Chapter 3

Allie Valenzuela POV:

Kasey pressed herself against Benjamin' s side, her hand sliding up his chest in a possessive gesture that was both cloying and territorial. She looked at me, her blue eyes narrowed into slits of pure malice.

"I don' t trust her, Benny," she whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. Her voice was a saccharine poison. "She' s always looking at you. I think I need to stay close. To keep an eye on her."

She was framing her jealousy as a form of protection, painting me as a predator she needed to defend him from. It was a masterful, sickening performance.

Benjamin looked at me over Kasey' s head. His eyes held a silent, desperate plea. Help me. Fix this. You always fix everything.

For five years, that look had been my command. I was the fixer, the cleaner, the one who made the problems go away. I had navigated hostile negotiations, soothed angry investors, and rewritten entire business plans overnight. But this? This was a mess of his own making, a rot he had willingly invited into our lives.

A cool, professional smile spread across my lips. It was a mask I had perfected over the years, one that betrayed nothing of the arctic frost forming in my chest.

"He' s right, Kasey," I said, my voice smooth as glass. "There might be a misunderstanding. Benjamin and I have a purely professional relationship."

I paused, letting the words hang in the air before delivering the final, clinical blow. "In fact, to clear up any confusion, I can provide you with the complete minutes from every meeting we' ve ever had, along with time-stamped security footage from the office for the past five years. That should reassure you that our interactions have been strictly business-related."

The offer was so absurd, so hyper-professional, that it left her momentarily speechless.

Benjamin seized the opening. "See, baby?" he cooed, stroking her hair. "Allie is a total professional. There' s nothing to worry about."

He gently steered her toward the door. "Why don' t you go wait in the car? I just need to have a quick word with Allie about the OmniCorp deal, and then we can go get breakfast."

Kasey shot me one last venomous glare over her shoulder before she flounced out of the office, slamming the door behind her. The sound echoed in the sudden silence.

Benjamin sighed and ran a hand through his already messy hair. He looked exhausted. He looked weak.

"Allie," he began, his voice low and strained.

I held up a hand, cutting him off.

"Don' t."

He stopped, his mouth half-open.

"I' m sorry," he finally managed to say. "She' s just... a lot."

"She is your girlfriend, Benjamin. A girlfriend you brought into our workplace."

He winced at my cold tone. "I know. I' ll handle it. Look, to make up for this... this whole mess... I' m doubling your bonus for the quarter. Effective immediately."

He thought he could fix this with money. He thought he could buy my forgiveness, plaster over the gaping wound of his betrayal with a stack of cash. How little he knew me. Or perhaps, how much he had forgotten.

I gave a short, sharp nod. "Thank you, Benjamin. I' ll make sure HR processes it."

I turned and walked out of his office, leaving him standing there amidst the ruins of our partnership.

The moment I stepped into the main workspace, a viper struck again. Kasey was waiting for me, leaning against my desk with her arms crossed.

"Leaving so soon?" she sneered, her voice loud enough for the few early-arriving employees to hear. "Got a hot date to get to?"

Her eyes raked over my body, her lip curling in disgust. "You know, for someone who tries so hard to get men' s attention, your taste in clothes is pathetic."

I glanced down at my attire. A simple, elegant, and entirely professional sheath dress. It was a uniform for women in my position, a signal of competence and authority.

"This is standard business attire, Kasey," I said, my patience wearing thin as paper.

"Oh, please," she scoffed. "It' s so tight. You can see everything. It' s practically screaming 'look at me.' Don' t you have any shame? Walking around the office dressed like a stripper. It' s disgusting."

I looked at her, then at my dress, utterly bewildered. The dress was tailored, yes, but it was conservative by any reasonable standard. To call it revealing was not just an exaggeration; it was a delusion. It was a lie designed to humiliate me.

My mind, which could process terabytes of data and build complex financial models in minutes, struggled to comprehend the sheer irrationality of her attack. I had spent years cultivating an image of impeccable professionalism. My wardrobe was a part of that-a carefully curated shield of muted colors and classic cuts. It was armor. And she was trying to twist it into a solicitation.

A cold, bitter wave of understanding washed over me. This wasn't about my dress. It was about her insecurity. She was projecting her own deep-seated fears and inadequacies onto me, trying to tear me down to feel taller.

And Benjamin was letting her.

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