Chapter 274: When Control Slips

Holly’s POV

The office felt like a war zone after the fight…papers scattered like confetti from a very bad party, a broken mug leaking coffee across the carpet, and the faint metallic tang of blood hanging in the air.

People whispered in corners, group chats lighting up on phones like fireworks (I could practically hear the pings: “Did you SEE that punch?” “Norman’s jaw is gonna bruise like hell.” “David went full caveman wtf”).

No one dared say it out loud, but the damage was done. Two co-CEOs throwing fists in front of the entire team? Trust erodes fast in corporate America.

I stood in the hallway for a minute, trying to breathe through the nausea still churning in my gut from what just happened in David’s office.

My throat ached where his hand had been…too tight, too long. I’d felt the world narrow, the black creeping in at the edges. He’d let go at the last second, but that second had stretched into forever.

What terrified me most wasn’t his hand around my throat…it was his eyes.

That wasn’t some episode of BDSM. That wasn’t a game. That was a man standing on the edge of something violent, something final, like one wrong breath from ending me.

And that’s when it hit me.

This is the same man who nearly brought my sister’s empire to its knees.

The same man who, somehow, also saved my life.

So who is he, really?

Because at that moment, with his fingers tight and his gaze dark, I realized how little I actually knew about the man who could either protect me…or break me completely.

I needed answers.

And also… Norman.

The name kept circling back like a bad song stuck in my head.

Who was he to David?

They weren’t just business partners. Are they?

That punch hadn’t been about a deal gone wrong. It had been personal. Bone-deep. The way Norman had said that stuff about David exhausting his option with his family before everything exploded…it wasn’t a throwaway line. It was loaded.

I slipped into the break room, pretending to refill my water bottle, but really just needing space to think. Amber had texted me twice already: “You okay? Norman’s icing his face in the conference room. Looks like he lost a bar fight.” I didn’t reply.

Instead, I pulled up the company org chart on my phone (the one buried in the employee portal under “About Us” that no one ever looks at). David Hunt: Co-Founder & CEO. Norman Caldwell: Co-Founder & CEO. Joined the same year. No bios beyond that. No photos together smiling at conferences. Nothing.

But there had to be more.

I thought back to the little things I’d overheard over weeks of being Norman’s assistant. Norman teasing David in meetings when he thought no one was listening. David flinching…just barely…when Norman mentioned “old times” or “back when things were intense.” The way Norman always seemed to know exactly how to push David’s buttons, like he’d had years of practice.

Half-brothers? Cousins? Something messier like gay partners?

And then there was Justin’s warning. And that muttered word: murderer.

If Norman and David were partially tied by blood, did that make Norman part of whatever darkness Justin was hinting at? Was Norman covering for David? Or was David the one holding secrets over Norman’s head?

My phone buzzed…Justin. A simple text: “You good after lunch? You seemed off.”

I stared at it. Typed “Fine” and deleted it. Typed “We need to talk” and deleted that too.

I couldn’t ask Justin outright. What if he thinks I’m being too nosy? Besides, I think if there was something weird about David and Norman’s connection, he’d have said something. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe that was part of the web they were all tangled in.

I stood in the hallway for what felt like forever, back pressed against the cool wall, eyes closed, trying to force my heartbeat back to something normal.

It’s not my business.

None of this is my business.

David. Justin. Norman. Half-brothers. Murderers. Warnings. Fights. Hands around throats.

I exhaled long and slowly, the way they teach you in those anxiety apps I never finish.

Just forget them. All of them. Let it fade. It’ll go away if I stop feeding it attention. I’ll go back to my desk, finish the day, go home, take a scalding shower, and tomorrow I’ll pretend today never happened.

Simple.

Except it wasn’t.

Because the second I tried to push the thought away, I felt it again…phantom pressure. A hand wrapping around my throat. Not David’s this time. Just… the memory of it. The way the air had thinned, the way black had crept in at the edges of my vision, the way my body had screamed stop while my lungs refused to cooperate.

I gasped.

My hand flew to my neck on instinct.

I jumped away from the wall like it had burned me.

My heart was hammering so hard I could feel it in my teeth.

I couldn’t stay here.

Two more hours until closing? No. Impossible.

I couldn’t breathe in this building. The air felt thick and poisoned.

