62
It's been a little over two weeks since Ericka's surgery. She's healing well, physically at least, but mentally — emotionally — she's still finding her footing. The time cocooned at home with Amanda has been grounding, even healing. But Amanda knows they can't hide forever.
People have started asking questions. Innocent ones, for now.
"Is Ericka joining the pitch on Thursday?"
"Hey, haven't seen the boss lady in a while—she okay?"
"Should I be looping Amanda or Ericka in for final approval?"
Amanda's been running interference like a pro, but even she can feel the edges starting to fray. So they come up with a plan — a gentle reentry strategy. Nothing too heavy. Just enough to remind the office that Ericka's still around, still in charge, still her.
Amanda arrived at the office an hour before anyone else, her heels echoing through the marble lobby like a steady heartbeat. The lights were low, the silence almost sacred. She liked it this way—before the emails and phone calls, before the questions. Before the world tried to get ahead of her.
Today had to be perfect.
She stepped off the elevator and into the executive floor, unlocking Ericka's office with the quiet reverence of someone returning to a sanctuary.
Everything was just as Ericka had left it, but Amanda wasn't satisfied with just as—she wanted better.
She moved like a woman on a mission: wiping fingerprints off the glass, aligning pens with surgical precision, and opening the blinds to let the soft morning light spill across the floor.
A fresh bouquet of Ericka's favorite lilies sat in a vase on the corner of her desk—white, understated, elegant.
Her laptop was charged. A printed agenda was tucked neatly into a folder. Even her favorite green tea sat ready in a travel tumbler, still steaming.
Amanda stood in the center of the room for a moment, scanning everything. She imagined Ericka walking through the door. Cool. Composed. Commanding. And underneath that... maybe a little terrified.
She pulled out her phone and texted:
"Everything's ready. You've got this."
A second later:
"Also, you look hot in that blazer. Just saying."
Across town, Ericka exhaled through a shaky breath.
She stood in front of her mirror, adjusting her collar with trembling fingers. Her dark gray blazer hugged her body like armor. Her black trousers were pressed to perfection, her heels sharp, and her oversized sunglasses hid the faint traces of the surgery and the nights she still couldn't sleep.
She looked like herself.
Almost.
"Okay," she whispered to her reflection. "Back in the ring."
The car ride was quiet. No music. Just the soft hum of the engine and her fingers tapping against her knee.
When the building came into view, her stomach tightened. Would they notice? Would they ask? Did she look like someone who had spent the last few weeks healing from something terrifying and life-changing?
Amanda had done everything to maintain the illusion. To protect her. "Business trip," she'd told people. "Private, confidential." That was all anyone knew. But Ericka still felt like the world would see right through her.
As she stepped out of the car and into the lobby, her heels clicked against the floor like they always had—but this time, every step felt like a dare. Her sunglasses stayed on. Her shoulders squared.
Heads turned as she walked through the doors. A few curious glances, a few polite nods.
"She's back," someone whispered.
Ericka didn't flinch.
The elevator doors opened, and Amanda was already there waiting, calm and commanding in black slacks and a soft blue blouse.
Ericka stepped inside, and for a few precious seconds, they were alone. Amanda's eyes traveled down, scanning for any signs of strain, any flicker of hesitation.
"You okay?" she asked softly.
Ericka nodded once. "I'm not sure if I'm walking into my company or into battle."
Amanda smiled, gentle and proud. "You built this place. You're not walking into a battlefield. You're walking into your throne room."
The elevator chimed.
Ericka took a breath.
And then the doors opened.
She stepped out first—strong, composed, and radiant in that quiet kind of way that only came from weathering storms most people didn't know existed.
The staff greeted her with smiles, quick "welcome backs," and the occasional "how was the trip?" Amanda fielded the logistics. Ericka kept walking.
And when she opened her office door and saw the light spilling in, the lilies, the clean desk, the steaming tea—something inside her steadied.
Amanda slipped in behind her, closing the door with a soft click.
"I don't know what I expected," Ericka murmured, running her fingers across the edge of the desk. "But this..."
Amanda stepped close. "You made it. You're back. And no one needs to know anything you don't want to share."
Ericka turned, a little teary but still smiling. "You really did all this?"
Amanda shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Just figured the Queen should return to a room worthy of her crown."
Ericka pulled off her sunglasses, met Amanda's eyes, and reached for her hand.
"I couldn't have done any of this without you."
Amanda kissed her knuckles. "You didn't have to. You've got me."