Kalina's Quarters - Evening, A Few Days Later
The conference table in Kalina's private workspace had become their unofficial merger war room.
Logan sat at one end, surrounded by financial projections and integration timelines for the Regal Empire and Fruit Shakers merger. They were officially fifty percent complete—halfway through the grueling process—and moving into the critical mid-phase where everything either came together smoothly or fell apart spectacularly.
Lyra sat beside him, laptop open, reviewing supplier contracts with the focus of a laser beam.
Atticus was on her other side, tablet in hand, making notes on the operational restructuring plan. His jaw was tight, his posture rigid.
Across the table, Mireille had her own laptop set up, working on the LOMIKA and Castillon's company collaboration that was scheduled to launch in two months. She kept glancing between her screen and the couple, her expression carefully neutral.
Ophelia sat at the far end with a notebook and color-coded sticky notes, trying to organize her thoughts for an upcoming gallery project. She'd admitted—somewhat sheepishly—that she needed to "borrow their brilliance" for the business side of things.
And Kalina sat at the head of the table, technically leading the meeting but mostly observing.
Because the tension between Lyra and Atticus had grown from uncomfortable to unbearable.
Patricia had made herself scarce after bringing in coffee and snacks, correctly reading the room and deciding this was not a meeting she wanted to witness.
Smart woman.
Two Hours In
"The distribution timeline needs adjustment," Logan said, pointing at the spreadsheet projected on the wall screen. "If we maintain the current pace, we'll hit the Q2 deadline, but it'll be tight."
"We can accelerate warehouse integration," Lyra said immediately. "Atticus, can you coordinate with the logistics team?"
"Yes," Atticus said flatly.
Not "yes, babe." Not even "yes, Lyra."
Just "yes."
Kalina's eyes narrowed slightly.
Mireille shifted in her seat.
Ophelia pretended to be very interested in her sticky notes.
Logan cleared his throat and continued.
"Right, so if we move the integration timeline up by two weeks—"
"We'll need additional staff," Atticus interjected. "The current team is already stretched thin."
"Then we hire temporary contractors," Lyra said without looking up from her laptop.
"Standard procedure."
"Standard procedure that costs money we haven't budgeted for."
"Then we adjust the budget."
"Lyra—"
"It's not complicated, Atticus. We need the timeline accelerated, so we make it happen."
The use of his full name—professional, distant—made everyone at the table wince internally.
Atticus's fingers tightened around his tablet, but he said nothing.
Thirty Minutes Later
They'd moved on to discussing post-merger staffing when Atticus spoke up.
"I'd like to request a leave of absence," he said suddenly. "After the merger is complete."
The room went silent.
Lyra looked up, blinking as if she'd been pulled from deep concentration. "What?"
"A leave. Two weeks, maybe three. I haven't taken time off in over a year."
"Atticus, we're launching a major integration. There's the board presentation in September, the supplier renegotiations, the—"
"I'm aware of the schedule."
"Then you know we can't afford to have our CFO disappear for three weeks."
"I'm not disappearing. I'm taking earned time off."
Lyra set down her pen with more force than necessary. "This isn't the time. We need all hands on deck for the next quarter."
"I need a break, Lyra."
"And I need my CFO functional and present." Her tone was sharp, final. "If I'm not taking time off, neither are you."
Atticus stared at her. "That's your answer? As my boss?"
"As the CEO of this company, yes."
"Interesting." His voice had gone cold. "Because I was asking as your husband."
The air in the room turned to ice.
Kalina slowly set down her coffee cup.
Logan suddenly became very interested in his spreadsheet.
Mireille froze mid-keystroke.
Ophelia looked like she wanted to sink through the floor.
Lyra's face flushed. "Atticus, this isn't the place—"
"Isn't it?" Atticus leaned back in his chair. "You're the one who treats every conversation like a board meeting. Even the ones about our personal lives."
"I'm trying to run a business—"
"And I'm trying to stay married!"
The words echoed in the awful silence that followed.
Lyra's mouth opened and closed, shock and anger warring on her face.
Atticus held her gaze for a long moment, then looked away first. "Forget it. Request withdrawn."
"Atticus—"
"I said forget it." His tone was final, sharp enough to cut.
