Ethan was there as the investor representative for our new fragrance launch.
Lila was there too.
She’d transferred into my division a few weeks earlier under the pretense of “learning from the best.” Apparently what she really wanted was to walk into my company with my husband’s hand at her back.
She sat three seats away from me in a pale dress, one hand resting near her stomach whenever Ethan looked at her.
Subtle.
Calculated.
Sickening.
The project on the table was called Free Wings, a perfume built from the final formula notes my mother left behind and the years I’d spent refining them into something modern, textured, and expensive in all the right ways.
It was mine.
Not just legally.
In my bones, it was mine.
When I asked for department opinions, Lila stood.
Her voice came out soft but trembling with fake conviction. “I still think Free Wings should collaborate with Carter Group’s mass-market line.”
I looked at her. “No.”
She pressed on. “Why not? Fragrance shouldn’t be exclusive to luxury consumers. I joined this industry because I wanted ordinary people to afford beautiful scents.”
The room got quiet.
I tapped my pen against the conference table. “And I built this fragrance for a premium market. Positioning matters.”
“But price matters too,” she shot back, suddenly emotional. “Why are you being so inhumane about this?”
Inhumane?
I stood.
Then I walked around the table until I was directly in front of her.
“First,” I said, very calmly, “the source formula belonged to my mother. The developed version belongs to me. I decide where it goes.”
Her lips trembled.
“Second, if you want to pursue your dream, create something of your own. Don’t cling to my team and then lecture me about compassion.”
Her face drained of color.
Tears flooded her eyes on cue.
Right on schedule, Ethan intervened.
He grabbed my arm and yanked me back.
“Sophia,” he snapped, “that’s enough.”
The pain shot all the way to my shoulder.
By then everyone else had already sensed the shift in atmosphere and quietly slipped out, leaving only the three of us in the room.
Lila hid half behind him and gave me the smallest smile.
A winning smile.
My face went cold.
“What exactly did I do?” I asked. “Tell the truth? Ethan, you’re in this business too. You know the value of Free Wings.”
Before he could answer, Lila lifted her chin.
“I already gave the formula to Mr. Carter’s R&D department,” she said.
For one second, I honestly thought I’d misheard her.
“You what?”
She swallowed. “Whether it’s valuable or not should be decided by data.”
My whole body went still.
The registered creator on that file was me.
Only me.
“Lila,” I said, and my voice came out terrifyingly calm, “that is theft of confidential intellectual property. Congratulations. You may actually go to prison.”
“You can’t do this to me!” she cried suddenly, lunging forward.
She seized the arm Ethan had just wrenched.
Pain exploded through me. My shoulder had already shifted wrong from his grip, and when she grabbed it, my vision flashed white.
I tried to pull back.
The next second, Lila screamed and dropped to the floor.
Hands over her stomach.
Blood blooming through pale fabric.
The conference room door burst open. Staff rushed in. Someone gasped. Someone shouted for an ambulance.
Lila curled around herself and cried, “Ethan… our baby…”
He looked at me like he’d never seen me before.
Like I was filth.
Like he wanted to tear me apart.
Then he scooped her up and barked, “Call the police.”
“I didn’t push her,” I said.
He didn’t even look at me.
He carried her out.
I stood there alone, my arm hanging at an unnatural angle, while my employees stared.
Then the police arrived.