My Stepbrother's Dirty Little Secret novel Chapter 125

Chapter 125

I brushed on a light layer of makeup, just enough to mask the dark circles under my eyes and give my lips a muted, neutral tint. I kicked off my sneakers and slid into my heels. I looked at my reflection one last time. The exhaustion was still there, hidden under the surface, but I finally looked… presentable.

I walked out of the bathroom, swiped my badge at the security gate and stepped into the executive elevator.

The ride up was silent. I watched the floor numbers climb.

I walked past the assistants without a word, my folder tucked under my arm. I reached the double doors of Raphael’s office. I didn’t wait for Aileen to announce me.

I pushed the doors open and walked inside.

Raphael was sitting behind his massive desk, his sleeves rolled up, his eyes fixed on a monitor. He looked up as approached, his dark eyes tracking my every movement.

I didn’t say hello. I didn’t apologize for the intrusion. I walked straight to his desk and laid the folder down right in front of him, the paper hitting the wood with a soft, final sound.

“The Q4 logistics expansion model,” I said, “Complete with the neural network prioritization for the Eastern European sectors. Risk-variance is accounted for, and the failure rates are projected through the end of the fiscal year.”

I stood there, my back straight, my hands folded behind me. I could feel the burn in my thighs, a secret heat that reminded me exactly what it had cost to get here.

“Ten minutes early,” I added, my gaze locking onto his, “Just like you asked.”

Raphael didn’t look up immediately. He let the folder sit there for a long, silent second. Finally, he reached out. His fingers, long and tattooed at the knuckles, flipped the cover open.

I stood like a statue. My legs were screaming, the places where I’d pressed the metal nodes were throbbing with heat but I didn’t let a single muscle twitch. I watched his eyes move. They didn’t just skim the pages, they hunted. He was looking for a misplaced decimal, a faulty logic jump, or a single line of code that didn’t hold water.

He flipped to the back, where the complex neural network graphs were printed. I knew those graphs were perfect. I’d bled, literally and figuratively to make sure the risk-variance was airtight.

I felt a surge of heat in my chest that had nothing to do with the TENS unit. It was pride. I did it.

Raphael’s jaw tightened. A small muscle near his ear ticked. He closed the folder. He didn’t look impressed. He didn’t look surprised.

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