Reborn To Reclaim: The Boss Who Never Forgot

Isla POV The meeting was finally over. I gathered my things quickly, keeping my head down, hoping that Mr. Vale had already moved on to something more important than me. Before I could escape the room, he appeared behind me, startling me so much that I almost dropped my things. He seemed unfazed by my shock, giving me a raised brow that seemed to hold a trace of amusement. "To my office, Mrs. Montclair." I sighed under my breath as I followed behind him quietly. I finally reached his office. This was the first time I had ever been in it. It was impressive and clean. His office was large, white, immaculate. Tall windows behind his desk overlooked the city roads, pedestrians, and buildings. Shelves of different books and small statues were decorated by the side wall, surrounded by a long, relaxing couch and carpets. I stood in front of his desk with my hands rested at my sides. He opened my file and read through it with a blank expression that gave nothing away. Then his black gaze came up and met mine, cold and calculating, assessing my form. "M-my apologies, Sir," I said shyly. The words came out smaller than I intended. "I didn't ask for an apology." His voice was flat and final. "An apology won't fix this." I knew that. I knew that, and I still said it because six years of making myself small had apparently become muscle memory. He finally set the file down, tapping his finger on the desk, the sound filling the room. "You have one week to rewrite this completely," he said. "I expect no excuses about missed errors. I expect it done correctly." He slid the document across the desk toward me, and I reached for it immediately. "Th-thank you, Sir—" "Ms. Montclair," he cut in gently, his voice oddly soft. I stopped, my eyes meeting his. He was looking at me with that careful, controlled expression. The one that had been sitting on his face all day as he glanced at me during the meeting. "You are a smart and capable woman," he said. "Your work history makes that clear. But your timidness—" he paused, choosing the word deliberately, "—needs addressing. In this industry, being too trusting is not a virtue. You need to watch your back." I stared at him, shocked, my hand still frozen on his desk. My work history. He had looked at my work history. He had read it carefully enough to have an opinion about it. And this man, this cold, exacting, perpetually dissatisfied man who had never once in three years said anything to me that wasn't a criticism, had just called me smart and capable and then warned me to watch my back. I didn't understand him. I had never understood him. But the flash of the hotel room came—the blood on my hand, Vivienne's satisfied smile, and Ronan's cold stare. He was right. I do need to watch my back. "Yes, Sir," I said. And I left before he could say anything else that I didn't know how to process. --- It was nearing 6 p.m., and I was still at my desk. Most of the office had emptied out, but a few of us remained, heads down and working. I hadn't taken a lunch break. There was no one to take it with. Vivienne had disappeared hours ago with her usual crowd, and I had eaten at my desk the way I always did and told myself it was fine. I glanced across the floor. Vivienne was in the far room, perched on someone's desk, laughing at something, completely at ease. A small group of people gathered around her, drawn in without deciding to be, the way people always were with her. I watched her for a moment. She had always been like this, ever since we were little: at home, at school, and now at work. Every room she entered, she owned within minutes, and she accepted it like it was simply the natural order of things. And then there was me. No friends, no cliques, not even acquaintances. Just my desk and my work and a quiet I had gotten so used to I had stopped noticing it. Was this her doing? Did she ensure I was so isolated that I only rely on her? The thought arrived quietly. Or am I just like this? I turned back to my screen and caught my reflection in the dark border of the monitor. I touched my ponytail without thinking and felt something loosen quietly in my chest. My long golden hair was back. I had missed it more than I realized. Ronan had made me cut it. But here it was: long, blonde, and mine. I almost smiled. I would never let anyone make me cut it off again. I snapped out of it when a stack of papers dropped onto my desk so hard that it made me flinch. A old short man stood over me with a cold scowl on his face. Gerald Marsh, my department second in command. He was the kind of man who had been in an office long enough to believe the office belonged to him—grey-haired, heavy-shouldered, with the specific contempt of someone who had never once been told no by anyone beneath him. He had made my professional life a misery for as long as I had worked here. Extra work dumped on my desk without explanation, credit taken without acknowledgment, and opportunities that dissolved before they ever