Three days before the company's annual New Year's Gala, I reviewed the final seating chart myself.
My eyes narrowed.
My seat had been reassigned to another woman.
Anna Pruitt.
The investor's niece who had parachuted into the company three months ago.
A suffocating pressure expanded in my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. The seat beside Jonathan Gilbert wasn't just a chair—it was a symbol of status, a public declaration of our partnership. A promise he had once made to the entire company.
And now, he had given that place of honor to someone else.
Recent rumors whispered in the breakroom surfaced in my mind. Hushed tones about Jonathan and Anna. Loud. Ugly.
I summoned the gala coordinator immediately. "What is the meaning of this seating arrangement?"
He shifted his weight, unable to meet my gaze. "Mr. Gilbert... he made the adjustment personally."
Rage and disappointment twisted together in my gut. I crushed the paper in my fist and marched toward the CEO's office.
Some words needed to be said face-to-face.
Some decisions, perhaps, finally needed to be made.
——
The heavy oak doors swung open, and the scene before me halted my momentum.
Anna Pruitt was perched on the edge of Jonathan's mahogany desk, leaning in close. Their heads bowed over a document, an intimate warmth radiating between them that had nothing to do with business.
At the sound of the latch clicking, Jonathan looked up. The amusement in his eyes hadn't yet faded.
"Joanna? You're here?" Anna's voice was saccharine, dripping with a sweetness that made my teeth ache. "We were just discussing the gala's itinerary."
I ignored her. Walked straight to the desk. Slammed the crumpled seating chart down in front of him.
"My seat. Why is Anna Pruitt's name on it?"
Jonathan glanced at the paper, his expression unbothered. His fingers tapped a rhythmic beat on his leather armrest.
"Anna suggested that the seats flanking the founder should be reserved for key investors. It aligns better with business etiquette. Her uncle had a last-minute emergency, so she's attending as his proxy." He paused, as if explaining something obvious to a child. "You're the Administrative Director, Joanna. It's more appropriate for you to sit with the management team."
My gaze shifted to Anna.
She pressed her lips into a demure, innocent smile. "Joanna, please don't overthink it. It was just a suggestion. You and Jonathan have so much private time together—why worry about one night?"
"So." My voice came out dry, scratching my throat. "You took her suggestion?"
The air in the office grew heavy. Thick enough to choke on.
Jonathan frowned, a crease appearing between his brows. "Joanna, stop. We are handling business as business."
"*Handling business as business.*" I repeated the phrase, a bitter laugh bubbling up in my chest.
"Then last year, and the year before, when I sat at your left hand—was that mixing business with pleasure?"
"The company wasn't this size back then." His tone sharpened with impatience. "Now, countless eyes are watching us. I have to consider the optics."
"What optics?" I stared him down, refusing to blink. "If I sit next to you, does it damage the company image? Hurt financing? Or does it ruin the image you're trying to sell to investors—that you're a dazzlingly single bachelor?"
Jonathan's face darkened instantly.
He rounded the desk and gripped my shoulder.
Once, this touch would have grounded me. Now, it felt like a shackle.
"Stop making a fuss," he commanded, his voice dropping to a low, persuasive rumble. "It's just a chair. Is this really necessary? Look, tonight, I'll cook your favorite seafood noodles. Just for us. Okay?"
Here it was again.
Every time we disagreed, he deployed the same tactic. *Don't make a fuss. You're being unreasonable. I'll make it up to you later.*
The old me would have melted, desperate for his approval.
But the woman standing here today was cold. Clear-headed.
"Fine." I forced the word out.
Jonathan exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. "Good. I knew you'd be sensible."
I didn't say another word. Snatched the seating chart back and turned on my heel.
Just as the door began to close, Anna's soft, concerned voice drifted through the gap. "Jonathan... is Joanna angry with me?"
"She's just like that. She'll get over it."
I leaned against the corridor wall, the cold plaster seeping through my blouse, and inhaled a shaky breath.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
A message from my father.
*The five-year agreement is almost up. What is the result?*
My heart constricted painfully against my ribs.
