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Her new office was larger than the last, expansive like an arena for the battles she fought every day. Floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows revealed the city sprawled at her feet, a conquered territory under the rule of a savage tribal chief. The designer desk, heavy as her ambitions, weighed three hundred kilograms, and the chair, priced like a used foreign car, was a throne befitting her power. A deathly silence reigned in this sanctuary, broken only by the rustle of papers and the ticking of a floor clock, counting down to her next triumph.

Tanya sat enthroned in her regal chair, reviewing a report on ratings. The numbers gleamed like diamonds on velvet—brilliant, perfect, like everything that emerged from her iron grip. She calculated her moves like a chess player plotting checkmate several steps ahead, fully aware that somewhere in the depths of the departments, an unnoticed but ambitious young woman might be lurking, ready to claw at her throne. But her sharp, blade-like thoughts were interrupted by Natasha, a friend from university days whose presence once felt warm but now irritated her like an old scar aching in bad weather.

Natasha entered without knocking, merely tapping her knuckles on the office door as a half-hearted apology for the intrusion. Her face was tense, as if she carried a burden she couldn’t shake off.

“Tanya, can I have a minute?” Her voice was cautious, like footsteps on thin ice.

Tanya didn’t lift her eyes from the monitor, her fingers gliding across the keyboard with cold detachment.

“I’ve got a meeting in fifteen minutes. Make it quick.”

“It’s about Olga. Did you really fire her?”

“Do I have a habit of joking about such things?” Tanya finally looked at her friend, her gaze sharp as a scalpel, ready to slice through any illusions. Natasha stood clutching a folder, her usual cheerfulness evaporated like morning mist under a scorching sun.

“Tanya, she worked with you for five years! She cut her maternity leave short so you wouldn’t need a replacement! And you threw her out over a single typo in a presentation?”

“Not a typo,” Tanya corrected coldly, her voice like ice that refused to melt even under a heated stare. “Unprofessionalism. In our line of work, there are no small details. One typo is a stain on the reputation of the entire department. My department, our department, after all, whose results also earn you quarterly bonuses.”

“Your department?” Natasha stepped forward, her voice trembling with restrained emotion. “Tanya, wake up! Look at yourself! You’re mowing down everyone in your path like a bulldozer. Kirill went on a binge after the appointment fiasco, Sergey walks around like a broken man, speaking to no one, and now Olga… People are afraid of you!”

“And they should be,” Tanya stood and walked to the window, her reflection in the glass like a statue carved from marble—cold and unyielding. Beyond the glass, the city stretched out like a map of her victories, but in her reflection, her eyes were empty. “Fear is an excellent motivator. It works far better than bonuses. I’m not a chocolate bar to be liked by everyone. Anything else?”

“This isn’t you talking!” Natasha’s voice quivered, like a string about to snap. “I remember the Tanya who stayed up all night working on her thesis, who cried when Daniil left her, who laughed until she teared up over stupid jokes! Where did she go?”

Tanya turned. Her face was utterly calm, and for that reason, all the more terrifying, like a mask hiding neither pain nor regret.

“Do you enjoy being a monster? I’m starting to fear you myself.”

Natasha nervously ran her hands over Tanya’s desk, as if trying to show she wasn’t rattled, that she was saying this half in jest, half in earnest, just in case her words struck a nerve. She clung to the remnants of their old friendship, when they were equals, sharing guys on dates, laughing over trivialities, and crying on each other’s shoulders.

“My life is my business. And my department is my business too. If you don’t like my methods, the door’s right there. You can follow Olga.”

Natasha froze, her breathing heavy, as if the air in the office had suddenly thickened.

“You’re kicking me out? Your only friend? The one who pulled you out of that black hole after Daniil? Who stayed with you for a week when you couldn’t stop crying?”

“That girl you ‘pulled out’ is dead,” Tanya said ruthlessly, her words cutting like shards of glass, sharp and cold. “And I don’t need reminders of who I was. I’m sorry, Natasha. But that’s the price.”

As Tanya spoke those words, for a fleeting moment, she herself feared the abyss opening before her, the situation unfolding now that continued to corrode her from within. But deep inside, another Tanya began to awaken—an unfamiliar, dark version with sharp claws and an icy heart, one she had yet to fully meet. This new Tanya knew no mercy, no weakness, and her voice drowned out all doubts.

