The elevator dinged, far too polite for the storm brewing inside it.
Krishna stepped out like she owned the entire floor.
Not because she did… but because acting like she did pissed everyone off.
Debonair Corp. Tower.
Top floor.
Executive wing.
Her father's sanctuary of overpriced marble floors, glass walls, and terrified employees walking on eggshells.
Krishna sauntered past reception without a single glance at the startled assistant.
Her heeled boots clicking like gunshots across polished tiles.
"Miss Debonair—wait, you can't just—"
"Watch me," she called over her shoulder with a wink.
Two suited interns nearly collided with each other trying to scramble out of her path. One dropped a stack of reports. Krishna didn't blink.
She swung open the double doors to her father's office without knocking, the hinges creaking in protest.
Inside?
Her father - Harlan Debonair, mid-meeting, surrounded by board members, department heads, and at least two lawyers who looked like they aged five years the second she walked in.
The room went dead silent.
Her father's glare? Nuclear.
"Krishna."
"Father Dearest," she sang, giving a mock curtsy before dropping into the nearest empty chair like she was here for tea and gossip.
The Chief Financial Officer choked on his coffee.
"Did you—did you just barge in here?" her father growled, already massaging his temples like she was the migraine given human form.
Krishna crossed her legs, pulled a lollipop from her bag like she was five and bored at church, and popped it in her mouth.
"I needed your signature on something urgent," she said around the candy, tossing a folded paper onto the polished mahogany table.
One of the board members reached for it.
It was a meme.
Of Krishna slapping the Alpha.
With the caption:
"Legacy of the Debonairs: Breaking Egos Since Birth."
Her father went pale.
"KRISHNA."
She grinned like Christmas came early.
"Relax, Dad. I printed it for your office wall. Frame it. Inspire the employees."
The legal team started whispering like panicked birds.
Her father slammed his hands onto the table. The sound cracked through the room like thunder.
"You can't keep making a spectacle out of this family!"
Krishna stood, but she didn't head for the door yet.
No, not this time.
Not without leaving one more scar.
She turned slowly, casually, like she wasn't about to gut him with nothing but words.
"Spectacle?" she echoed, her voice dipping low, smile fading just enough to make the air drop ten degrees colder. "Dad… I am the spectacle. Remember?"
Half the room went still. The legal team stopped whispering. The CFO froze mid-sip.
Her gaze darkened, and for a moment… the lollipop dangled forgotten between her fingers.
"I didn't ask to be your headline scandal. I didn't ask to be the walking, breathing reminder of that little 'mistake' you made behind closed doors."
The color drained from Harlan Debonair's face.
"And I definitely didn't ask for a front row seat to watch your sweet, darling wife make my mother's life a living hell until she…"
Krishna's throat tightened for half a second, just long enough for her to catch it, bury it, and coat it in venom again.
"…until she didn't have a life to live anymore."
The air turned suffocating.
Pin-drop silence.
Somewhere near the far end of the table, one of the newer board members physically slid lower in his seat like he wanted to disappear.
Krishna smiled again, this time, slow, brittle, and all teeth.
"So forgive me if I don't cry over the family's reputation."
She tucked the lollipop back between her lips, flicked her hair off her shoulder, and gave her father a mock salute.
"Relax, Dad," she said, already turning for the door. "I'm just doing what you do best…"
A beat.
Then with that final dagger-sharp grin—
"Leaving messes behind for other people to clean up."
The door swung shut behind her with a satisfying bang.
And for the first time in years…
The great Harlan Debonair had nothing to say.
The room stayed frozen long after the door slammed shut.
Harlan Debonair stood there, fists clenched on the conference table, staring at the spot where his daughter had just been.
His breathing slowed, but the burn in his chest stayed.
Old memories stirred—unwelcome, bitter, sharp around the edges like glass buried under skin.
From the corner of his eye, he caught the horrified stares of his board members. The shifting discomfort. The sideways glances.
Someone cleared their throat.
Another pretended to scroll their phone like their life depended on it.
"Meeting adjourned," Harlan said finally, voice low and cold enough to freeze the air.
Chairs scraped. People scattered. No one dared linger.
When the last person left, he sank into his leather chair, pressing two fingers to his temples.
That girl…
Always so loud.
So reckless.
So painfully… her mother's daughter.
His gaze drifted toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching a faint reflection of himself, older, heavier, more tired than he'd admit.
Elena.
The name barely surfaced in his mind before he shoved it back down.
Her face…
That frail smile…
The way she used to stand outside his office door like she didn't belong—
Because back then… she didn't.
And now Krishna…
Walking proof of every mistake he'd tried for years to bury under wealth, corporate power, and carefully written press releases.
Harlan exhaled slowly, pulling open his desk drawer for the old bottle of whiskey he kept hidden for moments like this.
He poured himself a drink with steady hands…
But that didn't stop the echo of Krishna's words from rattling in his ears.
"I'm just doing what you do best… leaving messes behind for other people to clean up."
The glass cracked in his grip.
Damn that girl.
Damn her for being right.