The room tilted.
"Assistant."
The word tasted like ash.
For a heartbeat, I thought I'd misheard. But Mother's satisfied smile said otherwise.
"You remember Augustus, don't you?" Mother folded her napkin.
Remember?
How could I forget the ghost who'd haunted every dinner conversation, every report card, every achievement since we were children?
Augustus Evans—the standard I could never reach.
"Of course she remembers." Father's voice gentled, like that would soften the blow.
"It's temporary training, sweetheart. Six months under Augustus will teach you more about real business than any classroom."
Temporary.
Right.
Because nothing said "we believe in you" quite like shipping me off to work for my lifelong rival.
"An assistant." My voice came out flat. "To him."
"Executive assistant," Mother corrected, as if the title made it less humiliating. "Augustus specifically agreed to take you on. You should be grateful."
Grateful.
Perfect.
I'd always dreamed of fetching coffee for the man my parents actually wished they'd raised.
Heat crawled up my throat.
"And if I refuse?"
Father's expression hardened.
"Then you can fund your hotel stays yourself."
The trap snapped shut.
No allowance. No trust fund access. No escape.
Just me, reporting to Augustus Evans every morning, watching him embody everything I apparently wasn't
"I'll think about it."
The words barely left my lips before Father's palm hit the mahogany.
"This isn't a discussion, Juliette."
Mother's smile never wavered, but her eyes turned to flint.
"You'll report to Ever Holdings tomorrow morning. Or we'll escort you there ourselves."
Father leaned back, expression unyielding. "Your car, your driver—they'll be waiting at seven-thirty. You can walk in with dignity, or we can make it a family outing. Your choice."
My chest constricted.
They'd actually do it. March me through Ever Tower's obsidian lobby like a child being dragged to the principal's office, with every employee watching Augustus Evans's new assistant arrive in disgrace.
The room compressed, walls closing in.
I shoved back from the table, chair legs screeching against marble.
"Juliette—"
But I was already moving, heels clicking too loud in the cavernous dining room, past the oil paintings of Harper ancestors who'd probably never disappointed anyone, past the staff who pretended not to notice.
Up the curved staircase.
Down the hall.
Into my childhood bedroom.
I slammed the door.
Locked it.
Pressed my spine against the wood and slid down until silk dress pooled around me.
My hands shook.
Tomorrow.
Augustus's office.
His cool, assessing gaze watching me fetch his coffee, manage his calendar, prove every single thing my parents believed about me.
That I needed fixing.
That I wasn't enough.
That he was better.
Outside, I heard Mother's voice drift up—something about "for her own good."
I buried my face in my knees.
Hours bled into darkness.
I sprawled across my childhood bed, thumb scrolling mindlessly through Instagram.
Camille's latest post: champagne flutes at some rooftop bar. Thirty-seven comments gushing over her dress.
Seth Sterling's story: closing another deal, surrounded by fawning associates.
My feed—a graveyard of notifications I couldn't bring myself to answer.
What would you even post tomorrow?
"First day as an assistant! #LivingMyBestLife #BossBabe"
I snorted.
The screen blurred.
One more scroll.
The screen filled with a familiar face.
Augustus Evans stared back from the Forbes homepage, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, suit immaculate even in a candid shot. The headline screamed:
"The Quiet Titan: How Augustus Evans Revolutionized Ever Holdings at 28."
Of course.
Of course he'd made the cover.
I should've kept scrolling.
Instead, I tapped.
The article gushed about his "visionary leadership" and "unprecedented growth." Photos showed him at ribbon cuttings, shaking hands with world leaders, standing before Ever Tower like he'd conjured it from nothing instead of inheriting it.
"Evans doesn't just meet expectations," the journalist wrote. "He demolishes them."
My chest tightened.
Bitterness crawled up my throat, sharp and familiar—but beneath it, something worse.
Admiration.
Because the article wasn't wrong.
Augustus was brilliant. Focused. The kind of leader people followed not because they had to, but because his competence inspired loyalty.
Everything I'd never quite managed to be.
I zoomed in on one photo—him at some charity gala, expression serious, that antique Patek catching the light.
And suddenly I wasn't in my bedroom anymore.
I was seventeen, drowning in AP Calculus, tears blurring derivatives I couldn't solve.
Augustus had found me in the library, equations swimming across my vision.
"You're using the wrong formula."
I'd snapped at him. "I don't need your help."
"Pride won't pass the exam, Harper."
He hadn't mocked me.
Just pulled up a chair, loosened his tie, and explained limits in that calm, methodical way until suddenly the numbers made sense.
I'd looked up, found his brown eyes steady on mine—no judgment, no comparison.
Just... patience.
For three hours, he walked me through every problem.
And when I finally understood, when relief flooded through me, he'd smiled. A real one, small and fleeting.
Soon, the tests came back.
I'd scored an A-minus.
He'd scored an A-plus.
And when my parents asked how I'd improved, I'd mumbled something about extra studying.
Never mentioned Augustus.
And that was the when I realized the gap between us wasn't something I could close.
No matter how hard I worked, Augustus would always be three steps ahead—effortless, untouchable, better.
I locked my phone.
Stared at the dark ceiling.
How had it come to this?
Graduate degree. International internships. A portfolio that proved I was more than just a trust fund and a famous last name.
And still—still—I'd ended up right back where I started.
Under Augustus's shadow.
I rolled onto my side, fingers curling into the duvet.
No.
I sat up.
Screw that.
If they wanted to ship me to Ever Holdings, fine. But I wouldn't crawl in broken.
Augustus Evans didn't get to see me crumble.
Tomorrow, I'd walk through those obsidian doors with my head high.
And I'd make damn sure he remembered who Juliette Harper was.