Chloe's POV:

The news of my resignation spread through The Olson Group like a wildfire. As I walked back to my office, I was met with a barrage of reactions—some colleagues pleaded with me to stay, while others watched from the sidelines with poorly hidden mockery. I ignored them all. My decision was final.

When I reached my office, I found it was already being occupied. Keira stood next to Lance, her voice carrying an air of unearned authority as she instructed the staff to clear out my space.

"I don't want any of the old materials or files," Keira said, flashing a sweet smile at Lance. "I’m just not comfortable using things that belonged to someone else."

Lance smiled back, his eyes showing a strange estrangement I hadn't seen before. "Of course. Everything will be replaced to your liking."

I watched them, my expression a mask of ice. "Sean," I called out, my voice cutting through the chatter.

Sean, my assistant, looked up. "Ms. Summers?"

"Do you have a lighter?" I asked. When he handed it to me, I walked to my cabinet, pulled out a thick folder containing years of my research—discarded formulas, experimental scents, and my most successful creations.

"What are you doing, Chloe?" Lance asked, his eyes narrowing as he watched me.

Without a word, I ignited the corner of the first page. The flames grew quickly, reflecting in my eyes as the paper curled into black ash. This was my intellectual property, my life’s work. If I was leaving, I wasn't leaving a single drop of my talent behind for them to exploit.

"It is my right to dispose of my own property," I said, returning the lighter to Sean. "Clear out the rest of this room. I don't want anything of mine to remain."

I picked up my bag and walked out. Lance caught up to me at the staircase, reaching out to block my path. "Chloe, wait. Do we have to end it like this?"

I stepped back, maintaining a professional distance that felt like a chasm between us. "There was never any other way for this to end, Lance. You made your choice a long time ago."

Returning to my apartment, I felt a strange sense of liberation. I took a quick shower and changed into comfortable lounge clothes, trying to wash away the lingering tension of the office.

Granny Harper’s words echoed in my mind. I didn't need to dwell on the past, but I had to take responsibility for it. One day, I would prove my innocence regarding the incidents from six years ago. But for now, I needed to focus on the future.

My thoughts drifted to a certain handsome face. I remembered what he had said the day before—his voice full of that captivating, low-toned charm. I checked my phone, but there were no new messages.

"I'll be busy for a few days. Rest well, and I’ll call you."

I shook my head, trying to dispel the feeling of disappointment. Why was I expecting his call? I put the phone on the table, only to pick it up again a moment later as I walked into the bedroom.

Damon's POV:

On the 88th floor of The Harper Group headquarters, the atmosphere in the conference room was stifling. The luxury of the surroundings did nothing to ease the pressure of the ongoing negotiations. My focus was sharp, my mind calculating every move, but a small part of me remained elsewhere.

I glanced at my watch. It had been three days. I knew Chloe was processing her transition, and I wanted to give her the space she needed. But as the meeting stretched on, I found myself anticipating the moment I could finally pick up the phone and hear her voice.

Success in business required patience, but in matters of the heart, I was finding that even a few days felt like an eternity.