Chapter Twelve

Emilia

The weight of their stares never lessened.

It clung to me like a heavy fog, thick with judgment and barely concealed contempt. No matter where I went in the office, I could feel their eyes trailing me, their hushed whispers punctuated by barely hidden sneers.

I wasn’t naïve. I knew what they were thinking.

She doesn’t deserve this position.

She must have slept her way to the top.

Richard Kane must have a special taste for desperate women.

The words weren’t spoken directly to me, but they didn’t have to be. The looks were enough.

Despite the suffocating tension in the air, I held my head high and walked with purpose. If I let them see even a fraction of doubt or hesitation, they would pounce. These people thrived on weakness, and I refused to give them the satisfaction of watching me crumble.

But that didn’t mean their whispers didn’t sting.

I clenched my fists as I neared the reception desk, forcing my shoulders to remain straight. If I wanted to command respect, I had to act like I deserved it—even if no one else believed I did.

Lauren, the receptionist, was sitting behind the sleek, glass-topped desk, typing away on her computer. Her long, manicured nails clicked against the keys as she kept her head down, pretending not to notice me standing in front of her.

I waited a beat. Then another.

When it became clear she wasn’t going to acknowledge me, I cleared my throat. “Lauren, I need my schedule for the day.”

She didn’t even glance up. “I’m busy.”

Her tone was flat, dismissive, as if I were an inconvenience rather than one of the highest-ranking executives in the company.

I narrowed my eyes. “It’ll only take a moment.”

She let out an exaggerated sigh and finally lifted her head, her expression laced with irritation. “I don’t have it on me. You should have checked your email instead of wasting my time.”

The words were spoken loudly enough for the nearby employees to hear, and as expected, a few heads turned, curiosity flickering in their gazes. Some of them exchanged amused looks, waiting to see how I would react.

I inhaled slowly, willing myself to stay calm.

Lauren wasn’t just being careless—she was being deliberately disrespectful. And she was doing it so openly because she knew no one would stop her.

I could have let it slide. I could have walked away and checked my email like she so rudely suggested. But that would have set a precedent. If I let the receptionist brush me off, then it would only be a matter of time before others followed suit.

So, instead, I squared my shoulders and leaned forward slightly, just enough to command attention. “I’ll ask again,” I said, my voice even and unwavering. “My schedule, please.”

She held my gaze for a moment, as if debating whether to push her luck further. Then, with another roll of her eyes, she clicked her mouse a few times. “Fine. Back-to-back meetings, as usual. You’ve got a finance review at ten, lunch with the PR team, and a department-wide briefing at three.”

She printed out the schedule and shoved it across the desk, the edge of the paper barely missing my hand. “Happy now?”

I picked up the sheet, glancing over it briefly before folding it neatly. Every move I made was calculated, controlled. If she wanted to test me, I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of a visible reaction.

“Thank you,” I said, my tone clipped but polite.

Lauren scoffed, muttering something under her breath. I didn’t ask her to repeat it.

As I turned away, I heard the quiet chuckles from the employees nearby.

Let them laugh.

I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing they had gotten under my skin.

The disrespect didn’t stop at Lauren.

The weight of their judgment never lessened.

The longer the day stretched on, the more obvious their disdain became. The whispers grew bolder, the snide remarks sharper, the condescending glances more piercing.

I knew what they thought of me.

I had stolen this position. I had slept my way into Richard Kane’s favor. I was nothing more than an ambitious, manipulative woman who had used her body as a bargaining chip.

And no matter how hard I worked, no matter how well I performed, they weren’t willing to see me as anything else.

By the time I walked into the finance review meeting, I had already braced myself for another round of passive-aggressive remarks. But Greg, one of the senior analysts, didn’t even bother with subtlety.

He smirked when I asked a direct question about last quarter’s projections, his fingers lazily tapping against the conference table.

