Too Late For Regret, Mr. CEO

Arden walked into the massive glass-walled boardroom.

She set her laptop on the mahogany table and efficiently connected the HDMI cable to the overhead projector.

Several senior executives in charge of the cultural tourism division filed into the room.

They looked slightly surprised to see the CEO's wife standing at the vendor's podium, but they nodded with professional courtesy and took their seats.

Just as the meeting was about to begin, the heavy double doors swung open.

The sharp, rapid clacking of high heels echoed into the room, followed immediately by a suffocating wave of heavy, sweet floral perfume.

Brooklyn walked in, wearing a tight, haute couture business dress, flanked by two nervous assistants. She carried herself with the arrogance of royalty.

The executives immediately stood up.

"Good morning, Director Garcia," they chimed in unison, welcoming the newly appointed Brand Strategy Director.

Arden's fingers tightened around her laser pointer.

She hadn't expected Brooklyn's first move back in New York to be parachuting into a senior executive role at Federico's company.

Brooklyn walked to the head of the table and sat down.

She crossed her legs, resting her chin on her hand, and shot Arden a highly provocative, mocking glare. "You may begin."

Arden forced her lungs to expand, ignoring the heavy perfume.

She clicked to the first slide and began speaking, her voice steady as she explained the commercial value of integrating high-end art curation with real estate.

Halfway through the presentation, Brooklyn rapped her knuckles loudly against the wood table, cutting Arden off mid-sentence.

"This is completely useless," Brooklyn said harshly, waving her hand dismissively. "It's too niche. There is zero commercial explosive power here. This is a corporate project, Arden, not a college art class."

The executives, sensing the shift in power, immediately changed their tune. They began nodding along with Brooklyn, murmuring their agreement. The atmosphere in the room turned hostile.

Arden kept her face perfectly neutral.

She clicked to a slide filled with market research data. "If you look at the demographic metrics here, Director Garcia, the data proves-"

"I don't care about your little charts," Brooklyn snapped, using her authority to shut down the debate. "I want your team to tear this down and start over. You have one week."

Brooklyn leaned forward, a malicious smile playing on her lips. "If you can't handle the pressure, the Monroe Group can easily find a more competent vendor."

It was a blatant display of workplace bullying.

Arden took a deep breath, smiled politely, and closed her laptop. "We will revise it."

The meeting adjourned. Arden packed her bag quickly and walked out of the boardroom, desperate to escape the toxic air.

She walked to the elevator bank and pressed the down button.

A sign on the standard elevators read Out of Service for Maintenance. She had no choice but to walk over to the executive private elevator.

The metal doors dinged and slid open.

Arden froze. Her feet glued to the carpet.

Federico was standing inside the elevator.

Brooklyn was standing right next to him, her hands intimately gripping his bicep, her face tilted up toward his with a bright smile.

Federico looked up. A flash of surprise crossed his eyes when he saw Arden, but his brow quickly furrowed, and his gaze turned to ice.

Brooklyn gasped, covering her mouth in fake shock.

"Oh, Arden! Did you get lost? This is the executive elevator."

Arden clamped her jaw shut. She refused to back down.

She kept her spine straight, stepped into the confined space, and pressed the button for the lobby.

The doors closed, trapping the three of them in a tight, silent box.

The heavy smell of Brooklyn's perfume made Arden's stomach churn with actual nausea.

Brooklyn leaned her head against Federico's shoulder.

"Rico," she pouted, her voice dripping with fake guilt. "I was a little strict with the vendor during the meeting just now. I hope people don't think I'm a bully."

Federico looked down at Brooklyn. His voice was incredibly soft, a tone Arden hadn't heard in years.

"You are just doing your job as the director. You don't need to apologize to anyone for having high standards."

The words felt like a physical slap across Arden's face.

She dug her fingernails so hard into her palms that she felt the skin break.

The elevator reached the lobby.

Before the doors even fully opened, Brooklyn eagerly pulled Federico out by his arm.

As Federico walked past Arden, he paused for a fraction of a second.

"Focus on your work, Arden," he said, his voice dropping to a cold, hard whisper. "Stop playing these pathetic games to get my attention."

Arden watched their backs as they walked away together, shoulder to shoulder.

She stood alone in the elevator, feeling like the biggest joke in the world.

The metal doors slowly closed again.

Arden shut her eyes, swallowing down the thick lump of humiliation in her throat. When she opened them again, every trace of vulnerability was gone, replaced by pure, freezing resolve.