They stood facing each other—two women once bound by genuine friendship, warm as a summer sun. Now, a wall of glass, power, and cynicism stood between them, transparent but impassable. They could see each other but couldn’t take a step to bypass this barrier before it grew taller, thicker, stronger, until it became an unbreakable fortress dividing them forever.

Natasha didn’t know what else to say to break through this wall, to bring back the old Tanya, to avoid losing her own job, which was her anchor in this cruel world.

“Fine. I get it.”

She left the office, adjusting her hair and running her hands over her hip, emphasizing her attractiveness as if reminding Tanya that she, too, wasn’t to be underestimated, that she could play these games if forced.

The door closed with a soft click, but the sound reverberated in Tanya’s chest like a hammer strike. The deathly silence of the office suddenly pressed on her ears, as if the walls were closing in, cutting her off from the world. She approached her desk, her hand involuntarily gripping an expensive pen so tightly her knuckles whitened like marble. The harder she squeezed, the less she felt the pain, but the emptiness inside only grew, a black hole swallowing everything left of her soul.

On her phone, she reviewed footage from the night before in a roadside motel room, where, playing a dark game, she recruited another man to her team. He was her secret weapon, a pawn for critical missions if the need arose. His gaze in the video was empty but loyal, bringing her a grim satisfaction. Control. Power. That was all that mattered.

Suddenly, the door opened again, shattering the silence like thunder on a clear day. Alex, her lead cameraman, entered, his face serious, a flicker of concern in his eyes.

“Tanya, everything’s ready for the shoot. We leave in ten minutes.”

She spun around sharply, all her pent-up anger erupting like lava finding a new vent, spewing forth with unstoppable force.

“Who gave you permission to enter without knocking? Do you think just because we fuck sometimes, you’ve got special privileges? Knock, I said! Get out and come back properly!”

Alex didn’t flinch. He looked at her with that strange mix of stubbornness and pity she despised with every fiber of her being, as if he saw the Tanya she had buried deep inside.

“Tanya, are you okay?”

She couldn’t bear it. Pity was like poison to her, corroding the armor she had so carefully built around herself.

“Get out!” she hissed, her voice laced with fury, sharp as a blade. “Or I’ll throw you out right after Natasha!”

But Alex didn’t budge. He closed the door, turned the internal lock with a quiet click, sealing them off from the outside world, and began to undress slowly, his movements confident, almost defiant.

“I’m going to calm you down now, my queen.”

His presence, his gaze full of inexplicable strength, worked on her like a spell, and in that moment, all her feigned despotism, all her armor of words and threats melted away like wax under a flame. She felt her anger recede, replaced by something deeper, more primal, something she couldn’t control but didn’t want to.

Alex stepped closer, his strong, warm hands pressing her against the massive desk, a movement both commanding and gentle, as if he knew how to ignite the fire she tried to extinguish. Their bodies collided like a storm against a cliff, in a clash brimming with hidden passion, where words had no place, only a rhythm that drowned out everything—pain, anger, emptiness. Her dress, strict yet form-fitting, slid upward, revealing the delicate lace of black lingerie, like a spiderweb barely concealing her pale skin, alluring as forbidden fruit. Her curves, soft yet firm, responded to his every move, her breathing grew heavy like the air before a thunderstorm, and her skin glistened with a faint sheen of sweat, like dew on a morning flower.

He pushed her beyond the edge, to a place with no power, no control, only raw, untamed energy that burned everything in its path. Her fingers dug into the polished surface of the desk, leaving invisible marks, and her body arched like a bow stretched to its limit, ready to release an arrow. Inside her raged a storm, a mix of fury and release, and for those ten minutes, she forgot she was the head of a department with over a hundred employees, a queen whose word was law. She was just a woman, drowning in waves she couldn’t stop, nor did she want to.

When it subsided, her breathing was still uneven, her heart pounding like a drum, echoing in her temples. Alex stepped back, his gaze warm but tinged with a concern she didn’t want to see. She adjusted her dress, the fabric sliding over her skin like cold silk, pulling her back to reality, to the mask she wore as armor. But something inside trembled, a crack in her walls that she immediately tried to seal, refusing to allow herself weakness.