Page 189 of Malicious Claim

Makros and Leila settled in their seats as Kim placed the folder on the desk. He opened it, flipped through the samples, then slid it across the desk to Leila without hesitation.

"Which one do you prefer?"

She blinked in surprise.

The last time he handed her paperwork, it had been more like a setup. But this... this felt different. He was genuinely asking for her opinion. There would be no consequences because she wasn't trumping over his choices.

She took her time, flipping through the seventeen suggestions carefully. Some were too plain. Some were too flashy. And then she worked backwards looking at them again.

"This one," she said, pointing to sample number twelve.

Makros didn't hesitate.

"Kim, get a team to update the name and logo out front. Apply for a change of business name."

"Yes, sir."

Kim felt a pang of jealousy because of how far Makros went for Leila. She silently wished he was her man, if only she knew what that entailed.

Makros turned to Leila, all business.

"Kim will now take you to your office. Don't come looking for me until close of work. And if I'm not around when the day ends, go straight home."

He didn't kiss her or hug her. He didn't send her off with affectionate words.

Just a plain command. Treated like a regular staff.

Leila stared after him as he pulled out his phone and spun in his chair, already shifting into CEO mode.

for some twisted reason, her heart skipped. It should've broken, but it didn't. She liked being sent off like that.

Chapter Seventy

Office Hours

Kim led the way and Leila followed. Both their heels tapped faintly against the polished concrete floors of the factory. The mechanical hum of machines grew louder as they approached the production floor.

As they stepped into the heart of the operations, Kim paused and clapped her hands—twice.

It was almost useless.

The sound was barely registered over the roar of industrial machines, but as intended, one curious glance spread the attention grabbing like wildfire. A few heads turned, then more, until the room slowly quieted and all eyes turned toward them.

Kim cleared her throat. "Alright, everyone. This is Lady Leila. Some of you, if not all, already know she's the boss' wife and she was instrumental in the design that won the Shoes of Nobles award."

There was a ripple of nods and murmured acknowledgment.

Kim didn't wait for it to settle. She took another breath and dropped the bomb without fanfare. "Lady Caterina has been relieved of her duties. As of today, Mrs. Leila will be taking her place."

Being called Mrs. instead of lady bothered her slightly.

A thick pause blanketed the floor. Then, like a stone thrown into calm water for ripples, one person clapped. Another followed. Within seconds, the room filled with polite applause, maybe genuine, maybe performative—but Leila took it.

"Thank you," she whispered at first, then louder, "Thank you so very much for accepting me."

It was surreal. She didn't even know what her job fully entailed yet. But applause was applause. And recognition—whether earned or not, was a decent balm for anxiety.

"Back to work," Kim instructed, and the space shifted back into motion like a machine resuming its rhythm.

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