“With all due respect, Miss Emilia,” he drawled, though his tone made it clear there was no respect at all, “maybe we should let Mr. Kane handle this. These reports can be a little… complex.”

A few chuckles echoed around the room.

I met his gaze, refusing to look away.

This was a power play. A challenge.

He wanted to see if I would shrink back, if I would let him undermine me in front of the entire team.

I leaned forward slightly, my voice calm but cutting. “Oh? Is that why you’re still struggling to explain the inconsistencies in your department’s budget? Perhaps you should let someone more competent handle it instead.”

The room went silent.

Greg’s smirk disappeared, and his fingers stopped tapping against the table. The few employees who had laughed moments ago suddenly found their notes very interesting.

I didn’t break eye contact.

“If you have trouble understanding the numbers, Greg, I’d be happy to schedule a one-on-one meeting to walk you through them,” I continued, my voice deceptively polite. “I’d hate for you to be overwhelmed by the complexity of your own work.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “That won’t be necessary.”

I smiled. “Good. Then let’s move forward.”

He didn’t say another word for the rest of the meeting.

The Constant Murmurs 

Even after putting Greg in his place, the hostility didn’t wane.

At lunch, I sat at my usual spot in the cafeteria, keeping my focus on my meal, pretending I didn’t hear the murmured conversations just a few tables away.

“She really thinks she can pull this off?”

“I bet Richard is regretting this already.”

“She probably convinced him in bed.”

I pressed my fork against my plate harder than necessary, my appetite disappearing.

It was exhausting.

Every interaction felt like a battle. Every conversation was dripping with skepticism and contempt.

It wasn’t just doubt about my abilities—it was personal. They wanted to break me, to humiliate me, to make me second-guess every decision I made.

I wasn’t naïve. I had expected resistance when I stepped into this role. But the cruelty behind it, the sheer delight they took in tearing me down, was suffocating.

I lifted my chin and took a slow, deliberate bite of my food.

I wouldn’t let them see me falter.

If they wanted to push me out, they were going to have to try a lot harder.

By the time I made it back to my office, a dull ache had settled between my temples.

I sat behind my desk, exhaling slowly, trying to push away the tension coiling in my shoulders.

A part of me—however small—wanted to storm into Richard’s office and tell him I had changed my mind. That I needed him to put an end to this. That I was tired of playing politics, of fighting for basic respect.

But I couldn’t.

Not yet.

If I let him intervene now, it would only confirm their suspicions—that I wasn’t capable of standing on my own.

I had to endure this.

I had to prove them wrong.

Even if it meant swallowing my pride a little longer.

Later that evening, I stepped into Richard’s office, closing the door behind me with a tired sigh.

He glanced up from his laptop immediately, his sharp gaze scanning my face.

“Rough day?” he asked.

I let out a humorless chuckle. “That’s putting it mildly.”

He frowned, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve heard things, Emilia. The way they’re treating you—”

“I know,” I interrupted softly.

His jaw tightened. “I could fix this.”

I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. I knew he could. A single command from him, and every employee spreading rumors would fall in line.

But that wasn’t what I needed.

If he stepped in now, they’d never take me seriously.

“I need to handle this on my own,” I said. “If you intervene, they’ll just assume I really got this job through you.”

His eyes darkened. “They’re already assuming that.”

I swallowed. “Then let them. For now.”

Richard studied me for a long moment, his fingers tapping against the desk.

Then, after a sigh, he leaned forward, his expression unreadable. “How long?”

I hesitated, then answered, “Until the company’s anniversary celebration. That’s when you’ll make it official.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if calculating the risks. “You’re sure?”

I nodded. “They need to see me as their leader first. Not as your wife.”

Silence stretched between us.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Richard nodded. “Alright. But if this escalates—”

“I’ll handle it,” I assured him.

His jaw tensed, but he didn’t argue.

Even if I had to endure their whispers a little longer, I would handle it.

Because when the time came, I wouldn’t just silence them.

I’d make sure they regretted ever doubting me.