His hand was steady as he signed, but the pen pressed so hard it nearly tore through the paper. "Alison Reynolds, you're fired." I stood at the office door, my name slicing through the air like a blade. Everyone kept their heads down, pretending to be busy—but I knew they were watching. Watching how I’d scramble to pack my things, how I’d fall from being the director’s assistant all the way to nothing. But they didn’t know that just ten minutes ago, I’d kissed the hollow of his throat in the underground garage. Or maybe… they did. 1 Three months ago, I wasn’t Alison Reynolds. I was just Ellie—the fiancée doted on by his son, spoiled and cherished. Until that night, when I overheard him and his son talking outside the engagement party. “You’re really going to marry her? She can’t even make a decent PowerPoint.” “Dad, you don’t get it. I love how gentle she is.” “Gentle?” He scoffed. “The way she looks at you—it’s like she’s hunting you.” I stood behind the pillar, champagne glass clenched in my fist, nails biting into my palm. So he’d seen me all along. And what truly drove me mad? The next day, he transferred me to his project team and whispered in my ear: “Want to prove it to me? That you’re worthy of my son?” Of course I did. But when I finally delivered a flawless report and stood before his desk, he suddenly reached out, fingertips grazing the pearl dangling from my ear. “This pearl,” he murmured, voice rough, “reminds me of the drop of blood you left on my desk corner the first time you wore heels—and fell on purpose.” I froze. No one was supposed to know that. Because I *had* done it on purpose. 2 Now, I’m the company’s gossip. “Both men from the Reynolds family fell for her?” “One dumped her, the other slept with her?” “What kind of game is she playing?” No one believes it was him who chased me three blocks in the rain just to press an umbrella into my hand. No one believes he shredded the board’s joint letter demanding, “Dismiss the employee guilty of misconduct.” No one believes that when I broke down sobbing in the restroom, it was because he said: “Don’t be afraid. I love you more fiercely than your madness.” The mirror reflects my swollen eyes—and the shadow slowly approaching behind me. He stands at my back, tie loosened, one cufflink missing. “They say I ruined you,” he whispers, “but you only came to me after burning every other soul to ash.” 3 Today, he handed me the termination letter himself. “Conflict of interest.” After all, no one can accept a CEO being with his former daughter-in-law. I took the papers. Our fingers brushed. He didn’t pull away. We played our roles perfectly in front of everyone—like true enemies. But the moment the elevator doors closed, he slammed me against the wall and captured my trembling lips in a searing kiss. “Hold on until tonight,” he breathed. “My place, the old house. There’s a cherry tree in the backyard—the one with the swing you used to play on as a child. I’ll erase all the surveillance footage.” Tears spilled as I laughed. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll stage another act?” “I am,” he bit gently at my earlobe, “but I’m more afraid that without you, every day alive would feel like a funeral.” 4 Now, I walk out of the building with a cardboard box in my arms. My phone vibrates. An anonymous group chat pings: [Did you see? Reynolds just got kicked out.] [Serves her right! A woman who seduces her father-in-law doesn’t belong here.] [Heard she’s trying to grab shares. What a joke.] I read it all in silence, delete the chat, and dial a number: “Lawyer, initiate the plan. It’s time my father’s hidden equity chain surfaced.” The wind lifts my skirt as I stride toward the parking lot in high heels. In the rearview mirror, a black sedan glides silently behind. I know who’s driving. This time, I’m not running. It’s the hunt that begins.