Chapter 14: Office gossip.

When Arielle stepped back into Cross Enterprises the following Monday, the silence was deafening.

Not the peaceful kind. The dangerous kind. The kind that came with stares that lasted just a second too long. Whispers that stopped mid-sentence the moment she passed. And those tight, polite smiles that said, We know.

Arielle had faced scrutiny before—after the rooftop photos, after the CleanStart initiative, after Damien publicly supported her. But this… this was different.

It was venom masked in courtesy.

She knew something had changed the moment she stepped off the elevator on the 24th floor.

Her desk was just as she'd left it. Organized. Tidy. Neutral. But the air around it? Thick with tension.

"Morning," she said to the nearby intern, Maddie.

Maddie blinked, then forced a too-wide smile. "Morning, Ms. Hayes."

Ms. Hayes? That was new.

Arielle sat down slowly, booting up her laptop. Her inbox was flooded—not with tasks, but with meeting invites. Three from HR. One from Marketing. Another titled: Internal Perception & Risk Response Team.

She didn't even know that department existed.

She barely had time to process before Jasmine—the office's self-declared social radar—practically tripped over her own heels trying to offer a coffee.

"Vanilla oat milk latte, right? I remembered!"

Arielle blinked. "Uh… thanks."

Jasmine leaned in, her voice a sugar-slicked whisper. "You know, if you ever need help adjusting to the... transition, I'd be happy to show you around the executive floors."

Arielle gave a tight-lipped smile. "I work just fine down here."

Jasmine laughed, waving her off. "Of course! Of course. I just meant… now that you're with Damien, it's only a matter of time before you move up, right?"

There it was.

Not even hidden.

Arielle turned back to her screen, ignoring the sting in her chest.

---

It got worse by noon.

She was walking back from a meeting when she heard it—two employees chatting in the break room, unaware she was just outside the door.

"I heard she's getting a corner office next month."

"Are you serious? From cleaning supplies to cross-departmental strategy? She must be very talented."

Snickers.

"I mean, sleeping with the CEO seems like a pretty strategic move."

More laughter.

Arielle's fingers clenched around her notebook. She could've stormed in, but what was the point? Calling them out would only make it worse.

Instead, she turned around and walked straight to the elevator.

The 38th floor had always felt like Damien's world—polished, composed, guarded by glass walls and steel doors.

Now, it was her refuge.

Claire looked up from her desk, concern flashing in her eyes. "You okay?"

"Is he in?"

Claire nodded. "Go."

Damien was on a call, pacing by the window. The moment he saw her, he ended it mid-sentence.

"Arielle? What's wrong?"

She closed the door behind her. "Is it true?"

He frowned. "Is what true?"

"That I'm getting a promotion. That HR has been instructed to give me executive access. That—" she swallowed, "—I'm being moved upstairs."

Damien blinked. "Where did you hear that?"

"I didn't have to. Half the office is gossiping like it's fact."

He sighed. "I mentioned to HR that your work on CleanStart warranted a conversation about a new title. That's it."

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

"I was waiting until we had a concrete offer. I didn't want you to feel pressured."

She stared at him. "You thought not telling me would take the pressure off?"

Damien looked pained. "I was trying to protect you."

"You're always trying to protect me," she snapped. "But what you're doing is putting me in the spotlight without even warning me."

He moved closer. "I didn't mean to blindside you."

"Well, you did," she said quietly. "And now I'm the girl who slept her way into a corner office."

Damien's jaw clenched. "No one with a brain would believe that."

She laughed bitterly. "You think office gossip needs brains? It just needs one whisper."

He reached for her hand, but she stepped back.

"I've worked hard, Damien. Not for promotions. Not for headlines. Just to be seen as more than my last name. But now every achievement comes with an asterisk."

Damien's voice softened. "I see you. Without the asterisk."

"I know you do. But they don't." She paused. "And I'm starting to wonder if I ever will be more than your girlfriend in their eyes."

---

By the next morning, the whispers had grown teeth.

Someone had anonymously submitted a meme to the company Slack channel—a cartoon of a janitor holding a gold-plated key labeled "CEO's Bed."

It had been deleted quickly, but not before screenshots made their way to her inbox.

Arielle stared at it, numb.

The shame didn't come from the image. It came from the silence that followed.

No one defended her. No one called it out publicly.

Not one word.

Not even Maddie.

That afternoon, she sat alone in the break room, head buried in her hands.

Until someone slid into the seat across from her.

It was Bernard—from Finance. Older. Gruff. The kind of man who never bothered with gossip unless it involved stock options.

"You know," he said, sipping his tea, "people always talk when they're scared."

She looked up.

"Scared?"

"Scared of change. Scared of someone breaking the mold. You come from a background they don't understand. You're in a relationship they think they wouldn't survive. And worse—you're doing it with dignity." He shrugged. "That intimidates people more than anything."

Arielle blinked. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I remember your first week here. You offered to fix the copy machine when everyone else ignored it. You stayed late to help that panicked intern. And you brought coffee to the night crew without anyone asking."

She blinked fast. "You noticed?"

"People always notice character, even if they don't say it out loud."

Arielle swallowed. "Thanks."

He stood to leave, but paused. "And for what it's worth—Damien didn't promote you because of love. He promoted you because you earned it. Even if half this building is too bitter to admit it."

---

Later that night, Damien knocked on her door.

No suit. No tie. Just Damien.

He didn't say anything at first. Just handed her a small box.

Inside: a nameplate.

Arielle Hayes, Director of Community Engagement

Beneath it, a card.

> This was never about what floor you work on.

It's about what heights you're meant to reach.

But I should've asked you first.

Forgive me. — D.

Arielle looked up, eyes glassy. "You're an idiot."

He smiled. "I'm aware."

"But I love you anyway."

He stepped inside and wrapped her in his arms. "Let's face the whispers together, okay?"

She nodded against his chest.

Let them whisper.

Let them stare.

Let them underestimate her.

She wasn't here for their approval.

She was here to rise.