Frida started sketching something with her stylus, eyes flicking to her screen as she adjusted the axes of a diagram, mumbling, "...and then this boundary layer here starts behaving like a switch... not instant, but sharp. Sharp enough." Inés leaned in to see. "You mean like a Heaviside approximation?" Frida rolled her eyes, barely biting back a grin. "No. I mean like an actual boundary layer. I thought you said you weren't rusty." That earned her a low hum from Inés - amused, maybe a little provoked. "You want sharp? I'll give you sharp," she muttered, reaching for her own laptop, the tip of her manicured nail clicking a little too decisively on the trackpad. "You're missing the substructure that governs the transition here-see?" Frida glanced over. "That's an assumption, not a proof." "Do you want this to work or do you want it to be romantic?" Frida laughed - surprised and a little breathless. "God. Is that how you think I talk about math?" Inés tilted her head, lips curling. "Only when you're trying to seduce me with it." Frida blinked. Her ears went hot. "I'm not-" "Not trying?" Inés cut in, pretending to glance back at the diagram, feigning innocence, but there was no missing the gleam in her eye. "Shame. Because it's working." Frida looked away sharply, pressing her fingers to the corner of her mouth like she could keep a smile in by force. "You're infuriating." "You're distracted." "You're distracting." Inés made a quiet, pleased sound at that and sat back for a moment, the back of her hand brushing the edge of Frida's chair. "Tell me more about the way you're treating the constraint set when it fractures," she said finally, voice smooth again, back in control - or pretending to be. Frida inhaled and kept going, though her voice was slightly lower now, the words sticking a little as she spoke.

Eteri Leclerc is twenty-five, newly hired, and already a little too curious for her own good. Brought on as a communications strategist, she's clever, persuasive, charming even in difficult rooms. Reading tone, subtext, body language - it's what she does. But nothing prepares her for Celeste Fairbourne. Celeste is thirty-eight. One of five division directors at Celeva Biotech. Clinical. Untouchable. Sharp enough to draw blood without raising her voice. Her work in public health strategy has made her powerful; her presence makes people sit straighter. Some call her brilliant. Others, cold. Everyone's careful around her. The first time they meet, Celeste barely looks at her. A flicker of disinterest. It should've ended there - but something makes Celeste turn back. It's slow - until it isn't. One always pulls away. The other always follows. Celeste knows better than to get involved with someone like Eteri - warm, young, obvious. Eteri knows better than to want someone like Celeste - composed, calculating, dangerous. But restraint only lasts so long. What begins as controlled becomes obsessive. What starts in the boardroom ends between tangled sheets. Celeste never promised love. But she gives Eteri pleasure, power, ruin - in equal measure. This is a story about women who wield control until they lose it. About dominance, submission, and everything in between. About soft mouths and sharper rules. Welcome to Project Leclerc. She wasn't supposed to matter. But she did. 𓍼 This is adult fiction intended for a mature audience. It contains: graphic sexual content, emotionally complex power dynamics, an age gap, themes of control and obsession, manipulation, and a slow-burn connection that becomes dangerously addictive. If that's not for you - don't read it. All rights reserved to the author. © @womanonthehill