The Frame-Up

The elevator doors slid open with a soft, metallic ping. Celine stepped onto the design department floor and immediately hit a wall of hostile stares. The usual morning chatter died in an instant. Every head snapped in her direction, eyes tracking her every move. Whispers buzzed through the cramped cubicles like a swarm of angry hornets. She kept her spine straight, her heels clicking rhythmically against the hardwood floor. She knew instantly that a massive mess was about to land squarely on her shoulders.

Clara darted out from behind a frosted glass partition and grabbed her arm, her eyes wide with panic. "Celine, someone broke into the design department last night. All the confidential year-end competition drafts that were locked securely inside the supervisor's office—someone maliciously dumped them all over your desk for everyone to see."

Celine looked past Clara's trembling shoulder. A chaotic, sprawling mountain of paper sat right in the center of her workspace. She caught on at once. The year-end design competition was a career-making, high-stakes event. Most of the senior colleagues had already submitted their final, polished drafts to Simon for safekeeping. If those unique designs went missing or leaked to rival firms, everyone's grueling hard work would be for nothing. They would have to start over from scratch, wasting precious time and handing their competitors a massive advantage.

She did not say a single word. She merely walked forward, scanning the room with a sharp, piercing gaze. The entire department fell from chaotic buzzing to a dead, heavy silence. None of them had expected her to remain this composed under pressure.

She let out a faint, dry laugh. She had not even set down her leather bag or her tablet before spotting the blatant setup. She reached her desk and pinched the top file using only her thumb and index finger, lifting the paper as if it were tainted with poison. She lifted her gaze to sweep the angry crowd once more.

"Looks like your precious design drafts took a little detour to my desk." She dropped the papers onto the nearby printer tray with obvious, biting disdain.

Sure enough, all their intricate designs lay in a neat, exposed pile on her workspace. Everyone in the room already knew the drafts were sitting there. They just had not bothered to retrieve them, purposely waiting for her arrival so they could aggressively corner her.

"Celine! If you wanted first place, you didn't have to resort to this lowlife garbage!" a veteran designer shouted, slamming a hand against a cubicle wall.

"No wonder you were working a late-night overtime shift! You were stealing our intellectual property this entire time!" another voice chimed in from the back.

"These designs are confidential! How is this fair when you have already seen all our ideas?"

The crowd swarmed around Celine's desk, pointing fingers and hurling venomous accusations at her from all sides. Celine remained unshaken, refusing to let their unbridled hostility rattle her composure.

"Please. If I had wanted to copy anyone's work, I would have just taken a photo of it and looked at it in the comfort of my own home. Why on earth would I leave the stolen sketches out on my desk for everyone to find? I could have thrown them straight in the trash and you never would have known a thing. And why would I post a story about working late on Instagram if I was up to something shady? Wouldn't I lie low instead? Who is stupid enough to announce their own crime like that?"

Her flawless logic slammed into the crowd. The angry mob paused, exchanging uncertain glances. The sheer practicality of her defense left them temporarily speechless. But the senior designers remained furious and unconvinced. Their faces turned red with stubborn, wounded pride.

Celine had heard enough. She gathered the rest of the scattered files and forcefully tossed them onto the printer. She normally kept her temper in check, knowing better than to stir up trouble when she had not even made a proper name for herself at the new company. But lately, she had simply had enough of being treated like a punching bag.

"What is going on? Why is everyone making such a racket first thing in the morning?" Simon barked from the main doorway.

The crowd hastily parted. Simon marched in, but his presence was immediately overshadowed by the towering figures of Vance and Nolan walking right behind him. The room fell into a terrifying, dead silence. The CEO never made unannounced appearances on their floor. The mere sight of Vance's imposing frame in his tailored suit sent a chill through the department.

Celine glanced at Simon, then looked past his shoulder. Her eyes locked directly onto Vance's face. She did not dare hold the intense gaze and looked away quickly, a sudden knot tightening in her stomach.

"Oh, it's nothing. Ms. Winslow just copied some of the year-end competition sketches last night, so we are sorting it out." An anonymous, cowardly voice drifted from the back of the room.

"I did not do it." Celine’s voice rang out firm and steady across the silent room.

At that moment, she realized Vance was staring right at her. His cold, penetrating gaze made her truly uneasy. She forced herself to keep her spine straight, refusing to cower.

"Everything requires hard evidence. I did stay late last night, but that doesn't make me guilty. And honestly? I don't think anyone here has work worth copying anyway. Their designs won't keep me from winning first place."

The design department immediately erupted into sheer outrage. Colleagues gasped, deeply insulted by her blatant arrogance. They shouted over each other, calling her delusional and full of herself.

Vance merely lowered his dark gaze to the floor. A soft, quiet laugh escaped his lips. The sound was brief, but it sent a distinct shiver straight down Celine's spine.