reached me. I had never understood why. Why so many people hated me, especially this old man who I had helped gain status in the eyes of Mr. Vale. "How stupid can you be?" he snarled loudly. A few people still at their desks went very still, listening. "You think you can embarrass me like that? Presenting that nonsense in front of the CEO?" My jaw tightened. "I—" "The CEO and company directors were in that room." He leaned forward. "And you made me a laughingstock. What exactly is the point of vouching for you if you can't even catch your own mistakes?" I dropped my gaze, face hot. Nobody intervened. They just stared, watching, entertained, as Gerald spat nonsense at my face. Was I really that invisible? Or were they just that used to this? His hand came down hard on the stack of papers. "This needs to be done by tomorrow morning. All of it." I looked at the pile, face tight with irritation. This wasn't my work. It was never my work. Gerald had been handing me assignments above my grade for years, taking the credit at galas and presentations while I sat at my desk and produced the things he would smile over. In my first life, I had taken it every single time. But I wouldn't anymore. "I can't, Mr. Marsh," I said. "Mr. Vale has already assigned me a full rewrite of my report within the week. I don't have the capacity for additional work on top of that." The floor went completely still. Everyone's eyes widened in fascination at my retort. Even Gerald stared at me, caught off guard. I had never pushed back. Not once. I watched the realization move across his face, and then something uglier settle behind it. He opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off by a sweet voice. "Gerald!" Vivienne's voice, warm and bright, cutting across the floor like she owned it. I noticed it now. She was the only person in this office who called him by his first name. Looking back at it, it wasn't professional at all. Something was definitely going on between these two. Her hand landed briefly on his arm, and she glanced between the pile of work and me. For just a fraction of a second, I saw it. She was genuinely surprised at my defiance. "Oh, Isla, you're going to help him with his work!" she announced brightly, gesturing toward me with a little laugh, her short dark hair bouncing. "How nice of you! I'm sure he'll appreciate it!" "I am not," I said simply. Vivienne blinked, shocked. Mr. Marsh's face reddened, anger flashing before his eyes, but Vivienne gave him a look to relax before turning back to me. "Come on, Isla, it's not even that hard." Her voice stayed light, almost amused. "Just sorting through files. You could do it in your sleep." "If it's that easy," I said, turning back to my screen, "then you do it." The air filled with awkward tense silence, and I was very pleased about it. I heard Gerald mutter something under his breath. I didn't catch the words, but I caught the tone. I didn't care anymore. He wasn't worth my time. But it was Vivienne that made me nervous. She was still standing there, and her expression rearranged into something soft and wounded, her voice dropping into the register she used when she wanted a room on her side. "I'm sorry, Isla," she said sweetly. "I know Mr. Vale was really hard on you today. You don't have to take it out on everyone else, though." She paused, letting it land. "I was only trying to help." The room immediately shifted at her attention. Eyes turned to me in barely disguised disdain. Vivienne stood there looking gracious and understanding while I sat with my jaw tight, my spine straight, and my very existence apparently reading as hostile. "She's so mature," someone murmured. "Honestly, I can't believe she's the younger sister." And then, quieter, from somewhere I couldn't pinpoint: "Isla's adopted anyway, remember." I flinched at that word, averting my gaze to my desk. Vivienne heard it too. She didn't correct it. She just smiled softly and gestured for Gerald to follow her. He went, smoothed and redirected, the confrontation dissolved before it could finish. Finally, I took a deep breath, going back to work, glad it was over. But before I could enter my workflow, she came back alone and sat on the edge of my desk like nothing had happened. "Hey," Vivienne said softly. "I know today was a lot." I didn't answer her. I kept working, ignoring her. A flicker of something crossed her face at my silence, but she pushed through it, not respecting my silence. "I called Ronan," she said, brightening. "I thought it might help—getting out, a nice dinner, the three of us. He's meeting us at Marcello's at eight." She smiled. "What do you think?" She had called my fiancé behind my back and made plans for my evening. And she was sitting on my desk waiting for me to be grateful. "Sure," I said calmly and smiled. She squealed softly, squeezed my shoulder, and left, giggling. I frowned, turning back to my screen. In this life, I would escape my tragic death. And take back every single thing that I rightfully deserved.