Chapter 6
The executive floor’s boardroom has always struck Nerissa as a space designed to intimidate.
Not only because of its imposing size or the understated luxury of its finishes—the dark oak of the long table, the screens embedded in the glass walls, or the panoramic view of Manchester—but because of the emotional atmosphere that permeates every corner.
The room seems calculated to reduce people to mere numbers, contracts, and strategic decisions.
Mistakes cost millions, and emotions simply have no place there.
That’s why it’s almost ironic that the moment she walks through the door, Nerissa Ashcombe feels her heart pounding against her ribs, as if her own body has decided to betray her at the worst possible moment.
The meeting hasn’t started yet. Executives, lawyers, and board members are chatting in small groups scattered around the room while assistants hand out coffee and various documents. The air smells of expensive perfume and that distinct corporate tension—thick and almost electric.
And right in the middle of it all is Seraphina Chapman.
Seated to Helena Whitmore’s right, she reviews a set of documents with a perfectly neutral expression.
Her makeup conceals the dark circles beneath her eyes, but not completely.
Nerissa senses the exhaustion in the excessive stiffness of her shoulders and in the meticulous, almost obsessive way she runs her finger across the paper.
Nerissa remembers with painful clarity the last look Seraphina gave her before saying goodbye in the parking lot.
And yet, there she is. Perfect. Untouchable.
As if she hadn’t spent the last few days kissing another woman behind closed doors only to return home and sleep beside her husband.
The contradiction fills Nerissa with a deep, almost physical weariness, and she doesn’t know how much longer she can endure it.
“Dr. Ashcombe,” Helena Whitmore greets her.
The president of the healthcare group stands at the head of the table with that icy elegance that turns any conversation into a negotiation. Nerissa nods slightly and walks toward the seat assigned to her at the far end of the table, conscious of every step she takes.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Helena adds.
“I wasn’t going to miss a meeting involving a budget of this magnitude,” Nerissa replies as she takes her seat and crosses her legs.
She notices Seraphina’s slight movement as she glances up at her. It lasts only a second, but it’s enough. Nerissa immediately looks away. She needs control. Absolute control. She can’t afford to let her thoughts betray her right now.
Helena waits for everyone to take their seats before officially beginning the meeting.
“All right. As you all know, our top priority this quarter is securing the merger with the Northern Sports Medicine Consortium. Our London competitors have been trying for months to acquire our high-performance clinics, and I have no intention of letting that happen.”
The screens display financial charts, investment percentages, and detailed international expansion plans.
Nerissa barely pays attention to them; she has been immersed in those figures for weeks.
The only thing that truly matters to her is sitting several feet away, pretending not to look at her, even though they both know that’s impossible.
“As Chief Financial Officer, Ms. Chapman has already approved the budget allocation,” Helena continues, clasping her hands on the table with deliberate calm. “So, Dr. Ashcombe, the offer for the top position in the new Elite Traumatology Department is officially on the table.”
An assistant slides an electronic folder toward Nerissa. She opens it, though her mind is far from the documents.
“London has been trying to poach you,” Helena continues, “but this group isn’t about to let Manchester lose its star surgeon. In addition to the executive position, the board is approving a significant stock package in the healthcare group and full autonomy over the new sports performance center.”
Nerissa looks up, and her eyes meet Seraphina’s directly. Behind her controlled expression lies something unbearably vulnerable, almost personal. As if the contract weren’t merely a financial matter, but also a way to keep her there, to stay, to remain close again and again.
“Manchester has certain incentives that might persuade me to stay. That’s true.”
The statement sounds professional, but both of them know perfectly well how it lands across the table. Nerissa notices the slightest tightening of Seraphina’s jaw and the subtle hitch in her breathing.
“I accept the terms,” she adds shortly afterward.
Helena smiles with satisfaction.
“Excellent decision.”
The lawyers begin shuffling papers as Seraphina formally authorizes the transaction from her terminal.
Nerissa watches the elegant movement of her fingers across the screen and feels an absurd pang at the thought that this woman has just signed a contract binding them to even closer proximity.
An irony that, in reality, is exhausting.
“If that’s acceptable to everyone, we’ll proceed with the transition schedule,” Helena proposes.
Nerissa launches into her presentation. Her voice immediately regains the clinical, confident tone she uses in the operating room: precise, cool, commanding.
She speaks about advanced recovery protocols, state-of-the-art biomechanical technology, and agreements reached with several Premier League clubs while medical statistics are projected onto the screens.
Yet in the middle of each explanation, she feels Seraphina’s presence like a constant pressure beneath her skin, a vivid reminder of a reality she cannot touch with her own hands. Every gesture, every breath the other woman takes, is deafening to her.
“The integration of the physical therapy teams must be completed before the start of the season,” she explains. “Any delay would jeopardize the performance contracts with our international athletes.”
“And the risk margin?” one of the investors interjects.
“Minimal,” Nerissa replies, interlacing her fingers on the table. “Provided the budget approved by the Finance Department maintains the promised resources.”
The comment draws a few automatic glances toward Seraphina. She slowly lifts her gaze.
“Don’t worry. We’ll meet all our commitments, Dr. Ashcombe,” Seraphina affirms.
The deliberate use of her last name sends an immediate chill down Nerissa’s spine. Coming from Seraphina, “Dr. Ashcombe” doesn’t sound professional at all. Nerissa feels heat creeping up her back.
“I’m glad to hear it, Mrs. Chapman,” she replies, letting the words linger in the air a second longer than necessary.
No one seems to notice. Or so she hopes.
The glass door opens at that moment, and Helena turns her head slightly.
“You’re right on time.”
Several people enter, accompanied by legal assistants. Nerissa immediately recognizes the Mercer & Associates logo on the folders.
