Here is your scene rewritten in a stronger, smoother, more novel-like form, keeping your plot, tension, and character dynamics intact while enhancing clarity, pacing, and emotional impact:
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Manuel was already in a foul mood long before he reached his office. His entire morning had been a disaster—meetings delayed, investors irritated, an argument with his brother—and then that impetuous woman had the audacity to kick his work and challenge him.
He slammed the office door behind him.
"Investigate her," he growled. "I want every detail. Everything. Even down to the date she menstruates each month."
Hermes flinched. Manuel never requested information so extreme unless someone had dug under his skin. And this time, the annoyance in his eyes was mixed with something else—something he refused to acknowledge.
Because for reasons he couldn't explain, he found that woman… intriguing.
---
Meanwhile…
Camela was slumped against the backseat of the taxi, exhaustion weighing down every muscle in her body. The day had drained her,mentally, physically, and emotionally.
"Madam… madam, ," the driver called, shaking her gently awake.
Kamela blinked groggily and looked out the window.
Hermes Heights rose before her.
"Oh!" She quickly scrambled out her wallet and shoved a few dollars into the driver's hand before dragging herself out of the car.
"Miss, let me help you with that," a steward said, hurrying over as her grocery bags threatened to spill.
"Oh—thank you," Kamela sighed, handing him the heavier items.
They walked together toward the entrance of her apartment building.
"Have a good evening, madam," he said politely as he passed the bags to her.
"Oh no, please. Let me introduce myself properly. I'm Kamela Pierce—not madam."
"Well noted," the steward replied with a warm smile. "I'm Charlie."
Back at the office…
"Sire…" Ernest stood stiffly at the door. "I'm sorry to report—we found nothing. No records. No background files. Nothing but her first name."
Manuel looked up slowly.
Ernest' breath hitched. Manuel's eyes were ice—an unspoken warning that mistakes were not tolerated, especially in the first week of September. Everyone who worked for him knew that period was a war zone.
Manuel rose from his chair, voice simmering with controlled rage.
He took his phone, walked past Ernest without a word, and headed toward the exit.
Ernest practically stumbled after him. "Sire, what should I do?"
"Find her residence," Manuel ordered sharply. "Spy on her. I want every piece of information you can gather—before the end of this week."
"Yes, sire." Ernest bowed and fled, vowing to complete the task or die trying.
[The Next Morning]
Camela woke with a stiff neck and a cold countertop beneath her cheek.
She was in the kitchen.
"Oh—shit," she muttered, dragging herself to her feet. She must have fallen asleep while planning.
She gathered the scattered drawers and moved everything to the dining table, clearing space to work. Chairs were shoved aside to create room for her sketches.
[DING DONG.]
Camela jumped. Her heart thudded painfully as she hurried to the door.
"What?" she snapped, swinging it open without looking.
"Take it easy, sis."
Alex grinned as he walked past her, kicking his shoes off. "Good morning to you too."
Camela rubbed her forehead. "Sorry. I'm… stressed."
"How was the interview?" she asked.
"Perfect! I got self-selected. But…" His smile faded into panic. "I start this weekend and I haven't even read a single page from those mountain-textbooks."
He opened the fridge, stuffed four slices of bread into his mouth simultaneously, and dumped the entire fridge contents into his basket.
"I'll be in my room!" he mumbled around the bread, shutting the fridge with his foot and disappearing down the hallway.
Camela shook her head with a tired smile.
She poured herself a cup of coffee, sat at the table, spread out her materials
and began the impossible task of designing a seven-story hospital and a luxury penthouse in one week