Epilogue #2
It is a polite corporate word. But the subtext is loud, and the translation is instantly recognizable to my nervous system. Optimistic means naive. It means soft.
I press my thumb against the side of the clicker, breathing quietly through the adrenaline until it settles.
When I look back up, my expression is carefully empty.
"I prefer to deal in reality when it comes to human behavior, Jason," I say.
My voice is quiet. It doesn't waver, and I don't raise the volume to compete. I drop it a half-octave, forcing the men in the room to lean forward and listen.
Mark blinks, his attention snapping back to the front of the room. The executives follow his lead.
"I don't build security systems hoping nobody makes a mistake," I continue, keeping my eyes steady on Jason.
"I build them knowing someone would eventually click a bad link.
And someone did. You're right, that click allowed your team to get inside our walls this morning.
What you missed is where that link actually sent them. "
I hit the clicker again. The data grid zooms in, highlighting a specific string of code in bright, undeniable red.
Jason stops twirling his pen.
"I knew someone would eventually let you in," I explain, keeping my tone as pleasant and instructive as a museum guide.
"So, I built a fake hallway right behind the front door.
When your team used that link to breach the server, you didn't enter our actual network.
You walked straight into a decoy room designed to trap you. "
I take a single, deliberate step away from the podium, moving into the light of the projector so the red data splashes across the black fabric of my shirt.
“Your team spent four hours patting themselves on the back for stealing fake data," I say, addressing the Red Team lead directly.
"And while you were doing that, the system recorded exactly how you broke in and permanently closed the loophole behind you. You didn't beat the security system. You took the guided tour I built for you.”
The silence in the conference room is absolute.
I allow myself a steadying, quiet exhale. I don't look at Mark for approval, just letting the undeniable weight of the data settle over the mahogany table.
Jason opens his mouth, his face flushing a dull, angry red above his stiff collar. "The fact remains that a user was compromised—"
"The fact remains," the Chief Operating Officer interrupts, cutting Jason off without even looking at him, "that Nadia saved us from a simulated disaster and handed us the exact blueprint of how the attackers operate."
The COO turns to me, his expression shifting from skeptical to deeply respectful. "This is brilliant work, Nadia. Can you scale this decoy protocol across the European servers by Q3?"
"Already mapped it out," I reply smoothly, tapping a key on my laptop. A sleek, highly organized timeline appears on the screen. "Implementation can begin on Monday."
"Excellent. We'll sign off on the renewal." The COO stands, buttoning his suit jacket. "Thank you, everyone."
The tension in the room instantly dissolves into the chaotic, productive noise of chairs scraping back, briefcases snapping shut, and executives exchanging quiet murmurs of approval. Mark catches my eye, giving me an approving nod before turning to smooth over Jason's bruised ego.
I don't wait around for congratulations. I systematically close my presentation, shut my laptop, and slide it into my leather briefcase, suddenly very aware of how tired my eyes are.
The contract is secure. My reputation is intact.
But as I walk out of the glass-walled room and into the quiet, carpeted hallway of the executive suite, the adrenaline crash hits.
Jason calling my system "optimistic" carried the same casually dismissive posture of the senior developer who called me "sweetheart" and asked me to fetch coffee during my first week at the firm.
Ten years later, I have thrown out the pink blouses, lowered my speaking voice, and built an ironclad reputation. The visceral terror of being publicly diminished never entirely goes away—you just get much better at hiding the flinch.
Competence isn't just my job. It is the only thing that guarantees they actually listen to me.
"Nadia?"
I pause at the reception desk. My assistant, Chloe, hovers over her dual monitors, a headset pressed to one ear and a frantic look in her eyes.
"Yes?" I ask, keeping my voice level.
"The client from the London account pushed their flight. They're asking if you can reopen your calendar for a late-afternoon hold to review the Q3 timeline you pitched." She hesitates, reading the rigid set of my shoulders. "I know you blocked out the evening, but it's a huge account."
I look at the massive digital calendar glowing on her screen. My schedule is blocked into thirty-minute increments, a structured routine designed to keep my professional world from unraveling.
Taking the meeting would be the smart play. It would solidify the win I just pulled off in the boardroom. It would be safe.
But tonight isn't about work.
"No," I say.
Chloe blinks, surprised. "No?"
"I'm unavailable tonight." I adjust the strap of my briefcase, the familiar leather grounding against my shoulder. "Tell them I can do a virtual sync on Monday morning."
"Are you sure? I can easily shift your—"
"I'm sure," I say, letting a genuine, tired smile slip through. "My friend Samantha is exhibiting."
"Oh! The architecture gallery." Chloe nods, her fingers flying across her keyboard to draft the rejection email. "Have fun. You definitely earned a night off."
"Thanks."
I turn away from the desk and head toward the elevator banks.
A night off. The phrase makes me smile. I wouldn't miss Sam's big moment for anything, but a high-end Manhattan gallery opening isn't exactly kicking back.
It requires a different kind of presentation—a sharper dress, a sleeker hairstyle, and playing the supportive wing woman so Sam can focus on shining.
I press the call button and watch the glowing numbers begin to descend.
Honestly, I’m looking forward to the familiar, fierce chaos of Liv and Priya.
With them, I don't have to be the flawless executive.
I get to be the grounded one. They bring the vibrant energy; I make sure we don't lose our coats and keep us on time.
It is exactly the kind of safe, predictable dynamic I crave.
The elevator arrives with a soft, melodic chime. The steel doors slide open, revealing my reflection in the mirrored back wall. Black mock turtleneck. Straight posture. Tired eyes.
I step inside and hit the button for the lobby. I navigated the boardroom and secured the contract. Tonight is a gallery.
My heart is suddenly beating like a warning drum. I frown at the shifting numbers above the door. It makes no sense. The work is done.
There is absolutely no reason for the sudden, restless electricity under my skin.
So, I pretend it isn’t there.
Continue reading at Stuck with my Secret Crush: A brother's Best Friend Sweet Romance