Your stomach turns.
And suddenly her earlier words make sense in a frightening way.

“Freedom,” you murmur.

Elise’s gaze snaps back to you.
“Exactly,” she says.
Then her expression shifts, and it’s almost… pleading.

“You have to stay close tonight,” she says.
“Not just for appearances.”
She pauses. “He’s not used to being told no. And when he doesn’t get what he wants, he punishes.”

You should ask why she didn’t go to HR, to legal, to the police.
But you can already guess the answers.
Because men like Álvaro don’t make threats you can report. They make offers you can’t refuse.

You glance down at her wrist.
That Swiss watch gleams in the light.

“That’s your mother’s?” you ask quietly.

Elise’s throat moves.
“Yes,” she says. “It’s the only thing I have that was hers.”
She looks away, and you see grief flash like lightning, brief but bright.

Your chest tightens with something unfamiliar.
Not pity.
Recognition.

Because you know what it feels like to have one precious thing and to hold it like it’s a lifeline.

You steady your voice.
“Okay,” you say. “I’ll play boyfriend.”
Then you add, “But you need to tell me what ‘you’ll have him’ means.”

Elise hesitates.
Then she reaches into her clutch and pulls out a small envelope.
It’s thick, cream-colored, sealed with a wax stamp that looks absurdly old-world.

“This is a partnership nomination letter,” she says.
Your breath catches.

“At ICE,” you repeat, stunned.
“That’s… that’s not something assistants get.”

“It’s not final,” Elise says.
“It needs one signature.”
Her eyes flick toward a man near the bar: the Senior Managing Partner, Ernesto Varela, laughing with the German clients like he’s auditioning for a magazine cover.

“That signature,” Elise says. “Is him.”

You stare.
“You’re offering me… partnership?” you whisper.

Elise’s eyes harden again, but there’s something else under it.
Desperation.

“I’m offering you the chance to stop being invisible,” she says.
“Because if Álvaro wins, he’ll control the board, he’ll control me, and he’ll control the firm.”
Her voice drops. “And you’ll be the first person he fires, because you’re useful to me.”

Your mouth goes dry.
This isn’t about a party.
This isn’t even about romance.

It’s war in a room full of cocktails.

“And what do you need me to do?” you ask.

Elise looks at you, and for the first time her voice is raw.
“Make him believe,” she says.
“Make him believe I chose someone he can’t intimidate.”
She swallows. “Make him back off long enough for me to get that signature and restructure the board.”

You glance across the room.
Álvaro is watching you both now, pretending he isn’t.
He lifts his glass slightly as if to toast.

You feel a chill.
“How do we do that?” you ask.

Elise’s gaze holds yours.
“You act like you want me,” she says simply.
“And you act like you’re not afraid of him.”

Your pulse stutters at the word want.
You’ve wanted Elise in quiet ways you never admitted to yourself, because wanting your boss is like wanting the moon.
It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change the tide. It just makes you feel foolish.

But now Elise is asking you to weaponize that feeling.
To make it visible.

You force a slow breath.
“Fine,” you say. “We do it.”
Then you add, “But you promised me the most precious thing you have.”

Elise’s eyes narrow.
“You’ll get it,” she says.

“Not later,” you reply softly.
“Tonight, you’ll at least tell me what it is.”

Elise holds your gaze.
Then, quietly: “My mother’s watch is the symbol. The real thing is… my trust.”
Her voice tightens. “I don’t give it away.”

Something in you steadies.
“Then don’t,” you say.
“Lend it to me for one night.”

You offer your arm.

Elise hooks hers through it like she’s done it a hundred times, and you walk back into the party like you belong at the center of it.
You feel eyes turn.
You feel whispers ignite.

And you feel Álvaro’s attention sharpen like a blade.

You approach Ernesto Varela with the kind of confident stride you’ve only ever practiced in mirrors.
Ernesto glances up, surprised to see Elise at your side, and more surprised to see her smiling.
Not a real smile, but the performance version.

