Chapter 4 004
Rhea's POV
I woke up late. Not the "hit snooze once" kind of late, but the frantic, heart-stopping kind where the sunlight hitting the floor tells you're already screwed.
I sat up too fast, getting tangled in the duvet and nearly face-planting on the floor.
My head felt like it was stuffed with stones. Apparently, that's what crying yourself to sleep at 3 a.m. after kicking your parents out gets you.
Life was a complete disaster, but apparently the clock didn't care.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
Yikes. Dark circles, hair like a bird's nest... I looked less like a professional assistant and more like a ghost.
For a second, I thought about just calling in sick or quitting. Alejandro would probably love that. He might as well just bar me from the building.
But I chose to push my luck, mostly because my bank account was a desert and my pride was currently in a shallow grave.
The only thing he could do was yell and embarrass me. He wasn't a monster, not really. Alejandro was many things, but he wasn't physically abusive.
Unless, of course, the last three years had changed his DNA entirely.
I skipped breakfast, threw on a pair of black office pants and a red blouse, and did a rush job on my makeup to hide the fact that I'd been a wreck five hours ago.
I still didn't get why he was being so cruel. If anyone had the right to rage, it was me.
He'd lied for years, hid massive secrets that shattered us. Then, he comes waltzing back into my life, acting like I was the villain who broke his heart? The audacity burned in my chest.
Part of me desperately wanted to confront him, to scream, "What the hell happened to you?" But I couldn't. Not anymore.
He looked... unreadable. A locked vault I no longer had the combination to.
I managed to flag a cab, and once inside, I used the rearview mirror to fix my hair. Considering his warnings from yesterday, he'd likely be livid if I looked anything less than perfect.
I ensured every strand was in place. By the time the cab pulled up, I looked functional. Not happy, but functional.
The building felt wrong the second I walked in.
The friendly faces at the gate, the security guards who actually knew my name and usually had something to say about "how good the day will be" were gone.
In their place stood a line of human walls in dark suits, stone-faced and wired with earpieces.
They didn't nod; they just watched my hands as I swiped my badge. I said nothing to them either and just walked by.
Inside, the lobby felt even worse. Lisa was at the front desk instead of the usual receptionist, her fingers fumbling through a stack of papers.
When our eyes met, I started to move toward her to ask what was happening, but she gave me a subtle, panicked shake of her head.
'Don't.' It was as if the whole building was being controlled by an invisible thread.
Even the cleaning staff were missing; they must have been cleared out before the sun came up. It felt less like an office and more like a dungeon.
I wondered if Alejandro was trying to kill the culture, or if he just wanted to make sure the building was as hollow as he was.
The elevator ride was a painful ride, the low-grade hum making my head spin faster.
When the doors finally slid open on my floor, I just stood there, speechless.
Men in gray overalls were moving furniture.
"Wait!" I stopped one of them, clutching my bag. "Where are you taking that?"
The man didn't even look at me. He just kept walking, carrying my desk lamp straight toward Alejandro's massive double doors.
Just then, the monster stepped out.
He was mid-sentence on a call, his voice a low baritone that made my skin prickle.
He wasn't wearing his blazer, just a dark charcoal waistcoat over a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
I hated how my brain betrayed me in that second. I hated that I noticed how the fabric clung to his shoulders or the way his forearms looked corded with tension.
His hair was a mess in a perfectly effortless way, and the shadow of stubble along his jaw only made the lines of his face look more lethal.
He looked devastating. He looked like the Alejandro I'd actually loved, the one who could pull me in with a single look and make the rest of the world go quiet.
He clicked his phone shut and looked at me.
The heat in my chest died instantly under his frost gaze.
"Thirty-two minutes late, Rhea," he snarled, pocketing his phone. "Again. Do you think this is a hobby, Rhea? Show up whenever you feel like it?"
I had no defense.
I couldn't exactly explain away my tardiness by telling him about the screaming match with my parents, or the way I'd finally collapsed into bed, falling asleep with my face still damp and stinging from salt.
That version of me was a liability he didn't have time for. After his back-to-back cruelty, he won't be the type to suddenly grow a conscience or offer a shoulder to lean on.
To him, my pain was just noise; my breakdown was just a lack of discipline. There was no point in looking for sympathy in eyes that had already turned to stone.
"I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again."
"See that it doesn't."
I bit the inside of my cheek, tasted copper, and forced myself to stay still.
"Why do you have to move my things? My office was fine, sir," I argued, my voice small.
The silence stretched thin, heavy and suffocating. He took another step, and I drifted back until the cold press of the wall met my shoulder blades.
He didn't stop until he was looming over me, close enough that our breaths began to tangle.
I could smell him, and feel the heat radiating off his skin.
"Don't ever question me again," he whispered. "I want you in my office. Where I can keep an eye on you to ensure you're actually doing your job."
For a heartbeat, the anger vanished, replaced by a suffocating tension. His gaze dropped to my lips, and my breath hitched.
My pulse thundered against my ribs, a frantic, rhythmic drumming. In that one wild, delusional moment, I thought he might actually close the gap.
I thought he might lean in and kiss me the way he used to.
It was pathetic, really. Despite the lies and the way he'd leveled my world, I couldn't kill the memory of that electric pull.
A small, foolish part of me, the part I hadn't managed to numb yet—glowed with a desperate hope. Maybe he was looking for us in this silence, too.
"We're done, sir. The office space is ready for use."
The mover's voice shattered the moment. Alejandro didn't flinch. He just adjusted his wristwatch and stepped back.
"In the next few minutes, the company secretary will deliver the remaining commission," Alejandro said stiffly.
They murmured thanks and filed out, leaving us alone on the entire floor. My heart pounded so loud I swore he could hear it echoing in the empty hall.
As if snapping back to reality, he turned to me with a raised brow.
"What are you waiting for? A special invitation? Get to work."
"I'm sorry, sir," I mumbled again. I didn't wait for a response, I ducked my head and brushed past him into the office.
The room had been completely transformed.
Gone were Harlan's messy stacks of papers, the vibrant paintings, the random plants that actually made the place feel alive.
Now, it was just... dead. All black furniture, cold chrome, and a total lack of soul.
The only thing that didn't match was my desk. It was tucked into a corner, a little island of pale oak and cream fabric in this lifeless room.
But seeing where they'd put it made my stomach do a slow, sick roll. It was right there. A few feet from his desk. No cubicle wall, no distance, nothing. Just me, stuck in his line of sight for eight hours a day.