Chapter 5

Hazel Garrett was now a fixture in the architecture world, or rather, Kason was making her one. She started showing up at my firm, shadowing me on my projects. It was Kason' s idea, of course. He framed it as a "mentorship opportunity." For me, it was a daily torture.

My biggest project, the Olympus Tower, was entering its final design phase. Suddenly, my role was downsized. Key aspects of the project, the parts I was most proud of, were reassigned.

To Hazel.

I found her in the conference room one afternoon, talking to the lead engineer about the building's signature cantilevered viewing deck-my most innovative feature.

"I have some ideas about how to improve the structural integrity," she was saying, holding my blueprints.

I walked over to the head of the project, a man I' d worked with for years. "Mark, what is she doing with my designs?"

He wouldn't meet my eye. "Kason's orders, Clara. Hazel is taking over the observation deck."

My blood ran cold. "That's my signature work. She doesn't have the experience to handle it."

He just shrugged, a picture of helplessness. The Hanson Corporation was our biggest client. Kason's word was law.

Later, Hazel approached me, a mock-sympathetic look on her face. "Clara, I know this is hard for you. But Kason thinks it's for the best. He said I have a fresher perspective."

She then pointed to a scene in the project' s marketing material, a dramatic rendering of a confrontation between rival developers that was meant to be symbolic. "The director wants us to act out this scene for the promotional video. It involves a slap. He wants it to look real. I hope you'll be professional about it."

"A slap? That's not in the original storyboard," I said, confused.

I found the video director. "Why was the script changed?"

He stammered, avoiding my gaze. "It was a... top-down decision. To add more drama."

I knew who was at the top. I turned and saw Kason standing across the room, watching us. He was always there, a shadow looming over my career, orchestrating my downfall. He was here to make sure I complied.

I felt a wave of resignation. I was trapped.

We set up for the shot. The script called for Hazel' s character to slap mine.

"Let's make it look good," Hazel said with a sweet smile. "For the art."

The director called "Action!"

Hazel swung. The slap was real, and it was hard. My head snapped back, my cheek stinging.

"Cut!" the director yelled. "Hazel, your timing was off. Let's go again."

We went again. And again. And again.

Each time, Hazel would "mess up." She' d miss her cue, her angle would be wrong, she' d stumble. But each time, her hand would connect with my face. The slaps were vicious, intentional.

My cheek was red and swollen. Tears welled in my eyes from the pain and humiliation. The crew was silent, watching uncomfortably. Even the director looked pained.

"Let' s take five," he finally said, unable to watch anymore.

My assistant, Lily, rushed over with an ice pack, her own eyes filled with tears. "This is insane, Clara. You can't let her do this."

"I'm okay, Lily," I whispered, trying to comfort her, but my voice broke.

Just then, Kason walked over. He was holding an ice pack. For a moment, a foolish part of me thought it was for me.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.

I looked at him, my swollen cheek throbbing. "What do you think?"

He sighed, his gentle expression evaporating. "Hazel is new at this, Clara. You need to be patient with her. We need to get this shot done. She has a dinner reservation."

Her dinner reservation was more important than my physical pain. The sheer callousness of it was breathtaking. I just stared at him, speechless.

"I can't believe I ever loved you," I said to myself, a bitter, silent thought.

Hazel walked over then, rubbing her own hand. "Ow, my hand is starting to hurt from all this, Kason."

Kason immediately turned to her, his face full of concern. He handed her the ice pack. My ice pack.

"Here, use this," he said softly. "Are you okay?"

"I think so," she whimpered. "Clara, are you ready to go again tomorrow? We can try again then."

From an angle where Kason couldn't see, she shot me a look of pure, triumphant malice.

I had taken enough.

"No," I said, my voice cold and clear. "We're not."

"But my hand is really sore," she whined, showing Kason her perfectly fine palm.

Before I could even think, my own hand flew up. I slapped her, hard, across the face. The sound echoed through the silent room.

She stared at me, stunned, before turning to Kason with wide, tear-filled eyes. "Kason... she hit me."