Chapter 4 Fourth Chapter

The rhythmic clicking of keyboards filled the open-plan office, a steady hum that usually made it easy for Liana to sink into her work. But today, something was... off. She felt it the moment she stepped out of Mr. Pierce's office and returned to her desk.

Eyes.

Too many eyes.

It wasn't overt. No one outright turned in their chair to stare at her. Instead, the glances came in flickers-quick, darting looks that slid over her like a shadow. A cough that sounded suspiciously like a smothered laugh. A chair creaking as someone leaned just far enough to whisper into their neighbor's ear.

Her hand tightened on the file she carried, knuckles pale.

She told herself she was imagining it, but then-

"She's already making moves, huh?" a voice hissed a few desks away.

"Bold of her. Doesn't she know he hates brown-nosers?"

"Or maybe she's hoping to be the exception," another snickered.

Heat crawled up Liana's neck. She lowered her gaze, willing her steps to remain steady as she crossed to her desk. Her chest felt tight, the oxygen thinner than it had been moments before.

And then came the dagger.

"Oh, Vanessa," one of the junior assistants cooed from behind, her tone dripping admiration. "You really are the one Pierce trusts. Everyone knows you're his right hand. No one else could ever compete with you."

The words were pitched loud enough for half the department to hear.

Vanessa Cole's laugh followed, sweet and sharp all at once. "Oh, don't say that. It's not about competition-it's about capability. Mr. Pierce values competence above all, and I simply make sure his standards are upheld."

Her gaze flicked up then, locking on Liana as if she'd only just noticed her return. Her smirk was razor thin, victorious. "Some people try too hard, and it's... pitiful to watch."

The office chuckled. Not outright laughter-just quiet snorts, polite coughs, the kind of complicit amusement that hurt worse because it was subtle.

Liana's stomach dropped.

She slid into her chair, eyes fixed on her computer screen, pretending not to hear, pretending it didn't matter. She typed her password too hard, the clacking of keys betraying the tremor in her hands.

But the whispers didn't stop.

"Imagine thinking you can get ahead by running errands."

"She really thinks Pierce notices her."

"She'll crash and burn. They always do."

The words circled like vultures.

Vanessa leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs with deliberate elegance. "Still," she mused aloud, her voice smooth enough to carry across the office, "ambition isn't a crime. It's just... dangerous when it's misplaced."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room.

Liana swallowed hard, keeping her eyes on the monitor. Her cheeks burned, but her spine refused to curl. She wouldn't give Vanessa the satisfaction of seeing her crumble.

Not here. Not now.

Still, her mind reeled. She'd only followed Pierce's instructions. She had done her job. And yet somehow, in the span of an hour, she'd become the subject of the office's theater, with Vanessa as its star.

The queen of whispers.

And Liana-the target.

By the time noon passed, Liana's shoulders ached from tension. Even the simplest emails took twice as long to type; every keystroke sounded like a hammer in her ears. She tried to drown out the mutters, but they came in steady waves.

At one point, she reached for the office printer only to find two colleagues already there. They stopped their conversation abruptly when she approached, exchanging knowing smirks before one muttered, "Climbers always fall the hardest."

Her throat tightened. She gathered her pages silently, ignoring their eyes burning holes into her back.

When she returned to her desk, Vanessa was surrounded by a small court of admirers. Her laughter carried across the floor like champagne bubbles. She was relishing the attention, basking in it as though it were her birthright. Every nod she received from her peers, every whisper of "Vanessa really is the one Pierce trusts," only sharpened her smug smile.

And then she struck again.

"Poor thing," Vanessa sighed dramatically, just loud enough. "She probably thinks fetching files means she's climbing the ladder. Someone should tell her Titan Media doesn't reward desperation."

Liana's nails dug crescents into her palms.

She wanted-desperately-to snap back. To defend herself. To wipe that smirk off Vanessa's face with the truth. But the rational part of her brain reminded her: the office was watching. Any misstep would only confirm the rumors.

So she straightened her back, forced her features into calm neutrality, and opened a fresh document. Her cursor blinked at her, a silent dare.

If Vanessa wanted to play this game, fine.

But Liana wasn't going to fight her with whispers. She'd fight with results.

By late afternoon, when the office buzz had dulled into post-lunch lethargy, a sharp ding broke through the air.

An email.

From: Jonathan Pierce

Subject: Follow-up on Gala Draft

Liana's eyes widened. Her stomach dropped.

Every head in the room seemed to swivel toward her desk as though they'd sensed it. Vanessa's smirk deepened. "Oh? Another summons?" she murmured.

The gossip reignited instantly.

"She's in trouble already."

"Pierce doesn't waste time when someone messes up."

"Watch, she'll be out by the end of the week."

Liana's pulse hammered in her ears. She clicked open the message.

> Ms. Torres,

I've reviewed your draft for the Gala event. Bring yourself and your notes to my office at 4 PM sharp. I'd like to discuss your concepts in more detail.

– Jonathan Pierce

Her breath caught. He hadn't mentioned mistakes. He hadn't sounded displeased. If anything... he'd sounded intrigued.

But the office didn't know that. And Vanessa, clearly, didn't care.

"Oh, poor thing," Vanessa cooed again. "Dragged into Pierce's office twice in one day? That can't be good. Everyone knows when he calls twice, it means you've messed up."

More laughter. More whispers.

But this time, something inside Liana shifted. She closed the email, lifted her chin, and gathered her notebook.

Yes, they were watching. Yes, Vanessa was basking in her fake throne. But she knew one thing Vanessa didn't: she hadn't failed. She hadn't been called in for punishment.

She'd been called in for recognition.

And if she handled this right, the whispers might just choke on their own laughter.