“Elise,” Ernesto says. “And… Julián, right?”

“That’s me,” you reply, offering your hand.
Ernesto shakes it, distracted, because his attention is already on Elise.

“Elise,” Ernesto says, “the Germans were asking about you.”

Elise’s eyes flick to the German client team.
“Of course they were,” she says smoothly.
Then she tilts her head. “But first, I want you to meet someone.”

She gestures to you.
“My boyfriend,” she says, louder this time.

You feel your stomach flip.
Across the room, a few people turn fully now.
A boyfriend is gossip gold, especially when the woman in question is known for having ice in her veins.

Ernesto’s eyebrows lift.
“Well,” he says, amused, “that’s… new.”

“It’s not new,” Elise replies. “It’s just private.”

Your heart bangs against your ribs.
Now you have to deliver the second half of the play: prove you’re not an accessory.

You turn to Ernesto with a calm smile.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” you say.
“About the German contract.”

Ernesto’s expression shifts slightly.
“Oh?” he says.

You keep your tone friendly.
“The revised risk model,” you say, “the one that saved us from committing to the wrong deliverables.”
You let the sentence hang just long enough. “I built that. And I’d like to discuss how that kind of work is recognized.”

Elise’s fingers tighten on your arm.
Not warning.
Support.

Ernesto studies you, interest flickering.
“You’re bold tonight,” he says.

“I’m tired of being invisible,” you reply, and the words surprise even you because they’re true.
Then you glance at Elise as if she’s the reason you’re brave.
“And I’m in a mood to stop accepting crumbs.”

Ernesto smiles, intrigued.
“We’ll talk,” he says.
Then he glances at Elise. “Later.”

“Tonight,” Elise says politely, but firmly.
Ernesto laughs again, but you see he’s paying attention now.

You feel it shift: the balance of power.
Not fully.
But enough.

Then Álvaro appears at your shoulder like a shadow with cologne.

“Ernesto,” he says warmly, as if they’re friends, “I didn’t know you were still here.”
His gaze slides to you. “And I see the assistant has found a spotlight.”

You smile.
“I’m full of surprises,” you say.

Álvaro’s eyes narrow.
“Elise,” he says, ignoring you again. “A word.”

Elise’s posture stiffens, but you don’t give her the chance to move.
You lean in and kiss her.

It’s not soft.
It’s not hesitant.
It’s brief and decisive, like a statement rather than a question.

The party noise doesn’t stop, but in your little pocket of space everything goes silent.
You feel Elise freeze for half a beat, and then, shockingly, her hand slides up the back of your neck and holds you there.

When you pull away, Elise’s eyes are bright.
Not with romance.
With adrenaline.

Álvaro’s face changes.

It’s subtle, but you see it.
The moment he realizes this isn’t a rumor he can squash with a phone call.
This is a scene, and he hates being the one watching instead of directing.

“That,” Álvaro says, voice low, “was… theatrical.”

Elise smiles.
“Yes,” she says.
“And you hate theater you didn’t pay for.”

Ernesto clears his throat awkwardly and excuses himself, suddenly aware he’s standing inside a private conflict.
The German clients glance over and then look away, sensing danger like animals.
Your colleagues pretend not to watch while absolutely watching.

Álvaro leans closer to Elise, eyes sharp.
“You’re making a mistake,” he murmurs.

Elise lifts her chin.
“I’m making a choice,” she replies.

Álvaro’s gaze flicks to you.
“You,” he says softly, “have no idea what you’re stepping into.”

You keep your smile, but your blood turns cold.
Because the truth is, he might be right.
And you’re stepping anyway.

“I know enough,” you say.
“I know she said no.”
You pause. “And I know you didn’t hear it.”

Álvaro’s smile flashes, predatory.
“Careful,” he says. “Assistants are replaceable.”

