The next morning, Hayden sat at a tiny, cramped desk in the middle of the chaotic bullpen. Phones rang constantly. Reporters shouted across cubicles.
She booted up her computer. Her fingers rested on the keyboard, ready.
Eleanor Vance marched out of her glass office. She walked straight to Hayden's desk and dropped a heavy, encrypted silver flash drive next to Hayden's mouse. It hit the desk with a heavy thud.
"Your trial by fire," Eleanor said coldly. "I need a front-page feature in two hours."
Hayden picked up the flash drive. She plugged it into the USB port and clicked open the folder that popped up on her screen.
Her breath caught in her throat.
The screen filled with high-definition paparazzi photos. August Forbes, wearing a custom black tuxedo, sitting at a private table in Le Bernardin. Across from him sat Bridget Blake, laughing, her hand resting intimately over his on the white tablecloth.
Attached was a drafted PR statement. The headline read: Forbes and Blake Empires to Merge: The Wedding of the Century.
Hayden's heart seized. It felt like a physical hand had reached into her chest and crushed her ribs. Her vision blurred at the edges.
Around her, veteran reporters leaned over their cubicles, staring at her screen.
"Look at that diamond," someone whispered. "That's a multi-billion dollar merger right there."
Hayden closed her eyes. She inhaled the stale office air, forcing the oxygen deep into her burning lungs. He is nothing to you, she told herself. He is just a subject.
She opened her eyes. The pain vanished, replaced by a cold, clinical emptiness.
She opened a blank document. Her fingers hit the keys with brutal force.
She didn't write a gossip piece. She stripped away the romance and dissected the blood and bones of the merger. She analyzed the anti-monopoly risks, the aggressive stock buybacks the Blake family had executed last quarter, and the ruthless corporate restructuring August would inevitably enforce.
She ended the piece with a razor-sharp sentence congratulating the couple on their "highly lucrative, emotionally sterile acquisition."
She hit send.
Ten minutes later, Eleanor walked out of her office. She held a ceramic coffee mug. She stopped in the middle of the bullpen.
"Simmons," Eleanor barked.
The entire floor went silent.
"That is the most vicious, brilliant piece of financial journalism I've read all year," Eleanor said, her voice carrying across the room. "It's going on the homepage. Now."
Murmurs of shock rippled through the reporters. They stared at the new girl in the cheap blazer with newfound respect.
By 4:00 PM, the article had exploded. The page views were climbing by the thousands every minute. It was trending on every social media platform.
Hayden stood up. Her legs felt weak. She walked to the breakroom and leaned her back against the cool tile wall. She poured a cup of ice water and drank it down, letting the freezing liquid numb her throat.
She had done it. She had turned the man who broke her into a paycheck. The paralyzing fear of August Forbes was finally cracking.
At 6:00 PM, she packed her bag and walked out of the building. The Manhattan sky was dark, the streetlights glowing against the pavement.
Suddenly, her phone vibrated violently in her coat pocket.
It was a specific, sharp ringtone. The one she had assigned to August years ago.
Her stomach dropped. She pulled the phone out. The screen flashed bright white in the dark: August Forbes.
He had seen the article.
Hayden stared at the flashing name. Her thumb hovered over the green accept button. Slowly, the corner of her mouth curled up into a bitter, mocking smile.
She didn't press it. She let the phone vibrate in her palm, vibrating against her skin, until the call finally went to voicemail.