Lyra's expression shifted through several emotions—hurt, confusion, anger—before settling on defensive frustration. "If you're going to be like this—"
"Like what? Asking for basic consideration from my wife?"
"You're being unreasonable—"
"I'm being honest—"
"You're being difficult!" Lyra's voice rose slightly, the tiniest octave higher. "We have a company to run, Atticus! Deadlines! Responsibilities! I can't just drop everything because you suddenly decide you need a vacation!"
Atticus visibly withdrew, his whole body going rigid.
Kalina recognized that look. The look of someone who'd been slapped and decided it wasn't worth fighting back.
"You're right," Atticus said quietly. "Of course you're right. You're the boss."
The word "boss" landed like a stone.
Lyra opened her mouth, probably to argue, then closed it. She took a deep breath, clearly trying to compose herself.
"Let's... let's just get back to work," she said, her voice forcibly calm.
They did.
But the atmosphere had fundamentally changed.
For the Next Hour
Every time Lyra asked Atticus a question, his response was the same:
"Yes, boss."
"Can you review these numbers?"
"Yes, boss."
"Do you agree with this timeline?"
"Yes, boss."
"Should we move the presentation to Thursday?"
"Whatever you think is best, boss."
Not once did he use her name.
Not once did he offer an unsolicited opinion.
Not once did he look directly at her.
He'd become a perfectly professional, completely detached employee.
And Lyra was too wrapped up in the work—or too stubborn to acknowledge what was happening—to address it.
But everyone else noticed.
Logan had stopped contributing unless directly asked.
Mireille was typing but clearly not processing anything.
Ophelia had given up on her own project entirely and was just sitting there, radiating discomfort.
Kalina was mentally composing speeches she'd never give about communication and marriage and not being a workaholic idiot.
9:47 PM
Lyra finally closed her laptop with a decisive click.
"I think that's enough for tonight," she announced. "We've made good progress. Same time Thursday?"
Murmurs of agreement around the table.
Lyra stood, gathering her things. She glanced at Atticus, clearly expecting him to do the same.
He didn't move.
"Atticus?" she said, her tone slightly impatient. "Are you coming?"
"I'd like to stay a bit longer," he said, still not looking at her. "Review some of these projections."
"We can do that at home—"
"I'd prefer to stay here, ma'am."
Ma'am.
The room collectively held its breath.
Lyra's face flushed red—whether from anger or embarrassment, it was hard to tell.
"Atticus, stop being childish and—"
"I'm not being childish. I'm being professional." He finally looked up at her, his expression completely neutral. "You wanted an employee, not a husband. So here's your employee, asking permission to work late. Is that acceptable, ma'am?"
The silence was deafening.
Lyra's hands clenched around her laptop bag. Her eyes were bright—with fury, with hurt, possibly with tears she refused to shed in front of an audience.
"Fine," she bit out. "Stay. Work yourself to death for all I care."
She turned on her heel and stormed toward the door.
Paused.
Turned back, clearly hoping Atticus would call her back, would apologize, would something.
He didn't.
He was already looking back at his tablet, his face carved from stone.
Lyra left.
The door closed behind her with a sharp click.
The remaining five people sat in the wreckage of what had just happened.
Logan looked like he wanted to disappear.
Mireille was staring at her laptop screen without seeing it.
Ophelia had her hand over her mouth, eyes wide.
Atticus sat perfectly still, staring at numbers he clearly wasn't reading.
And Kalina—
Kalina had had enough.
She stood up, the scrape of her chair breaking the terrible silence.
"Who wants a drink?" she announced, heading toward the bar setup in the corner of her quarters.
Everyone's heads snapped toward her.
"Because I sure as hell need one after that," Kalina continued, pulling out glasses. "And I'm not drinking alone while watching my sister's marriage implode in real-time. So. Who's in?"
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Atticus stood up slowly.
"Whiskey," he said, his voice rough. "Neat."
"Coming right up."
Logan exhaled. "Beer. Whatever you've got."
"Red wine," Mireille added quietly. "Large pour."
Ophelia just nodded. "Same."
Kalina started pouring, the clink of glass and splash of liquid the only sounds in the room.
And as she handed out drinks to her shell-shocked companions, she couldn't help but think:
This is going to get so much worse before it gets better.
If it got better at all.