You tilt your head.
“So are board members,” you reply calmly.

Álvaro’s eyes sharpen like you just slapped him in public.
Then he laughs, too loud, too bright.

“Elise,” he says, “if you insist on playing games, I’ll play too.”
He steps back. “Enjoy your party.”

He walks away, but you don’t feel relief.
You feel the opposite.

Because you can tell when someone has decided to win.

Elise’s hand is still on your arm.
It’s trembling now.

“You okay?” you murmur.

Elise’s voice is low.
“He’s going to do something,” she says.
Then she meets your eyes. “And if he does, you don’t get to run.”

You swallow.
“I’m not running,” you say.
And it’s not bravery. It’s stubbornness mixed with something that feels dangerously like loyalty.

Elise exhales.
“Come with me,” she says.

She leads you through a side hallway to a small balcony off the loft, where the air is cooler and the city sounds are distant.
For a moment, the noise is gone.
For a moment, Elise looks like a woman instead of a title.

She leans on the railing, staring down at the street.
“Álvaro was my father’s godson,” she says quietly.
“And when my mother died, he started showing up like he belonged in the spaces she left behind.”

Your chest tightens.
“Did you date him?” you ask.

Elise’s laugh is harsh.
“No,” she says. “He decided we were inevitable. Like… like it was a merger.”
She swallows. “When my father’s health declined, Álvaro moved in with his ‘help.’ He made sure every debt my father owed was owed to him.”

You feel sick.
“And your father let him?”

Elise’s eyes flash with pain.
“My father is proud,” she says. “He didn’t want anyone to know he was vulnerable.”
Her voice breaks, barely. “Álvaro used that.”

You stand beside her, the city air cooling the heat of the party off your skin.
“Elise,” you say softly, “why me?”

She turns, and you see it: the real fear under her composure.
“Because he doesn’t respect you,” she says honestly.
“And that’s exactly why you’re dangerous.”

The words hit you strangely.
Not flattering.
Infuriating.

“So I’m your surprise weapon,” you mutter.

Elise’s gaze holds yours.
“Yes,” she says.
Then, quieter: “And because you’re the only person in that firm who looks at me like I’m human when you think I can’t see it.”

Your throat tightens.
You want to deny it, but you can’t.
You’ve watched her work herself into exhaustion, you’ve covered her mistakes when she was too proud to admit them, you’ve printed decks at 2 a.m. because she refused to let anyone know she needed help.

You’ve been invisible on purpose because being seen felt like risk.
And now Elise is looking at you like she’s asking you to hold the weight she can’t carry alone.

“What do you need from me next?” you ask.

Elise exhales.
“We need Ernesto’s signature tonight,” she says.
“And we need to keep Álvaro from getting me alone.”

You nod.
“Then we stay glued together,” you say.
“Like an HR nightmare.”

Elise’s mouth twitches.
It’s almost a smile.

You go back inside, and you do the work of being convincing.
You laugh at Elise’s dry comments.
You lean close when she speaks.
You touch her lower back when you guide her through the crowd, and every time you do you feel her flinch less.

People stare.
People whisper.
People message each other under the table like they’re live-tweeting a scandal.

You don’t care.
Because you can feel Álvaro watching from across the room, and you can feel the threat in his patience.

An hour passes.
Then another.

Ernesto finally approaches again, drink in hand, expression thoughtful.
“Julián,” he says, “walk with me.”

Elise’s fingers tighten on yours under the pretense of casual touch.
You squeeze back once, letting her know you’re not leaving her.

Ernesto leads you to a quieter corner.
“I’m going to be blunt,” he says.

You nod.
“I’d expect nothing less.”

Ernesto studies you.
“You’ve been underestimated,” he says.
“And you’ve let it happen.”
He tilts his head. “Why change now?”

You glance toward Elise, who is pretending to laugh with colleagues while keeping her eyes on you like a lifeline.
You swallow.