The lie landed like a slap worse than Clara’s.
Fiona’s laugh was broken short, jagged, hollow.
"Right. Of course. The boss." She shook her head slowly, in disbelief, eyes shining with unshed tears. "The boss who kisses his employees in elevators. The boss who "
She cut herself off.
Swallowed hard.
Took one step back.
Then another.
She grabbed her bag from the floor where it had fallen during the confrontation knuckles white around the strap.
Martin reached out instinctive, gentle.
"Fiona—"
She shook her head again sharper this ti.
"Don’t."
She turned.
Walked past Clara, who stood frozen a few feet away, eyes wide, mouth half-open, face pale as milk.
Fiona didn’t look at her.
Didn’t look at Martin.
She just walked fast, head high, tears burning behind her eyes but refusing to fall until she was out of sight.
The boutique doors swung shut behind her.
Silence crashed back in.
Clara stood there still holding her coat, still flushed from the adrenaline, still stinging from Martin’s words. She stared at the empty doorway Fiona had disappeared through.
Then she turned to Martin.
He hadn’t moved.
His eyes were fixed on the doors, jaw locked so tight a muscle jumped in his cheek.
Clara’s voice ca out small, almost childlike.
"How does she know you like that?"
Martin didn’t answer.
Clara took a step closer hesitant, like she was approaching a wild animal.
"She works for you, sure. But the way you looked at her..." She swallowed. "That wasn’t a boss looking at an employee. That was... more."
Martin finally turned his head.
Looked at her.
The cold fury from earlier hadn’t left his eyes it had only sharpened.
"Leave," he said.
Clara’s mouth trembled.
"Martin—"
"Leave," he repeated. "Before I call security and have you escorted out. Before I make sure the footage of you assaulting one of my employees ends up in the hands of every news outlet in the city."
Clara’s face crumpled.
She nodded jerky, terrified.
Then she fled.
Heels echoing down the mall corridor.
Martin stood alone in the middle of the boutique.
The sales associates were pretending to be invisible.
He looked down at the erald dress still lying on the floor where Fiona had dropped it.
He bent slowly.
Picked it up.
Held it in both hands.
The silk slipped through his fingers like water.
He closed his eyes.
Breathed.
Then he walked to the register.
Handed the dress to the nearest associate.
"Ring this up."
The woman nodded frantically.
"Cash or card, sir?"
"Card."
He paid.
Took the bag.
Walked out.
Outside, the mist had thickened into real rain again.
He stood under the awning for a long mont.
Looking toward the direction Fiona had gone.
Then he pulled out his phone.
Dialed Victor.
"Find her," he said when the line connected. "Make sure she gets ho safe. Don’t let her see you."
Victor’s voice was calm, unsurprised.
"On it, boss."
Martin hung up.
Stared at the rain.
And felt the first crack in the armor he’d worn for years finally start to split wide open
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