Scarlett's Pov
The silence in the room stretched thin, pressing down on me like a suffocating weight. I hadn't spoken a word yet, and already I could feel the judgment in their eyes, the anticipation hanging thick in the air.
I swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the sleek conference table as I took in my surroundings. The boardroom was massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city skyline. A long glass table stretched down the center, lined with at least a dozen men and women in sharp suits, their faces expectant and mildly impatient. At the head of the table sat a man in his mid-fifties, his silver hair perfectly combed, his eyes sharp with authority. I recognized him immediately—Nathaniel Langford, the company's CFO.
What the hell had I just walked into?
"I—" I started, but before I could get another word out, the woman who had ushered me in gave me a slight nudge.
"There's no time for introductions, Ms. Evans," she said, her voice tight with urgency. "The presentation."
I blinked. My pulse hammered against my ribs. I was standing at the head of the room, right in front of a massive projector screen. A sleek laptop was open in front of me, displaying a PowerPoint presentation already loaded and ready to go.
Evans? Presentation?
My stomach dropped.
They think I'm the presenter.
I opened my mouth to correct them, to explain that I wasn't supposed to be here, that I was simply trying to leave the building after being unfairly rejected—
But then, from the far end of the table, someone scoffed.
"She's just standing there," a man muttered. "We don't have all day."
I turned toward the voice. It belonged to a middle-aged man in a charcoal-gray suit, his arms crossed, his lips pressed in disapproval.
"She's nervous," another person whispered.
Heat flared up my neck.
I was seconds away from blurting out the truth when another voice cut through the quiet.
"The proposal on corporate expansion in Southeast Asia," an older woman at the table said, rubbing her temple. "That's what you're supposed to be presenting, correct?"
Corporate expansion in Southeast Asia.
A topic I happened to know well.
I hesitated, my mind spinning. If I admitted I wasn't the presenter now, I'd be kicked out. No job. No dignity. No hope.
But if I stayed—
If I actually went through with the presentation—
I glanced down at the laptop screen. The slides were professionally made, polished, filled with key statistics and market analysis. I could do this. I knew this.
A decision settled in my chest like a stone dropping into water.
I inhaled deeply, straightened my shoulders, and turned to face the room.
"Correct," I said smoothly. "The proposal on corporate expansion."
A few people nodded approvingly.
Taking another breath, I clicked to the first slide.
I started talking.
At first, I was cautious, my voice careful and measured. But as I spoke, confidence began to seep in. This was familiar. This was safe. I had spent years devouring information on corporate trends, market shifts, and economic strategies. I'd written countless research papers in college and had dreamed of working in a company like this since I was a teenager.
And as I continued, I felt it—something shift in the air.
The initial skepticism in the room melted into intrigue.
The man in the charcoal suit who had scoffed at me earlier was now leaning forward, his chin resting on his hand, nodding slightly at my points. The older woman who had mentioned the proposal tapped her pen against the table, listening intently.
By the time I reached the halfway point, I was fielding questions.
Sharp ones. Complex ones.
But I answered every single one with precision, backing up my claims with solid reasoning. I was in my element now, explaining projected profit margins, potential risks, competitive advantages.
When I finished, a hush fell over the room.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then—
"Impressive," Nathaniel Langford finally said, his sharp gaze assessing.
A murmur of agreement rippled through the room.
I forced myself to remain composed, but inside, adrenaline coursed through me like wildfire.
Then, just as I thought I might actually pull this off—
The door burst open.
"I—I'm so sorry I'm late!"
A young woman, barely over twenty, rushed in, out of breath.
A heavy silence fell over the room.
Every eye turned to her. Then—slowly—to me.
A cold rush of dread crept up my spine.
"What is the meaning of this?" one of the executives asked, his voice sharp with irritation.
"I—I was supposed to be presenting. I'm an intern." The young woman stammered. "Richard assigned me this. I'm—I'm his niece."
Niece.
The weight of those words settled in my stomach.
A commotion erupted. Confused murmurs, hushed voices, tension crackling in the air like a live wire.
A woman at the far end of the table narrowed her eyes. "So, let me get this straight. You"—she gestured toward the intern, then to me—"were the one assigned this presentation?"
The intern swallowed hard. "Yes."
"Then who is she?"
Whispers spread across the room like wildfire.
"This is absurd," a man muttered. "What kind of company assigns an intern to present on something so crucial—let alone has someone else do it instead?"
"This wasn't planned," another voice said. "Someone better start explaining."
Then came the coldest voice in the room.
"I can explain."
I knew that voice.
Richard.
I turned sharply.
Richard stood near the doorway, his expression a storm of barely concealed rage and something more—fear.
"She's a fraud," he said.
Silence.
Richard took a step forward, pointing directly at me. "This woman wasn't supposed to be here. She was a rejected interviewee who somehow found her way into this room. This is nothing but sabotage."
A ripple of shock went through the boardroom.
Sabotage?
I barely had time to process the word before he continued.
"I saw her yesterday," he sneered. "At a bar. Sleeping around, no less. And now she shows up here, pretending to be part of this company? Trying to ruin its reputation?"
A muscle in my jaw tightened.
Gasps filled the room. Some people turned toward me, waiting for a response.
And then—
"She knew the content better than the intern arranged in the slides."
A woman's voice cut through the room like a blade.
Richard flinched.
The older man who had asked me about financial risk adjusted his glasses. "In all my years in this company, I've never seen an intern—or an actual employee—deliver a presentation with that level of precision. Are we truly debating this?"
"Exactly," another man chimed in. "Richard, I'd like to know why you thought your niece was qualified to handle something of this magnitude in the first place."
Richard's face darkened. "That's irrelevant."
"No, it's very relevant."
The tension was boiling now, the tables turning.
And then—
A voice.
Deep. Smooth. Dangerous.
"What is going on here?"
The room went dead silent.
I felt it before I even saw him.
The shift in atmosphere. The quiet, suffocating power that came with his presence.
I turned my head—slowly.
And there he was.
Damien.
The man I had slept with last night.
My breath caught.
The room stilled as he took a step forward, sharp eyes scanning the chaos. Then—those piercing gray eyes landed on me.
He smirked.