“Wait!”
Ophelia’s voice rang sharply through the corridor like a knife cutting tension.

Lia halted mid-step, her heel pausing in the middle of a graceful stride. She turned slowly, her expression a calculated mix of irritation and amusement.
“What now?” she asked, her tone as frigid as her eyes.

“I wasn’t finished talking,” Ophelia snapped, chin raised in defiance.

“Well, I was,” Lia replied coldly, folding her arms. “And by the way, you really should have a little more trust in your husband.”

That hit. Hard.
Ophelia’s lips parted, then closed again. Her lower lip trembled slightly as she bit down on it to mask the sting.

“I do trust Sen,” Ophelia insisted, her voice cracking under the pressure of the words.

Lia raised a brow. “Could’ve fooled me, considering how often you snap at me every time he’s within a five-foot radius.”

“He loves me,” Ophelia said through gritted teeth, like reciting a desperate mantra.

“Then act like it,” Lia replied with a pointed stare. “And while you’re at it… maybe stop projecting your insecurity on me just because I look like your sister.”

The hallway went quiet for a second.

Ophelia’s eyes narrowed. “What are you insinuating?”

Lia tilted her head innocently, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“Oh, nothing really. Just… with how obsessed you are with me being April’s double, I can’t help but wonder if maybe there was more going on between your husband and your sister than you let on.”

The breath hitched in Ophelia’s throat.
“You’re out of your mind!” she yelled, unable to keep her composure.

“Am I?” Lia asked, lips twitching with mock amusement. “Because your reaction says otherwise.”

“You—!” Ophelia lunged forward, venom in her voice. “You little bit—!”

“What’s going on here?” a calm, masculine voice interrupted, slicing through the heat like a cool breeze.

Both women turned, startled.
Sen stood a few steps away, eyes flicking from Ophelia’s furious expression to Lia’s amused one. Behind him, Lucian emerged from his office, his presence grounding the chaos like gravity.

“Ophelia?” Sen asked, genuinely confused. “What are you doing here?”

“Were you two arguing?” Lucian’s voice was deeper, colder. His gaze settled on Ophelia with the weight of a man used to command.

“She—” Ophelia pointed at Lia, her voice faltering mid-accusation.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Grey. Mr. Williams,” Lia cut in smoothly, straightening her posture. “There was a misunderstanding. I came up to report the final update on the song release, but since you were busy, I waited… and ran into Miss Ophelia, who seemed to have… wanted to accuse me of something unsavory.”

Ophelia blinked rapidly. “It was nothing,” she said quickly. “Just a silly misunderstanding between… women.”

Sen frowned. Lucian's sharp gaze didn't waver.

“Well, Mr. Williams,” Lucian said coolly, gesturing toward his office. “Shall we continue?”

Sen hesitated, his eyes flickering one last time to Lia. Something in her subtle smile and the way she addressed Lucian—so effortlessly familiar—stirred a strange discomfort in his chest.

Lucian caught the moment, and with a small curve of his lips, he turned to Lia. “Also… Lia—I’ll call you when we’re finished. You can carry on with your schedule until then.”

Lia’s heart skipped a beat.
Lia.

The name on his tongue—soft, deliberate—sounded like validation. Like something intimate being revealed in the light.

She smiled back gently. “Yes, Mr. Grey.”

Lucian disappeared into the office with Sen. The door clicked shut.

And Lia stood in the hallway, her eyes lingering on it, her lips curled ever so slightly.

She hadn’t just won an argument.
She had carved a crack into Ophelia’s fragile foundation.

And Lucian?
He was finally calling her by her real name.

Not Cordelia.
Not Miss Grey.
But Lia.

The real war had just begun.
And Lia was only warming up.