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“So, it was you.”

“What?”

“The calendar. The documents. All those leaks. They came from you!”

Lily pales. “Wren, what are you talking about? I don’t?—”

“Don’t lie to me,” Wren snaps, rising to her feet. “Don’t you dare. You looked me in the eye every day while you were selling pieces of my life to people who wanted to destroy me.”

“I—I didn’t sell anything! You’re wrong, I swear?—”

“We have chat logs,” I cut in. “Footage of you meeting Camille Ross. Access logs from off-site Wi-Fi linked to a burner. You sent confidential files of Wren’s calendar, strategy decks, emails. You leaked the new product photos and campaign strategy. We have the metadata. It’s irrefutable.”

Lily looks between us. Her face collapses into something wounded and defensive all at once. “You don’t understand. I was doing everything. Running her whole life. I just wanted… I wanted to prove that I could be more. I just wanted a chance?—”

Talia crosses her arms. “So you decided to burn it all down?”

Silence.

Wren’s voice is cold. “You’re done here.”

“But Wren?—”

“I trusted you with my son.” Her tone is cutting. “Leave your badge and your laptop with security. You're no longer employed here.”

Talia opens the door.

Lily doesn’t say anything else and backs away.

The silence afterward is thick. Wren sits slow, like her body remembers its weight all at once. I sit across from her, not touching, not speaking.

I watch her hold herself together, knowing how much strength that takes.

19

WREN

Lily’s gone. Just like that.

Behind it all, I can still feel the crack left behind by her betrayal. Lily wasn’t just an assistant, she was a friend. Someone who once knew every schedule of my life, who has been there during my vulnerable moments, turned out to be a foe. And she didn’t just forward a few emails or steal a sample. She gave Marlowe our concept decks, pre-launch formulas, even the pitch notes for our biggest investor call. Everything that mattered.

And she smiled in my face while she did it.

Talia handled the termination with precision. I signed off on it without flinching. I didn’t ask for an explanation. I didn’t want one. Some betrayals don’t deserve a postmortem.

The scandal is dying. Headlines have shifted. Marlowe’s stunt fizzled fast after the leaked chats. Lemon LLC’s inbox is filled with investor reassurances and cautious congratulations.

I meet with the comms team to finalize a press release, sign off on the media calendar, and lock in the launch date. Again.

Five days.

The launch is happening.

I should be thrilled. I’ve worked for this for years.

It should feel like a win.

Instead, it just feels... quiet.