Chapter 65 Chapter Sixty-five
Lena’s POV
By Thursday morning, my eyes still feel bruised.
Not swollen like yesterday, but tender—like the skin stretched thin over something that keeps breaking underneath.
I stare at myself in the mirror and try to fix the damage. Concealer. Powder. A little mascara. I even curl the ends of my hair so I look… alive. Present. Human.
Avery stands behind me, arms crossed. “You don’t have to go.”
“I do,” I say, even though my voice trembles.
She sighs. She sees the truth even when I lie. “If he looks at you wrong—just one wrong look—I’m burning that office down.”
I smile weakly. “Please don’t get arrested.”
“Worth it.”
I shake my head, grab my bag, and step out before she can threaten arson again.
The taxi ride feels longer than my life. My stomach twists.
Every turn brings me closer to the building I once walked into happily… and now dread.
When I step into the lobby, I straighten my shoulders.
Pretend you’re okay.
Pretend nothing happened.
Pretend he didn’t shatter you.
I take the elevator, each floor dinging like a countdown to disaster.
By the time it reaches our floor, I’m barely breathing.
The doors slide open.
Everyone looks normal.
Everything looks normal.
Except I’m not.
I walk inside, giving Tessa a small wave. She smiles at me warmly, eyes full of concern she politely hides.
“Glad you’re back, honey,” she says softly. “Rough few days?”
“Just wasn’t feeling well,” I force out
She nods, not pushing.
I walk to my desk, heart pounding, typing in my login with fingers slightly shaking.
My eyes move on their own, pulled like gravity.
Sebastian is stepping out of his office.
My breath catches.
He looks… exhausted.
His hair is slightly messy, his tie loosened a little, his jaw shadowed as if he barely slept.
But none of that is what destroys me.
What destroys me is how his eyes slide right past me.
Cold.
Dismissive.
Like I’m someone he once knew but forgot.
Something sharp stabs at the center of my chest.
I look down quickly, pretending to arrange my pens.
I refuse to cry. Not here. Not now.
At 9:30 AM, the elevator opens again.
A girl steps out.
Young. Blonde. Pretty. Fresh-faced. Wearing a new badge clipped to her blazer.
An intern.
She walks toward Sebastian’s office, checking her phone nervously.
And then—
He meets her halfway.
I freeze.
Sebastian is smiling.
Not a real smile—but something polite, soft, almost welcoming. I haven’t seen anything like that from him since we returned.
“I’m Mr. Westbrook” he says in a tone I haven’t heard in days. “You must be Maya.”
She beams. “Yes! Hi! I’m so excited to be here.”
He nods and gestures toward her desk, talking to her like he has all the time in the world.
I can’t breathe
He hasn’t spoken three full words to me today, but now he’s—
Friendly.
Warm.
Engaged.
My stomach twists violently. I look away and pretend to focus on my computer screen, but my ears burn.
Jealousy is a sour taste on my tongue, ugly and humiliating.
But I can’t help it.
Because why is he being like this with her?
Why is he acting like I’m invisible now?
I swallow hard and sit straighter, typing nonsense into my draft email just to look busy.
It doesn’t take long for Sienna to slither over.
She always appears when I’m weakest.
She leans against my desk, perfume chokingly sweet, voice dripping with fake concern.
“You’re back,” she says, brows lifting dramatically. “We were all sooo worried.”
I keep my eyes on my laptop. “Thanks.”
She glances toward Sebastian’s office. “He seemed… perfectly fine while you were gone.”
I say nothing.
“Actually,” she continues, lowering her voice, “I don’t think he even mentioned you.”
My throat tightens painfully.
She smiles. A soft, cruel smile. “But the new intern—well, he’s been very interested in making sure she’s settled in.
I clench my jaw.
Sienna tilts her head. “You okay, sweetheart? You look… fragile.”
“Go away, Sienna.”
She laughs softly. “Oh darling, we both know I’m not the problem here.
She saunters off, heels clicking like the countdown to another heartbreak.
I grip the edge of my desk until my knuckles turn white.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
Don’t break. Not here.
Around noon, I overhear two staff members whispering near the printer.
“Did you see how he snapped at Mr. Lennox yesterday?” one says.
“I know,” the other whispers. “He’s been in a terrible mood since the business trip. I heard he’s been staying until midnight.”
“Stress?”
“Probably. But he’s… different. On edge.”
My pulse jumps.
They have no idea I’m behind the divider, listening.
Bad mood.
Snapping.
Working long hours.
Why?
He said he was tired of me.
He said I meant nothing.
He said the trip meant nothing.
So why would he return from that “nothing” acting like a storm trapped in skin?
My chest tightens with confusion. Anger. Pain.
But I force myself back to my desk and drown in spreadsheets until the numbers blur.
By mid-afternoon, every small sound feels sharp.
Every time Sebastian walks past my desk—even without looking—I feel the air shift, my spine straighten, my heart stumble.
He ignores me completely.
Except…
Except sometimes…
When I look up at the right moment, I catch him staring.
Not soft.
Not warm.
But intense.
As if he’s trying to read me.
As if he wants to know if I’m still hurting.
As if he’s trying to stop himself from doing something reckless.
At 4 PM, the atmosphere in the office shifts abruptly.
Sebastian is pacing inside his office, voice low but sharp, cutting through the glass walls.
Tessa keeps glancing nervously at the door.
The intern is typing like her life depends on it.
Everyone else suddenly looks very, very busy.
I try not to look.
I try to focus on my screen.
But his voice grows louder, angrier.
“No. I said no,” he snaps into the phone. “You’re not listening—this is not negotiable.”
My heart jumps.
His tone is raw—barely controlled fury.
“Yes,” he continues. “I understand the risk. I said I understand, didn’t I?”
My stomach twists
“Then handle it,” he growls. “Or I will. Myself.”
The room goes so quiet I can hear my own heartbeat.
Something is wrong.
Very wrong.
Sebastian never talks like this in the office.
Never loses control like this where people can hear.
I lift my eyes.
And I see him.
Standing near his desk.
Jaw clenched.
Hand gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles are white.
Chest rising and falling with barely held-in rage.
His gaze flickers toward the glass—
—and for a split second, our eyes meet.
His expression stutters.
Just a fraction.
Just a blink.
But it’s enough to make my breath hitch in my throat.
And then—
He ends the call abruptly.
Slams the phone onto his desk.
Runs a hand through his hair violently.
And before I can blink—
He slams his office door so hard.