KATHERINE SAMUEL –POV
He didn't even look at me.
I could still hear the faint echo of my heels bouncing off the marble floor as I walked away from the boardroom, but the only sound louder was the ringing in my ears. It wasn't just the meeting. It was the look in his eyes. Not for me—for her.
Kiefer.
A name I'd only read once, months ago. One of the many entries submitted during the innovation drive—simple, clean, full of conviction. I had skimmed it then, dismissed it as naive. Who was she? Just another idealist, another dreamer from nowhere trying to step into a world that eats people like her alive.
But now she was here.
And Davis—he watched her.
Not like a CEO watches his employee. No. It was different. Intent. Present. He listened when she spoke. Not out of politeness… but interest.
I've been his right hand for nearly four years.
I've memorized his schedule, anticipated his thoughts, been in every strategy room, crisis, acquisition—earned my place through sweat and sleepless nights. And now… this girl walks in, fresh-faced, wide-eyed, and he gives her my seat at the boardroom like it was always meant to be hers?
Was she that brilliant?
Was I missing something?
Or had I simply become forgettable?
No. I refuse to believe that.
I know how to navigate power. I know how to mold into the storm and still come out holding the steering wheel. I've dealt with competitors, clients, shareholders. I know every inch of White Pharma's system.
But I don't know her.
That makes her dangerous.
I should have smiled more. I should have handled the lobby better. But I was caught off guard—and for the first time in years—I felt something I'd buried long ago:
Insecurity.
The kind that creeps under your skin and makes you question every choice that led to this exact moment.
I won't let her shake me again.
If she's fire… I'll be ice.
If she's the wind… I'll be the wall she can't move.
But first—I need to watch. Listen. Learn what kind of threat she truly is.
Because if Davis truly sees something in her, then she's not just a rival…
She's the next chapter.
And if I'm not in it—I'll write my own.
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SCENE TRANSITION – WHITE MANSION, NIGHTFALL
KEIFER & DAVIS – PRIVATE DINNER
The mansion was nothing like she imagined.
It wasn't gaudy or gold-trimmed like she expected from the family behind one of the most powerful pharmaceutical companies in the world. No. It was quiet, elegant—walls of black stone, modern wood, soft lighting. The kind of luxury that didn't flaunt itself but whispered it in the details.
Kiefer sat at the far end of a long glass table in the dining room, fingers nervously tapping the linen napkin on her lap.
She'd changed into a simple navy blouse and white slacks—something clean, professional, not too bold. She didn't know why she cared what impression she gave in this house, but somehow, it mattered.
The door clicked.
Davis entered in a slate-gray shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, collar undone. Effortlessly confident. His presence alone made the space feel smaller, more intimate.
"You settled in alright?" he asked as he took the seat across from her.
"I did. Thank you… it's more than I expected."
He poured them both a glass of wine—red, aged, something with bite.
"You earned it," he said.
She sipped cautiously. "I'm not used to this kind of generosity."
"You'll have to get used to a lot of new things."
There was silence for a moment—comfortable, but charged.
"You watched the whole thing at the office, didn't you?" she asked, breaking the stillness.
His lips curled slightly. "I did."
"Was it a test?"
"Would it matter if it was?"
She stared at him, thoughtful. "I guess not. I passed either way."
His eyes gleamed with something unreadable—approval, amusement, maybe something deeper. "You're different from most people who've walked into that lobby."
"Because I shouted?" she teased.
"Because you didn't apologize for shouting."
She laughed softly. "And you like that?"
"I respect that," he said simply. "But liking it… that's a different story."
She didn't know what to say to that, so she focused on the food the chef quietly placed in front of them—a plated course of grilled vegetables, roasted seabass, something citrus on the side.
"You're not what I expected either," she admitted after a while.
"Oh?"
"I thought you'd be… colder. More controlling. You're… still a mystery, but…"
He looked at her, curious.
"But what?"
"You're strangely human."
He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "You say that like it's a flaw."
"It's not. It's just rare… in people with power."
Davis tilted his head slightly, studying her.
"You're observant. Honest. Dangerous."
She blinked. "Dangerous?"
"You don't hide what you are. That unnerves people more than you know."
She pushed her plate slightly aside, no longer hungry.
"I didn't come here to be liked."
"No," he said, "You came here to build something."
She smiled faintly. "Funny. I think I heard that today."
Their eyes met again—and in that moment, the tension between ambition and curiosity, professionalism and something almost personal—hung thick in the air.
Outside, the city lights pulsed beyond the glass walls. Inside, two storm systems sat across from each other at a table neither of them fully understood yet.
But one thing was certain:
This was no longer just business.