Chapter 4 The Deal Breaker

Raymond Carter gazed at the red banner glowing on his monitor: DEAL TERMINATED. He slumped back in his chair, throat dry, eyes riveted on the email chain from the overseas partner who had just pulled out of a multimillion-dollar merger.

His stomach churned. He ran a hand through his dark hair, ignoring the swirl of conversations outside his glass office. He knew what this meant. The agreement had been wobbly for weeks, but he'd assured Sienna he would secure it. He'd told her he could still close them; he needed to prove he was worth something again. And now? All gone.

A soft ping. His phone vibrated.

Sienna Dean: My office. Now.

He could envision her behind her sleek oak desk, the skyline spread behind her like a crown she'd crafted herself. He'd seen that look on her face before – the calm before the storm. He clamped his eyes tight, battling the surge of shame that erupted in his chest. He had once ruled boardrooms like these. Now he was a walking cautionary tale.

Raymond adjusted his cuffs, squared his shoulders, and took the unhurried trek down the hallway. Every step felt heavier than the last.

***

Inside, Sienna sat cross-legged behind her desk, tapping her pen against her lower lip. Her dark hair was tied back, showing the strong line of her jaw. She didn't look up as he entered.

"Close the door."

He obeyed. The gentle click of it shutting felt like a verdict.

She placed the pen down and lifted her gaze. They were clear, bright, and hard enough to freeze him where he stood.

"Do you know how much this loss costs us?" She asked quietly.

Raymond cleared his throat. "I-"

"Don't speak. Not yet." She took up a thin folder and opened it. Inside were projections, numbers, and a sequence of email evidence of his failure.

"This", she added, raising a page, "was your responsibility. You said you could handle it. I trusted you, despite the recommendations of my entire board. And you-" She tossed the page on the desk. "-proved them right."

"Sienna-"

"Don't 'Sienna' me, Mr. Carter. Do you understand what this means for my company?"

Raymond felt heat spreading up his neck. "I do. And I can fix it-"

She laughed. The sound sounded harsh and joyless. "Fix it? With what? You have nothing left to offer but excuses. Or do you have a hidden bank account stashed somewhere that you haven't drained yet?"

He flinched at the jab. Her remarks touched too near to home.

"I still have contacts. I can phone them tonight. I can-"

"Enough." She stood, planting her palms on the desk. Her top gaped slightly, the delicate line of her collarbone coming through. He despised how his gaze still lingered there, even as she was going to harm him.

"You have twenty-four hours," she added. "Fix this. Bring them back to the table; find new partners – whatever it takes. Or pack your belongings and leave."

Raymond's mouth went dry. Twenty-four hours? It was nearly impossible. But her eyes warned him she wouldn't bend. Not for him. Not anymore.

He nodded stiffly. "Understood."

She tilted her head, her stare slashing through him like a knife. "You don't understand. Not yet. But you will."

She fell back into her chair, dismissing him with a flick of her eyes.

Raymond turned on unsteady legs and strode out, every nerve in his body vibrating. He needed to think. He needed a plan. He wanted money – real money – he didn't have anymore.

***

That night, Raymond sat alone at his tiny apartment's dining table, surrounded by printouts and old contacts. His phone battery was dwindling, his coffee was cold, and his head hurt. The people who used to pick up his calls suddenly send him straight to voicemail. One had the gall to laugh before hanging up.

By two in the morning, desperation prompted him to check his remaining reserves – savings he had kept for rent and to keep his mother from losing her home. He peered at the figures. Scratching his temples. If he wired it now, maybe he could stall the supplier, maybe bridge the gap.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

He put in the transfer data, fingers trembling as the zeroes filled the screen. His thumb hesitated above Send.

He thought of the gleam in Sienna's eyes. The scorn. The cold triumph. The reminder of who he had become beneath her boot.

He pressed Send.

***

Hours later, bleary-eyed, he crawled back into the office, hoping to catch the supply rep before sunrise. The empty hallways hummed with stillness, only the night crew moving like ghosts in the darkness. His tie hung loose over his neck as he walked into his glass office, barely noticing the shadowy figure observing him from the shadows.

He sifted through emails, cross-checking documents, seeking any scrap he could twist into leverage. He needed a miracle. He needed-

His eyes went to her door down the corridor. He hadn't seen her depart.

The recollection of that photo blazed behind his eyelids: the boy's eyes so much like his own. The small smile that resembled one he hadn't seen in years, except in his reflection when he'd been naïve enough to believe he deserved a family.

He pushed away from his desk. Quietly and carefully, he slipped down the corridor and keyed in the access code for Sienna's office, one he had estimated from seeing her fingers hover over the keyboard.

The door slid open with a gentle click.

Inside, the area smelt faintly of her perfume, vanilla and jasmine. Her desk lamp flickered, creating shadows over the elegant furniture and wall-to-wall windows that framed the glittering skyline.

Raymond headed directly to the filing cabinets. His hands shook as he rifled through them, searching for anything – birth certificates, hospital bills, photos – proof that what he believed was true.

His fingers froze on a file labelled "Sam Carter-Dean".

His breath caught in his throat. Slowly, he slid it out and turned it open.

There it was. A birth certificate. The name is Samuel Dean-Carter. Father: Left blank.

Mother: Sienna Dean.

A photo paper clipped to the inside. The same boy, bright-eyed, with wavy hair. Five years old. His son.

A thousand memories blasted into him at once: her weeping, the envelope of cash, the heartless way he'd turned away from her when she needed him most. And this was the life he had erased before it even began.

The rustle of silk behind him made him freeze.

"Looking for something, Mr. Carter?"

Her voice, gentle and poisonous, pierced through him.

Raymond turned slowly. Sienna stood at the door, arms crossed across her chest, hair flowing around her shoulders. There was no surprise in her eyes, only cold calculation.

He swallowed hard, the file still open in his palm. "Sienna-"

She stepped closer, each click of her heels like a gunshot in the hush. She grabbed the file from his fingers, turning it closed with a snap.

"You should have just left it alone," she continued.

"Is he mine?" Raymond's voice cracked. "Tell me the truth. Is he-"

She laughed, but the sound carried no humour. "You want the truth?" She went closer, so close he could smell the faint trace of her shampoo and see the little scar on her jaw he used to kiss.

"You gave me money", she whispered softly, "to erase him. So I did. The infant is dead, Raymond. I aborted him."

The words hit like a slap. Raymond staggered back, shaking his head. "No. You're lying."

Her lips twisted into a smile – cold, exquisite. "Believe what you want. Now go out of my office. And if you ever come near my data again, I'll make sure you're left with less than nothing. Do you comprehend me?"

Raymond peered into her eyes, hard and flat, a wall he couldn't reach. He felt the reality underneath, pressing at the cracks in his chest. He wanted to yell. To demand. To beg.

But all he could do was nod, his hands quivering, as she put the file back into the drawer, shut it, and turned her back on him like he was nothing more than a particle of dust in her empire.

He departed without another word, each foot booming down the corridor like the heartbeat of a man who knew he had lost everything again.