Chapter 3 - Monday Morning MeltdownBy 8:45 AM on Monday, the open-plan offices of Dubois & Laurent on Madison Avenue were buzzing with a frantic, electrified energy. Word of the Plaza ballroom scandal had spread through elite corporate circles faster than a wildfire. Every employee had seen the blurry videos, heard the rumors of Matteo Cipriani stepping in, and whispered about Mabel Laurent’s very public humiliation.
Ayla walked through the glass double doors of the office wearing a sharp, charcoal-gray pantsuit she had panic-bought online the night before using a credit card she promised herself she wouldn't max out. Her head was held high, her posture immaculate.
The moment she stepped onto the floor, the office chatter died instantly. Dozens of eyes snapped toward her. Colleagues who used to pretend she was invisible now stared at her as if she were a ghost walking among the living.
Before Ayla could reach her desk, Jean Dubois’s office door swung open violently.
"Ayla! My office. Now." Jean’s face was beet red, his veins bulging slightly at his temples. He looked like a man who hadn't slept a wink since Saturday night.
Ayla didn't flinch. She calmly set her leather satchel down on her desk, smoothed the lapel of her jacket, and walked into Jean’s sprawling corner office, leaving the door wide open behind her.
Jean slammed his hands down on his mahogany desk. "Are you out of your absolute mind?! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!"
"Good morning to you too, Jean," Ayla replied smoothly, stepping over to the leather client chairs and sitting down without being invited.
"Don't play games with me!" Jean snarled, pacing furiously behind his desk. "Mabel has been crying for thirty-six hours because you and your little stunt with Matteo Cipriani made her the laughingstock of the city! And more importantly—what the hell is this nonsense about you being married to him? Do you realize how many corporate accounts we share with Cipriani Holdings? If you’ve dragged our firm into some bizarre personal vendetta—"
"My personal life has nothing to do with Dubois & Laurent, Jean," Ayla interrupted, her voice crisp and completely devoid of the nervous timidity he was used to. "Though speaking of the firm’s business... I believe we need to discuss my compensation package."
Jean stopped pacing, staring at her as if she had suddenly grown a second head. "Your... compensation package? Have you lost your grip on reality? You just insulted a founding partner’s daughter at the most important gala of the year, and you’re asking for a raise?!"
"I’m not asking for a raise, Jean," Ayla said, pulling a crisp, printed legal document from her bag and placing it neatly on his desk. "I’m submitting my formal resignation, accompanied by an audit notice regarding intellectual property theft, falsified client reporting, and systematic suppression of credit across eighteen accounts."
Jean’s eyes darted down to the paper. The color drained from his face so fast it looked like stage makeup. "You... you can't do this. You signed a non-compete clause. You’re bound to this firm—"
"A non-compete clause is legally void when the employer engages in fraudulent misrepresentation of authorship," a cool, smooth voice chimed in from the doorway.
Jean and Ayla both snapped their heads toward the entrance.
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Luca Bianchi stood leaning casually against the doorframe, wearing a bespoke navy suit, holding a leather briefcase. Behind him stood two senior corporate attorneys representing Cipriani Holdings.
"Good morning, Mr. Dubois," Luca said, flashing a shark-like, utterly humorless smile. "We’re here on behalf of Mr. and Mrs. Cipriani to review the dissolution of Miss Bennett’s contract. And trust me... you don't want to say no."
