Chapter 24
Jemma stepped hesitantly into Saif’s office, clutching the stack of reports tightly to her chest like a shield. Her eyes scanned the space, taking in the sleek walls and gleaming furniture. The room looked pristine now—elegant and impersonal, as if nothing had ever gone wrong here.
Ten days ago, this very space had been vandalized, angry words scrawled across the walls in red spray paint. You’d never know it now. Everything had been scrubbed, replaced, repaired. Like Saif—efficient, polished, and unreadable.
“Don’t just stand there.”
The low voice made her jump. She turned and found Saif seated on the leather sofa, surrounded by open reports and spreadsheets spread across the low coffee table. His jacket was off, sleeves rolled up, exposing strong forearms dusted with dark hair. He looked serious. Powerful. Focused.
And utterly terrifying.
Her heart stumbled in her chest.
The last time she’d spoken to him, he’d been livid—barely able to look at her without fury tightening every muscle in his jaw. Then... silence. A whole week of nothing. No word, no warning. Until Friday, when his assistant had sent a curt meeting “request” for first thing Monday morning.
And so here she was—walking into the lion’s den, trembling under her calm exterior, wondering if this was the day he would destroy her.
Was he going to take Jayla?
Would he fight for full custody? Use his power and influence to snatch her daughter away and fly her off to his home country?
Would she ever see her baby again?
“Relax, Jemma,” Saif said, his voice low and impossibly calm. “Let’s discuss business.” His gaze flicked over her as he added, “And have something to eat.”
Jemma tried not to flinch under the weight of his scrutiny.
Her palms were damp against the reports, her stomach twisted in knots.
But she nodded and lowered herself onto the chair opposite him, hoping her knees didn’t give out entirely.
She forced herself to smile as a tray of pastries was set between them.
She nibbled at a muffin, her mouth too dry for chewing. If she threw up on his beautiful carpet, that would really seal the impression that she was barely holding it together.
Then, without warning, his tone shifted.
“I’m not going to take our daughter away from you,” he said quietly.
Jemma froze.
She looked up and met his eyes—those intense, unreadable dark eyes—and for the first time since she’d walked into the room, she saw something that eased the coil in her chest.
Truth.
She released a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding and nearly sagged against the chair. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
Saif nodded, his jaw tight. “I was angry last week,” he admitted. “Angry, confused... hurt. I needed time to think.”
“I wasn’t trying to hide Jayla from you,” Jemma said quickly. Her throat tightened. “I didn’t mean to deceive you.”
“All evidence to the contrary,” he said, arching a brow.
She winced but held his gaze. “I truly thought you didn’t want kids. And when you asked about children... I thought you were talking about Jasper.”
His brows lifted slightly at that, his expression shifting from skepticism to something closer to curiosity. He sat back, clearly replaying past conversations.
Jemma sat frozen, watching him think, bracing herself for disbelief or worse—dismissal.
But after a long moment, he exhaled and gave a single nod.
“Let’s go over the business first,” he said, his voice steady again. “We’ll figure out the personal issues... over breakfast.”
Jemma let out a shaky sigh and opened the folder in her lap. Maybe the worst was over.
Maybe.
She handed over the top report. “I canceled our contract with the current factory,” she began, voice gaining strength as she entered more familiar territory.
“Per the terms, the cancelation will hold up in court—they notified us they couldn’t meet our new production levels.
I’ve already lined up a contract with a larger, more reputable supplier.
It’s pricier, but they offer better wages and benefits, which means we’ll get better quality and happier workers. ”
Saif glanced through the documents, then nodded for her to continue.
“We’ll maintain the current pricing strategy for this season, but I’m introducing a new capsule collection.” She laid out the design drafts. “These were created in-house by the team. They’re on-trend, low-risk, and could bring in a younger customer base.”
He gave a short nod of approval.
They moved into a rhythm after that. For the next hour, she walked him through the changes she’d implemented, her strategic roadmap, and the hidden issues she’d unearthed within Sinstack Designs.
Midway through the meeting, a young assistant stepped in with a tray—two plates piled high with fluffy eggs, fresh berries, and warm muffins. Coffee followed. The smell alone helped ease the tension in Jemma’s gut.
As she answered Saif’s pointed questions, she found herself relaxing, even eating with something close to enthusiasm. The warmth of the food in her stomach helped, but more than that, the focused, respectful way he was treating her—the way he was listening—steadied her nerves.
Finally, Saif leaned back on the sofa, his arm resting along the top like a king surveying his court.
“What about personnel issues?” he asked, watching her closely.
Jemma pursed her lips, steeling herself, and reached for another file folder. Her fingers trembled slightly, but she kept her voice calm.
“Joannie is the head of our human resources department.” She passed him a document. “I’d like to move her out of Sinstack and into this open role at Overlock.”
She didn’t give him time to respond before sliding another paper across the coffee table. “And Steve—he’s the lead in accounting. I believe he’d be a good fit for this other position, also at Overlock.”
Saif raised a brow. “Why do you want them out?”
Jemma drew in a slow, steadying breath, then exhaled carefully through her nose. She hated this part—confronting suspicion without concrete proof.
“I think Steve helped Mark embezzle money from the company,” she said, her voice quiet but unwavering.
“I can’t prove it. Not yet. But I need him out of the way so I can bring in a forensic accountant to do a full audit.
” She tapped her pen against the job description.
“This role at Overlock doesn’t give him access to company funds. It’s purely analysis.”
Saif’s eyes sharpened as he considered that. “And Joannie?”
Jemma’s shoulders straightened. “I think she’s spying for Mark,” she said bluntly.
“I’ve noticed discrepancies—timing of leaks, things she knew that no one else should’ve.
The position at Overlock would put her under a director, someone who would monitor her.
She wouldn’t have the same influence she does now. ”
He was silent for a beat. Then: “You think these are the only two problems?”
“No.” Her answer was immediate, firm.
She stood, stretching her legs as she spoke, one hand pressing to the small of her back. The rich food and long meeting were wearing on her, but motion helped her think. Helped her focus.
“I think others in the company are still loyal to Mark—afraid of him, maybe, or hoping he’ll make a comeback.” She turned and paced slowly behind the chair, her voice steady. “But Steve and Joannie? They’re the leaders of the resistance. The ones whispering in the halls and sowing doubt.”
She stopped pacing and faced him. “I’d estimate seventy-five percent of the employees are optimistic now that he’s out.
Several told me they’d been considering resigning—but they’re staying because they see me stepping up,” she gestured toward the stack of reports.
“But if I don’t remove the ones undermining progress from within, I will lose them. ”
Jemma clasped her hands together and held her breath. She studied Saif’s face, trying to read his expression. He was so still—too still—and that made her nervous.
She’d worked herself to the bone over the past week, meeting with staff individually, rebuilding trust, researching suppliers, and revamping production. She had a vision. She knew she could save this company. But only if she was allowed to cut out the rot.
And eventually, she needed to rebrand. “Sinstack Designs” still carried the stink of Mark. It whispered his name through the halls, even though he was gone. She needed a clean slate. A shift in mindset. Something bold. Something fresh.
Saif stood suddenly, his hands sliding into his pockets as he gave her a measured look.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll set the changes you suggested today.”
Jemma’s breath left her in a quiet whoosh. Her shoulders dropped with relief, and a genuine smile broke across her face.
“Excellent. Thank you.”
She was still smiling when Saif’s next words landed like a boulder between them.
“Now,” he said casually, “let’s discuss our wedding.”