Chapter 42

Chapter 42
Lena’s POV
I paused, forcing my features into something resembling calm even as his intense gaze bore into me like I had personally offended him.
“So, Mr. Vincent,” I began, clearing my throat, “you requested my presence in your office?”
He dropped the pen in his hand with a soft click, then leaned back, crossing his arms across his chest.
“And you’re late.”
His voice was cold and Icy. The kind of tone that made your spine stiffen whether or not you had a reason to be afraid.
I blinked, holding back a sigh.
Late? Was he serious?
He had only informed me yesterday. Barely a full day’s notice and now I was being scolded like a schoolgirl? Still, he was a client. A powerful one. I couldn’t afford to lose my temper.
“I apologize,” I said with a tight smile. “It won’t happen again. Now, if you could just tell me the reason I’m here—”
But he didn’t even acknowledge the apology. Instead, he stood up. Not just standing, he moved swiftly.
His chair scraped back and he rounded the desk in seconds, striding toward me with an intensity that made me instinctively step back.
“W-What are you—”
“That wasn’t enough,” he whispered, and my breath hitched.
He was close, too close.
His eyes locked on mine like a predatory gleam, as if I were a  prey that had wandered too close to a beast’s den. A shiver traced down my spine. I tried to breathe, tried to think—but everything in me was tangled in the heat radiating off him.
“I… understand I was late,” I stammered, trying to salvage the situation. “But that doesn’t mean you can—”
My words are cut off.
In one sudden move, he swept me up and placed me on the edge of his desk. My eyes widened in shock as his knee slotted between mine, parting my legs just enough to close the space between us.
“You were saying?” he murmured, his lips curled into a knowing smirk.
He was enjoying this. The control. The game.
But why is he doing this to me?
I felt my pulse hammering in my ears. Desperately, I turned my gaze away, hoping that if I didn’t look at him, I could regain some of my composure.
“Why… Why did you call me here?” I asked, aiming for firmness but it came out breathless, weak and pathetic.
He chuckled. A low, dangerous sound that did absolutely nothing to help my nerves.
“You should look at me when you speak, Miss Lena,” he said softly, yet with an undeniable edge of command. “I want your eyes on mine.”
Against all logic, against all common sense, I obeyed.
My gaze lifted up to meet him.
“Good girl.” He said,
Two words.
Two cursed words that sent a ripple of heat down to places I didn’t want to acknowledge.
Then his hand rose, brushing his thumb across my lower lip. My breath caught again.
“You need to be punctual,” he said, voice husky. “I loathe when people disobey my instructions.”
His fingers trailed from my lips to my shoulder, grazing my skin as if he had every right to touch me. I should have pulled away. I wanted to pull away.
But I didn’t.
“I find it infuriating,” he continued, voice dropping lower, “makes me want to tear their clothes off…”
He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear.
“…and punish them properly.”
A soft sound escaped my lips. I wasn’t even sure what it was—half a gasp, half a moan. My legs clenched and my body burned.
I bit down on my lip, hard.
His words were wicked. Addictive.
And the worst part?
I didn’t want him to stop.
After that sinful moment, he stepped back slightly, his gaze scanning me with a quiet, calculated calm as if he was gauging my reaction.
And oh, I was a mess.
Still perched on the edge of his desk, heart pounding like a war drum, legs parted shamelessly as if begging for more. I should’ve been mortified. But I was too dazed… too high on the fire he’d ignited in me.
Then, without warning, he shattered the spell.
“Rachel,” he called out, voice suddenly firm and emotionless.
The door opened immediately.
A blonde woman with a sleek ponytail rushed in and bowed so deeply her forehead nearly touched the floor.
“You called, my lord?” she asked, her tone respectful and flat.
I snapped my legs shut, heat flooding my face in humiliation.
What… just happened?
Vincent didn’t spare me a glance. “Get her out. She needs to work on her project.”
Then, just like that, he returned to his seat, eyes glued to his files, as if I had never existed.
Rachel stepped forward, gripping my arm gently but firmly. “Let’s go.”
I was too stunned to resist. What kind of game was this?
Moments ago, he was whispering punishments in my ear, now he was throwing me out like I was nothing but another employee on his schedule.
Was this all… a joke?
I barely had time to think before Rachel ushered me into a large office space. The room was modern and buzzing with quiet energy, filled with neatly dressed staff tapping away on their computers.
She guided me to a corner desk, separated from the others.
“Here,” she said, gesturing to the seat.
A few workers glanced up, some briefly, others lingering as their eyes roamed over me. Their stares weren’t hostile… just curious. Like they were trying to place who I was and why I was here.
I turned to Rachel, utterly confused.
“What exactly am I supposed to do here?” I asked. “I’m a writer not an office assistant.”
Her smile was polite, but I could tell it was strained. “Didn’t the boss tell you? You’re supposed to start working on the second version of your book. Effective immediately.”
I blinked. “What…?”
My book?
Here?
No one told me about this. Not during the meeting. Not in any contract. Not even a hint.
Before I could say another word, Rachel gave a shallow bow and left, leaving me alone under a sea of watchful eyes and unanswered questions.
I sighed, dragging myself toward the desk where a sleek laptop and a steaming cup of coffee awaited. I sat down stiffly, pulled out my phone, and quickly dialed James' number.
He picked up almost instantly, like he was expecting my call.
“Elena! Hi! How are you doing?” he said cheerfully.
I didn’t have the patience for small talk and straightly went to the point.
“Why am I at the Tyler Empire writing my book?” I asked flatly.
There was a brief pause just long enough to confirm my suspicion.
“Oh… that,” he said slowly. “I, uh… I got the report last night from my dad. Apparently, Mr. Vincent wants you to write under his supervision. Said something about supporting the creative process.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?” I hissed, trying not to lose my mind.
“I was going to,” he defended quickly. “But then I heard you'd already been informed, so I figured—”
Of course. A mix-up. A convenient excuse. Screw Mr Fran and Mr Vincent!
I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply to stop myself from screaming into the phone.
I didn’t know what Vincent Tyler was playing at but one thing was clear.
They were getting on my nerves… “Hey, you there go and get me my coffee”