You Chose Her: Now Watch Me Reign

"Do you have an appointment?"

The harsh voice of the new receptionist sliced through the low hum of the open-plan office.

Elodie McCarthy stepped out of the rusted freight elevator. Her fingers tightened around the thick paper handles of a pristine white Dean & DeLuca bag. The rich, heavy scent of truffle risotto and dark espresso wafted from the bag. It was a sharp contrast to the stale air of the Brooklyn startup space. The sky outside the grimy, smudged windows was a bruised, heavy gray, threatening a torrential downpour at any second.

She caught her reflection in the smudged glass door. Her perfectly tailored Chanel tweed jacket and matching skirt clung to her frame. The outfit screamed generational wealth. She looked entirely out of place against the backdrop of exposed brick, tangled cables, and peeling gray paint.

Elodie forced a polite smile. Her thumb instinctively brushed against the cold diamonds of her tennis bracelet. It was a nervous habit she couldn't break.

"I'm Fletcher's girlfriend," Elodie said. Her voice was soft but steady. "I brought him lunch."

The receptionist's eyes dropped to the Chanel jacket. Then to the Birkin on Elodie's arm. Her gaze was heavy with skepticism.

"He's in the middle of a sprint," the girl muttered.

Before Elodie could respond, a loud voice boomed from down the hall.

"Well, if it isn't the billionaire's girlfriend coming to feed the starving founders!"

Mitch, Fletcher's co-founder, jogged over. He wore a faded hoodie and a wide grin. He waved the receptionist off.

Elodie offered Mitch a tight smile. She hated that joke. She hated the constant reminder of the gap between her bank account and Fletcher's.

She walked past the reception desk. Her heels clicked against the scuffed concrete floor. She headed straight for the glass-walled conference room at the back.

Through the glass, she saw him.

Fletcher Beasley.

He was staring intently at a glowing monitor. His dark brows were pulled together in a deep frown. His jaw was clenched tight, a muscle ticking near his ear.

And he wasn't alone.

A young woman in a cheap, wrinkled Zara blouse stood right beside him. Dani. The new front-end developer.

Dani leaned over the desk. She pointed at the screen. Her shoulder brushed directly against Fletcher's bicep. The physical proximity was jarring.

Elodie stopped walking. A sharp, cold ache bloomed in the center of her chest. It felt like a physical needle piercing her ribs.

Fletcher shifted his gaze. He looked up and locked eyes with Elodie through the glass.

His expression didn't change. There was no spark of joy. No relief. His eyes were flat, cold, and entirely unreadable. He simply gave her a stiff, microscopic nod.

Elodie pushed the heavy glass door open. The smell of the espresso filled the small, suffocating room.

"Hey," Elodie said. She kept her voice light. She placed the Dean & DeLuca bag on the edge of the cluttered table. "I thought you might be hungry."

Fletcher immediately leaned back in his