"Pull up the security footage, and we will know for sure." Simon ordered, raising his voice to cut through the furious commotion.

"Security was doing maintenance last night. The cameras were offline. They only saw Ms. Winslow working late, but they didn't record her taking any drafts." Clara revealed anxiously, her voice trembling as she clutched her notepad. Clara had rushed to check the footage the second the trouble started, desperate to clear her best friend's name.

The dispute hung unresolved and heavy in the air. The crowd began bickering again, throwing dirty looks at Celine. She stayed silent, her mind racing to figure out why the drafts had landed on her desk to begin with. How was she supposed to prove her innocence now that the cameras were useless?

"Celine. Come with me." Vance's icy, authoritative voice cut through the chaos, silencing everyone at once.

He turned and walked straight toward the elevator without waiting for her response.

The moment he turned away, the office broke into quiet, mocking whispers. Everyone assumed she was about to be fired on the spot. Celine tightened her jaw. She had nothing to hide. She grabbed her phone, lifted her chin in defiance, and followed him directly.

She stepped into the elevator just as the metal doors began to close. The crisp scent of his sandalwood cologne washed over her. The familiar, masculine fragrance strangely and instantly calmed her frayed nerves. She stared at his broad back, bracing herself for a brutal, corporate interrogation.

Nolan led them into the massive executive office and promptly stepped out, shutting the heavy oak door behind them.

Instead of shouting or demanding answers, Vance unbuttoned his suit jacket and gestured calmly to the glass coffee table. "Sit down and have breakfast with me."

Celine stared at him. A lavish spread of fresh bagels, rich cream cheese, and steaming cups of coffee sat perfectly arranged on the table. Utter bewilderment washed over her. The whiplash of his actions left her speechless. She had braced for a screaming match, not a morning date.

She opened her mouth to question his bizarre behavior. Her stomach beat her to it, growling loudly in the quiet, spacious room.

Vance sat down on the leather sofa. He unwrapped a plastic fork and held it out to the still-stunned Celine.

Her hunger made the decision for her. She had skipped dinner the night before and burned too much energy fighting her hostile coworkers this morning. She took the fork and sat down across from him.

She ate the food in utter silence. She wore loose casual pants and a short-sleeve half-turtleneck today. Her hair was twisted up into a messy bun that looked perfectly undone. The effortless look suited her perfectly. Vance kept his clear, sharp eyes on her, subtly watching her every move. He intentionally paced his own meal, taking slow, measured bites so she would not feel hurried or stressed. The quiet rhythm of their shared breakfast felt strangely intimate.

"You finished?" Vance asked softly.

"Yeah." Celine picked up a linen napkin and wiped her mouth. Between the heavy workload for the national holiday event and her personal drama, she had not eaten a proper breakfast in ages.

"Then get back to work." He stated, starting to gather the empty takeout containers.

Celine rushed forward to help him clear the table. Her knuckles accidentally brushed against his warm palm. She jerked her hand back instantly, hiding her fingers behind her back. Her heart hammered against her ribs. He did not ask a single, probing question about the stolen drafts. He did not mention the morning's scandalous incident at all.

"I will get going then." She murmured, stepping away from the table.

"Yeah." He replied without looking up from the trash bin.

She walked to the heavy oak door and paused. Her hand hovered over the brass handle. She looked back over her shoulder, meeting his gaze. "Mr. Sterling, don't tell anyone about us."

"About what?" He stood up straight, his face unreadable.

"Everything."

"Fine." He agreed without a single second of hesitation, turning toward his massive desk.

Celine let out a shaky breath of relief. She was still utterly confused by his accommodating behavior. Why was he displaying such blatant favoritism? Why feed her instead of firing her? None of it made sense. She pushed the door open and hurried back to the elevator.

When she returned to her desk, the design department was unnervingly tense. The hostile glares had morphed into cautious, curious stares.

"I can't finish this sandwich. Want it?" Clara slid a wrapped sub across the desk.

"No thanks, I'm full." Celine sat down and booted up her computer monitor.

"Yeah, I bet. You are probably too upset to eat anyway." Clara sighed sympathetically, leaning against the partition.

A few minutes later, Nolan walked onto the floor and summoned Simon upstairs. The moment Simon was out of earshot, fresh, wild gossip sparked across the room. Colleagues peeked over their monitors, whispering furiously about the impending fallout.

"So did the Ice King tear into you up there?" Clara whispered eagerly, rolling her chair closer to Celine's desk.

"Nope." Celine replied smoothly, organizing her scattered pens.

"Then what were you doing up there for fifteen minutes?"

"He just asked me a few routine questions about the morning's incident."

A sharp pang of guilt hit Celine's chest for blatantly lying to her only friend in the office. She quickly ended the conversation, turned her attention to her bright screen, and got started on her heavy workload for the day.