Vivian returned to the Design Department to find a war zone.
Xavier had moved his things onto the desk by the window-the desk designated for the Lead Designer. He was leaning back, feet up, holding court with a group of sycophants.
"So I told Julian," Xavier was saying loudly, "that this 'Rose' character is just a gimmick. Probably some fat housewife in Ohio using a computer program."
Vivian walked straight up to the desk.
"Move," she said.
Xavier laughed. He was a man who wore scarves indoors and thought arrogance was a substitute for talent. "Excuse me? This is the Lead's desk. You're just the acquisition."
"Read the org chart, Xavier," Vivian said, dropping her bag on his legs. "I am the Lead Designer for S.W. Studios. I speak for Rose. I execute Rose's vision. And this is my desk."
Xavier shoved her bag off. "Listen, sweetheart. You might have impressed the boss with your little car accident stunt-yes, we heard-but here, seniority rules."
Vivian didn't argue. She moved faster than anyone in the room could process. She grabbed the back of the chair, spun it around, and dumped Xavier onto the floor.
It wasn't a violent dump. It was a precise, physics-based removal.
The room gasped.
Xavier scrambled up, his face red. "You bitch! I'll have you fired!"
"Try it," Vivian said, sitting down and pulling her laptop open. "But before you do, you might want to explain why your last three designs were direct rip-offs of a 2018 IKEA catalog."
Xavier went pale. "How did you..."
"I have eyes," Vivian said. "Now, get to work. We have a deadline."
Winnie hurried over with a coffee, her eyes shining with hero worship. "That was... amazing."
"It was necessary," Vivian muttered, typing her password.
Two hours later, the double doors swung open. Julian walked in, flanked by Gavin and Mrs. Gable. The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly from low-level panic to terror.
Julian walked through the rows of desks, critiquing everything. "Too dark. Too derivative. Garbage."
He stopped at Vivian's desk.
She was sketching by hand, charcoal on paper. He watched her hand move-confident, sweeping strokes.
"Let me see," he commanded.
Vivian slid the sketch over. It was a concept for the new Tech Center. It was organic, flowing, integrating nature with steel.
Julian stared at it. It was exactly what he had envisioned but couldn't articulate. It was... perfect.
"It's structurally unsound," he said.
Vivian looked up. "Excuse me?"
"Here," he pointed to a cantilevered section. "The load-bearing ratio is off. It will collapse."
Vivian grabbed a red marker. She didn't hesitate. She drew three lines, adding a tension cable system that not only supported the weight but added to the aesthetic.
"Fixed," she said. "And now it generates its own wind energy."
Julian looked at the red lines. He looked at her. A slow, reluctant smile tugged at his lips.
"Not bad," he admitted.
"Julian!"
A high-pitched voice shattered the moment. Lana Vane pranced into the office, holding a tray of cupcakes. She was wearing pink. So much pink.
She bypassed security, bypassed the staff, and latched onto Julian's arm like a barnacle.
"I brought treats for the team!" she announced, though she only looked at Julian.
Julian stiffened. He looked at Vivian, who was watching this display with an expression of mild nausea.
"Lana, I'm working," Julian said, trying to untangle his arm.
"I know, silly. But you need a break." Lana looked at Vivian's sketch. She wrinkled her nose. "Ew. Why is it so... jagged? Can't we make it softer? Maybe gold?"
Vivian capped her marker. The sound was like a gunshot.
"This is a technology center, Miss Vane," Vivian said coldly. "Not a dollhouse."
Lana's eyes snapped to Vivian. She recognized her-the woman from the elevator, the one Julian had been holding.
"Julian," Lana whined, pressing her chest against his arm. "She's being mean to me."
Julian looked between the two women. On one side, the brilliant, infuriating designer. On the other, the "safe" PR strategy.
He sighed. "Vivian, be polite. Lana has... unique tastes."
"That's one word for it," Vivian muttered.
Lana's eyes narrowed. She saw the necklace around her own neck in the reflection of the window. She fingered it, a subconscious gesture of dominance.
Vivian saw the movement. Her eyes locked onto the silver chain.
Her breath hitched.
There it is.
The proof. The theft. The lie.
Vivian stood up slowly. She walked around the desk until she was standing right in front of Lana.
"That's a beautiful necklace," Vivian said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Vintage?"
Lana flinched, covering it with her hand. "Yes. Julian gave it to me."
Vivian looked at Julian. "Did you?"
Julian looked at the necklace. He frowned. He remembered the dark room. He remembered the chain. "Yes," he said, though his voice lacked conviction. "I did."
Vivian smiled. It was a terrifying smile.
"It's exquisite," Vivian said softly. "Especially the engraving. Most people don't know that specific silversmith always hid a signature inside the casing. You have to press a hidden pin to see it. Have you seen it, Lana?"
Lana froze. Her hand clutched the metal tighter. She had no idea what Vivian was talking about. She had never opened it.
"I... of course," Lana stammered, sweat breaking out on her forehead.
"Good," Vivian said, stepping back. "I'd hate for you to miss the details."
Lana took a step back, genuinely frightened by the intensity in Vivian's eyes.
"Julian, let's go," Lana squeaked.
Julian pulled away from Lana. "You go. I have work."
He watched Vivian as Lana scurried away. Vivian sat back down and picked up her charcoal, dismissing him entirely.
Julian felt a strange tightening in his chest. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to kiss her.
He settled for barking orders at Xavier and storming out.
