While I was away, things were supposed to go smoothly.
I'd instructed the workers to build a partition wall—just enough to mark the separation between my building and Ethan's. I didn't need much, just a firm line. My name plate was scheduled to be installed on that wall. Dr. Maya Sinclair. It felt right. It felt earned.
I was in the middle of running errands when my phone buzzed.
Catherine.
"Ma'am, there's an emergency at the office. Can you come right away?"
Her voice was tense. That alone was enough to set my pulse racing.
When I reached the building, I was met with chaos. A crowd had gathered, murmuring and staring. At the center of it all stood Ethan Cole, arms crossed, a smug expression dancing on his lips like he was the star of a twisted play.
"What's going on?" I asked Catherine, my eyes locked on Ethan, who was already smirking like the devil himself.
"They're saying the wall we built was constructed in the wrong place," Catherine explained. "That it blocks an emergency exit. They're demanding it be taken down."
I turned to Ethan, furious. "What are you, five or six years old? Why are you doing this?"
He chuckled, stepping closer. "You don't really care about your employees, do you?"
"What are you talking about?" I snapped.
"That wall you're so proud of?" he said, voice laced with false concern. "You built it over what was designed to be an emergency exit."
My blood boiled. "That's a lie. If it were true, why didn't you say anything earlier?"
His eyes glittered, but he didn't answer.
Five hours ago…
I remembered standing with the planner near the nearly completed wall. He had asked for the name that would go on the plate. I didn't hesitate.
"Dr. Maya... no. Dr. Maya Sinclair," I had told him with finality.
The moment I said that name—Sinclair—there was a crash. The sound of breaking glass.
I turned around and saw Ethan standing behind the window, staring at me. His expression wasn't just angry—it was hurt. Sad. Like I had ripped open a wound he hadn't even known was there.
I didn't flinch. I didn't care.
I turned back to the planner and told him to go ahead.
Install it.
Now, standing here again, that smirk was back on Ethan's face—but it wasn't playful anymore.
Without a word, he took a hammer handed to him by one of his employees. My chest tightened as I watched him walk toward the wall. Toward my name.
"Ethan," I warned.
He didn't stop.
He raised the hammer.
And in one swift strike—
CRACK.
The name plate splintered, and with it, the name Sinclair shattered into pieces.
Gasps echoed around us. My fists clenched, my nails digging into my palms. My name. My pride. My past. All lying there—broken at his feet.
He looked at me then. No smirk. Just silence.
I didn't blink.
If he thought this would break me, he'd forgotten who I was.
I'd rebuild it.
Stronger. Bigger. Bolder.
He could shatter the plate, but he'd never destroy the name.