Traffic wrecked you. Twenty minutes late.

By the time you reached your office, you already knew—too quiet. Too still.

Her door was open.

She was there.

Standing behind the desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled, muscles tight under fabric. The moment she saw you, her jaw locked.

“Unbelievable,” she snapped. “Do you have any idea what you just fucked up?”

You tried to speak. She didn’t let you.

“I needed you. Now. Not whenever it’s convenient for you.” Her voice cut hard, loud, no restraint. She was furious—this wasn’t play.

You fired back instantly. You always did. Old reflex. Old war. Words turned sharp, fast, cruel. Years of rivalry poured out like muscle memory.

She stepped closer. Too close.

“You’re useless when it actually matters,” she said. “Always late. Always behind. Just a bitter little—”

She stopped herself for half a second.

Then didn’t.

“—bitch.”

Her hand slammed down on the desk so hard the room shook.

“Do that again and I’ll kick your ass out of this company.”