And she freezes in her seat when she sees Daphne walk in.
The shock pierces her chest with immediate, visceral discomfort.
Daphne Mercer enters with the same impeccable elegance Nerissa remembers: a dark gray suit, loose blonde hair, and that calm confidence she always projected, even during the worst moments.
Nerissa feels her body tense involuntarily.
She had no idea Daphne would be leading the merger advisory team.
“Shit,” she thinks, struggling to maintain her composure.
“For those of you who haven’t met her yet, let me introduce Daphne Mercer,” Helena announces. “She’ll be the lead auditor overseeing the operational transition between the sports clinics.”
Daphne walks around the room, greeting everyone professionally until she reaches Nerissa. Then comes that small disaster made up of unspoken words. Daphne smiles slightly when she sees her—a familiar smile, too intimate for outsiders to notice. And perhaps for those who are paying attention.
“Dr. Ashcombe,” Daphne greets her, resting a hand on her shoulder for a second too long.
Nerissa immediately feels another gaze fixed on her from across the table.
“Daphne,” she replies, keeping her tone cool and distant.
Daphne takes a seat near Helena, and the meeting continues.
Professional and measured down to the smallest detail.
As if only weeks ago she hadn’t been living in Nerissa’s apartment, leaving books on medical photography on the counter and sleeping in one of her T-shirts.
Guilt catches Nerissa off guard. Daphne never deserved the way things ended.
The rest of the meeting becomes an exhausting exercise in self-control. Every time Daphne speaks about the clinical audits, the tension around the table rises. Every time Seraphina looks in her direction, her eyes reflect something different. Nerissa begins to understand it clearly.
She’s jealous.
And that realization gives her a brief flash of satisfaction before moral exhaustion washes over her completely. A small victory that makes no sense. Just as she has no right to enjoy it. Not after everything that happened.
The break comes an hour later. Executives and assistants partially clear the room, and the executive floor cafeteria fills with overlapping conversations. Nerissa stands by one of the windows, reviewing a few reports, when she hears Daphne’s voice behind her.
“I didn’t know you were officially coming back.”
Nerissa turns slowly. Daphne is holding a cup of coffee in both hands.
“I didn’t know Mercer & Associates had won the contract either,” Nerissa replies, trying to smile but failing.
“It’s a small world.”
Nerissa lets out a sigh.
“Manchester is.”
Daphne holds her gaze for a few seconds that seem to stretch endlessly.
“You look tired.”
“It’s been a long week,” Nerissa admits with a shrug, looking back out the window.
“I can see that.”
Too many unspoken things hang between them. The infidelity that destroyed everything and the devastating breakup almost two months ago. Nerissa can’t find the right words to continue the conversation.
Fortunately, someone saves her.
“Daphne, can you go over the audit schedule with me?” one of the financial executives interjects, approaching with an open folder.
“Sure,” Daphne replies. Before leaving, she glances briefly at Nerissa. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
The words leave a bitter taste in her mouth. Because she’s not. Not really. And Daphne has probably always been too perceptive not to notice.
A few minutes later, Nerissa heads toward the medical records corridor in search of a moment of silence.
She doesn’t find it.
“A fling that lasted a few weeks? That’s what you told me it was,” Seraphina’s voice cuts through the air behind her. “But that’s not how it looked to me at all.”
Nerissa turns slowly.
There she is: stiff, beautiful, and furious.
Her pale eyes hold an emotion far more intense than should exist between them in a professional setting.
“You were living with her, weren’t you?” Seraphina continues. “This meeting was enough to figure that out.”
Nerissa stares at her for several seconds. Something inside her hardens, because the accusation is completely unfair. She takes a step forward, deliberately invading her personal space. Seraphina backs up until she bumps into the metal filing cabinets.
“Daphne was real, Seraphina,” Nerissa murmurs. “She was there, in my bed, day and night. She wasn’t a ghost calling me in secret from a car.”
The blow lands exactly where she intended. She sees it in the slightest tremor that crosses Seraphina’s expression.
“And I left her,” Nerissa continues, moving even closer. “I hurt her because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
Seraphina’s breathing quickens.
“You have no right to be angry with me over that,” she replies, though her voice visibly falters.
“Oh, really?” Nerissa raises an eyebrow. “Do you think it’s unreasonable that I felt that way while you were going home to your husband?”
The word husband hangs between them as if she had uttered something obscene. Seraphina clenches her jaw tightly.
“This is different…”
Nerissa lets out a short, disbelieving laugh.
“Of course. Because your feelings are always special, and mine are just logistical inconveniences.”
“That’s not it,” Seraphina protests, shaking her head, her eyes shining.
“Then explain it to me,” Nerissa demands, taking another step forward. Now there’s barely enough space between them to breathe. Seraphina’s scent reaches her with unbearable intensity. “It drives you crazy seeing her near me because it reminds you of something very simple: you don’t own me.”
Seraphina swallows hard. Anger begins to simmer inside her.
“I’m not trying to possess you,” she whispers.
“You aren’t?” Nerissa catches hold of her wrist. “Because right now it looks a lot like jealousy.”
Seraphina’s pulse hammers beneath her fingers.
“Let go of me,” she says, though she makes no real attempt to pull away.
“Get used to seeing her, Director Chapman. Daphne is part of the project. She’s going to be here all the time.”
Seraphina looks up at her with a devastating mixture of anger and vulnerability.
And because of that, Nerissa decides to finish the job.
“At least she was willing to hold my hand in public.”
The silence that follows is brutal.
Seraphina stands motionless, wounded to the core.
And that should make Nerissa feel better.
But it doesn’t.
Because beneath all that anger, something far worse still exists: the sickening need to move closer, to kiss her until she stops looking at her like that.