velvet steel.“Power couple of the year,” someone whispered. “No one touches them.”Julius gave Miley his arm, and she took it with a nod of poise, scanning the room. It was a den of competitors disguised as well-wishers. She was scheduled as the keynote speaker, the crown jewel of the evening. A gesture of truce. Or so she’d been led to believe.What she did not see, three tables to the left, dressed in a gown too loud for the room, was Danika Voss. A rival from years past, with a grudge
Not Afraid
“You’re calmer than I expected,” she murmured as they moved.Julius smirked. “That’s because I’m waiting.”“For what?”“Whoever decides to ruin the night.”She rolled her eyes. “So romantic.”“I try.”The dance floor filled with swaying bodies. Champagne clinked. Laughter returned. For a moment, the world tilted toward peace.Until stilettos clicked.A voice, too sharp, too loud, sliced through the music.“Well, well,” it sneered. “It’s amazing how easily lies are hidden behind fairy lights and fake applause.”Every head turned.And there she stood.Clea Jenkins. Or rather… Quella.Gone was the fake blonde bob and sunglasses. She wore her old face now, styled and sharp in ivory satin, with a smugness that reeked of defiance. Her presence hit the crowd like a cold slap.Security flinched into motion, but Miley raised her hand coolly. “Wait.”Julius’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t argue. Not yet.Quella walked in like she owned the place. “You know, it’s convenient,” she said, lifting a flu
Trust me
The ballroom was brightly lit, with music booming out of the speakers in a melodious tone. It wasn’t just an end-of-year gala– because this event tonight wasn’t for the public. It was for the people who had endured the storms, the employees who had worked hard, assistants who pulled double shifts when the press was following them home, and the warehouse team who showed up the morning after the bomb scare. This was Miley’s night.The room had no VIP sections, only tables marked by names and departments of each employee. The centerpiece of each table held a different item crafted by the R&D division, a quiet homage to the innovation that had survived the sabotage. High above, the projector looped a video montage of lab clips, team retreats, and other moments of celebration. Miley stood near the stage in a midnight-blue gown, minimal jewelry, and her hair swept back in a low knot. She held a champagne flute in one hand, but it remained untouched. Her eyes scanned the room for fami
Power moves
The headlines broke like a dam across every international wire by dawn.“Clea Jenkins, alias of tech consultant Quella Marcourt, blacklisted globally for coordinated sabotage, espionage, and attempted intellectual property theft.”“The Guild freezes all known assets tied to Clea Jenkins’s shell companies.”“Interpol confirms detention of Clea Jenkins in Montenegro pending extradition on corporate crime charges.”Miley sat at the edge of the conference table, a fresh cup of untouched coffee in front of her, steam curling up like smoke from the war they had just finished winning.On the wall behind her, a mounted screen streamed a muted news segment. Footage played in a loop: blurred security cam of Quella being escorted out of a boutique hotel, two plainclothes officers on either side, one hand hovering just above her arm. Her face was grainy but unmistakable.She was not struggling. Just staring forward with that same smug defiance she wore like perfume.Julius entered the room silent
Little power
The storm did not start with thunder. It started with whispers.In a quiet corner of the city, word began to circulate, Miley Hart’s company had just finalized a breakthrough prototype, the kind that could revolutionize supply chain automation. Even more explosive was the rumored partnership with a European tech conglomerate: high stakes, high profile, and entirely fabricated.Miley sat at the edge of her desk, legs crossed neatly, flipping through mockup reports of the fake prototype. “We have planted enough bait. How long do you think she will take to bite?”Across from her, Julius stood by the window, phone in hand. His team had already pushed the rumor across every dark channel they knew Quella or rather Clea Jenkins, monitored.“Give her forty-eight hours,” Julius said, watching the skyline. “She is greedy, but not stupid. She will want to verify.”Miley smirked. “Good. We made the lie believable enough to tempt her and messy enough to make her think she is clever for spotting a
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