The following morning, Evelyn stood in front of the mirror longer than usual.
There was no reason to. Her makeup was the same as always... subtle, professional, clean. Her outfit, a navy pencil skirt and pale blue blouse, was carefully chosen to say capable but forgettable. The tiny gold lock around her neck was tucked neatly beneath her collar.
No one could know. Not yet.
She had a job to do, and the last thing she needed was Linda or any of the team whispering about favoritism or worse, scandal. Drake Industries didn't suffer rumors well.
By the time she walked into the headquarters' lobby, the building hummed with its usual high-functioning, high-stress energy. The glass facade reflected Seoul's morning light like a beacon, and the marble floors echoed with the fast clicks of polished shoes.
Evelyn moved with purpose, her steps steady, her expression composed. No one suspected a thing.
But just as she turned toward the elevator bank, the crowd parted and she stopped short.
Standing just beyond the main reception desk, dressed in a sharp, slate-gray pantsuit and heels that had no business being that tall, was Genevieve Moreau.
The name rang familiar. The woman? Utterly unforgettable.
She was stunning in the kind of deliberate, weaponized way that made you feel underdressed even in couture. Her chestnut hair was swept back into a glossy twist. Her makeup was flawless. Her entire presence exuded expensive indifference.
She was surrounded by two senior directors and a junior PR assistant who looked like she might faint from awe. And she was smiling, lips perfectly painted, her voice wrapping around sentences like silk.
As Evelyn passed, Genevieve's eyes flicked toward her and stopped.
The smile never faltered, but something cold flared behind her gaze. In one slow glance, she took Evelyn in: the modest shoes, the tucked-in blouse, the badge clipped to her hip.
And then she looked away. As if Evelyn were just another piece of furniture.
Evelyn forced her feet to keep moving, even though her palms had started to sweat. She stepped into the elevator and pressed the button to her floor. As the doors closed, she let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
So. That was her.
By noon, the whispers were in full swing.
"Genevieve's back?"
"She just flew in from New York and apparently they're moving her into Strategic Ops."
"I thought she was supposed to be in Paris?"
"No, no, she ran the U.S. office. She's a Moreau and her father used to sit on the board."
"I heard she and Alexander were… close."
Evelyn tried to tune it out. She buried herself in campaign reports and engagement data. But it was impossible not to feel the shift in the office air. The usual hierarchy had been quietly rearranged and Genevieve hadn't even had her desk assigned yet.
By mid-afternoon, an email hit Evelyn's inbox.
Subject: Leadership Transition BriefingLocation: 19th Floor Executive Conference RoomTime: 4:30 PMMandatory for: Marketing, Strategy, Comms
Her throat tightened.
This wasn't just a welcome meeting. It was a power play.
When Evelyn arrived at the 19th floor, she kept her head down, choosing a seat near the end of the table. The conference room was sleek and cold with floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the skyline, a massive polished table that seemed to stretch forever, and chairs so ergonomically perfect they made your spine ache with propriety.
Alexander entered precisely at 4:30.
He was unreadable. Dressed in a tailored black suit, he greeted the room with a curt nod before stepping aside.
"Many of you have already heard," he said, his voice calm but edged with command. "Genevieve Moreau has returned from the United States to resume her senior role in global strategy. She'll be working closely with several divisions, including Marketing."
He didn't look at Evelyn.
But Genevieve did.
"Thank you, Alexander," she said, her voice smooth and elegant. "It's good to be home."
Home.
The way she said it made Evelyn's stomach turn.
Genevieve's speech was short, confident, and perfectly poised. She talked about synergy, transnational alignment, and strategic recalibration, tossing out buzzwords like she'd trademarked them. People nodded. Some took notes. Others looked enthralled.
Evelyn could feel her face flushing for no reason at all. She wasn't threatened. Not really. But something about Genevieve's presence with the effortless dominance of it, had stirred her deeply rooted sense of not being enough.
After the meeting, people lingered to chat, eager to be seen with the woman already re-inserting herself into the company's bloodstream.
Evelyn didn't linger.
She turned to leave, but as she stepped into the hallway, a voice stopped her.
"You're the marketing assistant, aren't you?"
She turned. Genevieve stood behind her, perfectly composed. That smile again.
"Evelyn, right?" she said. "Lovely name. Very... traditional."
"Thank you," Evelyn replied carefully. "Welcome back."
"Hmm," Genevieve said, as if she were tasting the word. "Yes. Back indeed."
There was a pause, brief but sharpened pause.
"Funny. I don't recall seeing your name before I left," she added lightly. "But I'm sure I'll see much more of you now."
Then, with one last glance at the tiny gold chain just barely visible above Evelyn's blouse, she turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Evelyn didn't move for a moment.
But she could feel it, as clearly as if the words had been spoken aloud.
Genevieve knew she was a threat.