Elise took a deep breath, her gaze meeting Rachel's in the mirror. “I know,” she said, her voice steady, her confidence returning. “I’m not going to let him control me anymore. I’m going to make him see me, to respect me, to realize that I’m not someone he can manipulate or dismiss.”
 A soft knock on the door signaled Caelan’s arrival. Elise straightened her emerald green dress, her heart thumping with anticipation. She was ready.
 “Ready?” Rachel asked, her voice a low whisper.
 Elise nodded, a determined glint in her eyes. “Ready.”
 She opened the door, her composure unwavering. Caelan stood in the doorway, his eyes widening in surprise. She had never looked so stunning, so confident, so powerful.
 “Elise,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of admiration and disbelief. “You look…amazing.”
 “Thank you,” she replied, her voice calm and steady, her gaze locking with his. “Ready for our evening?”
 Caelan, momentarily speechless, nodded. He knew this was a different Elise, an evolved Elise, one who was no longer content to be just a secretary. He sensed a change, a shift in the power dynamic, and it intrigued him, challenged him, and stirred a feeling of anticipation within him.
 He took a step forward, his gaze lingering on her, taking in her newfound elegance and confidence. He knew, with a sudden, unsettling clarity, that tonight was going to be different. This was no longer about him, about his control, about his dominance. This was about Elise, about her power, about her taking charge.
 The door closed behind them, and as they stepped into the night, the city lights blurring around them, Caelan sensed that the game had changed. He was no longer the hunter, he was now the prey, and Elise, with her newfound confidence and her carefully crafted plan, was about to unleash her fury...
 ===================================
 The charity gala buzzed with an energy that was both intoxicating and suffocating. Elise, resplendent in her emerald green gown, moved through the crowd like a silent storm. Her gaze, sharp and focused, scanned the room, searching for Caelan.
 She found her Boss talking to some guests at the party. After a few minutes, her devil Boss called for her. She hurriedly went towards him, thinking that he needs something important from her.
 "Elise," Caelan called, his voice a low rumble that seemed to echo through the crowded ballroom.
 "Yes, Mr. Cambridge?" she asked, her voice perfectly composed, her expression carefully neutral.
 He gestured towards a woman standing at the bar, her back to them, a lone figure amidst the throng of guests. "Go to the nearest flower shop and buy a bouquet of white roses for the lovely woman who is standing at the bar," he instructed, his voice laced with a casual authority that sent a shiver down her spine. "Make sure to put my name on it. Is that clear?"
 Elise's jaw clenched. She couldn't believe it. He wanted her, dressed in a long evening gown, her feet encased in three-inch heels, her face meticulously made up for a charity gala, to run an errand, to buy flowers for some random woman.
 And the worst part was, she was allergic to roses, a fact that she had carefully omitted to mention during their whirlwind makeover shopping spree. The thought of handling a bouquet of those thorny beauties sent a wave of discomfort washing over her.
 "Of course, Mr. Cambridge," she replied, her voice tight with barely contained anger.
 Her mind raced, trying to find a way to outmaneuver him, to avoid this absurd task. She could pretend to have forgotten her wallet, to have a sudden allergic reaction to the flowers, to be suddenly overcome with a debilitating migraine. But she knew, with a sickening clarity, that none of these excuses would work. He wouldn't be swayed, he wouldn't be deterred.
 "I'll be back shortly," she said, her voice a calm facade, hiding the simmering volcano of anger within. She turned, her back stiff, her heels clicking in a rhythm of frustration as she navigated the crowded ballroom.
 She knew this wasn't about the flowers, it was about control, about reminding her of her place, about showing her who was in charge. And she was tired of it. Tired of being a pawn in his game, tired of being a mere servant to his whims.
 Elise's resolve, built on a foundation of simmering anger, crumbled under the weight of Caelan's authority. She knew she couldn't refuse. He was her boss, her gatekeeper to her livelihood, and defying him was a risk she couldn't afford.
 She hurried out of the grand ballroom, the warm air of the city a welcome contrast to the stuffy, opulent atmosphere within. The sound of her heels clicking against the pavement was a rhythmic counterpoint to the racing thoughts in her head.
 She scanned the street, her eyes searching for a flower shop, any flower shop, that could fulfill her boss's ridiculous request. A quick glance at her watch confirmed her worst fear: time was running out.
 "I'll just get the damn roses, and then I'll have a proper drink," she muttered under her breath, her frustration bubbling to the surface.
 She spotted a brightly lit shop across the street, a florist’s haven that promised a wide selection of blooms. She crossed the road, her steps quickening, the image of the blonde woman, a beacon of light in a sea of faces, flashing through her mind.
 Her fingers fumbled with the handle of the shop’s door, the bell above it tinkling with a cheerful, almost mocking sound. Inside, the air was thick with the sweet scent of lilies, roses, and carnations.
 A young woman, her face beaming with youthful enthusiasm, approached her, her smile bright and welcoming. Elise, determined to get this errand over with as quickly as possible, barely acknowledged the woman's greeting.
 "I need a bouquet of white roses," she said, her voice curt and clipped. "And make sure to put a name on it. Caelan Cambridge."
 The florist's smile faltered slightly, but she nodded, her professionalism returning. "Certainly," she said, her voice a soothing contrast to Elise's clipped tone. "Would you like a ribbon, a card?"
 "Just the roses," Elise said, her eyes narrowing as she imagined the blonde woman at the bar, her smile so radiant, her laughter so carefree, a stark contrast to her own simmering resentment. "And make it quick, please."