I hurried back to my desk…didn’t look toward David’s side of the office, didn’t check if he was still sitting there shirtless and wrecked. I just shoved my laptop into my bag, grabbed my phone, my keys, and my lip gloss that had rolled under the desk earlier. Hands shaking so bad I dropped my water bottle. It rolled away. I didn’t stop to pick it up.

I swung by Amber’s desk on the way out.

She looked up from her screen, eyebrows shooting up when she saw my face.

“Hey—Holly? You okay?”

“I’m not feeling well,” I said, voice too high, too fast. “Can you sign me out? If anyone asks, just… tell them I went home sick. Please.”

She stood halfway out of her chair. “Wait, are you sure you’re—”

“I’m fine.” I forced a smile that felt like plastic. “Just a headache. Or maybe something I ate at lunch. I’ll be okay.”

She searched my face for a second, then nodded slowly. “Okay. Text me when you get home, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I turned and practically ran for the elevator.

The doors closed. I leaned against the mirrored wall, watching my reflection pant like I’d sprinted a mile.

Get out. Just get out.

Outside, the late afternoon sun was too bright. I hailed a cab with a shaking hand…first one that stopped, thank God.

“Downtown. Tyler & Associates building. The one on 47th.”

The driver nodded and pulled away.

I stared out the window, trying to steady my breathing as we drove through the busy street.

Tyler’s office.

It had been weeks since I’d gone there unannounced. Maybe seeing him…his easy smile, his stupid boyfriend jokes, the way he always smelled faintly of mint gum and expensive coffee would reset me. Wash away the taste of David’s violence and Justin’s warnings and Norman’s bloodied mouth.

Maybe.

I frowned.

Come to think of it… Tyler hadn’t texted or called all day.

Not once.

Usually he’d send at least three dumb memes by now. Or a selfie of him making a face at his computer screen. Or a “thinking of u” with the heart-eyes emoji he overused.

Nothing.

And last night…

After the dinner, after Ashley’s meltdown, and after that call he excused himself for, the ride home had been strange. Silent. Awkward. Tyler had kept glancing at his phone, then at me, then back at his phone. When I asked if everything was okay, he’d said “Yeah, just work stuff,” but his voice had been flat. Distant.

I brushed it off.

I was probably reading too much into it. I’d been in over my head for weeks…chasing David, playing games with Tyler, letting both of them pull me in different directions. Of course everything felt off.

The cab pulled up outside Tyler’s building, a sleek, glass-and-steel thing that always looked more expensive than his actual operation warranted.

It didn’t look as cute and casual as it did when he was setting up, and I helped him with the painting of the reception area.

I paid, stepped out, smoothed my skirt and took a deep breath.

The lobby was quiet. No receptionist at the mini front desk. I remembered Tyler complaining once that they all left at 3 p.m. sharp because “we’re not a sweatshop.” It was past four now. Good. No witnesses if I looked like the mess I felt.

I took the hallway by the middle and pushed through the glass door to his suite.

Empty desks. Lights dimmed. The faint hum of computers in sleep mode.

I walked past the rows of monitors, heart picking up for reasons I didn’t want to name.

Tyler’s office door was cracked open, just a sliver.

A mischievous little voice whispered in my head: Scare him. Jump in yelling “Argh!” like he would do if he’s the one creeping up on you. Make him laugh. Make things normal again.

I grinned despite everything and pushed the door wide.

“Arghhh!”

The word died in my throat.

Tyler was there.

But he wasn’t alone.

He was standing behind his desk, hands on the hips of a woman I didn’t recognize…tall, dark hair, red blouse half-unbuttoned. Her arms were looped around his neck, mouth on his, bodies pressed so close there was no space left for air.

They froze.

Tyler’s eyes snapped to mine.

The woman turned her head slowly and for a long, agonizing second, no one moved.

No one spoke.

I stood there, frozen in the doorway, the word “Arghhh” still echoing stupidly in my skull.

What is this feeling?

Hurt?

Why would I feel hurt?

I just fucked David hours ago…rough, desperate, terrifying sex on his office couch. I let him choke me until I saw stars. I let him apologize and then ran like a coward.

So why did seeing Tyler’s mouth on someone else feel like someone had punched me in the solar plexus?

Why did my chest feel tight and hot and wrong?

I thought to myself as I stood frozen, eyes glued on Tyler, watching the guilt and surprise wash over his face in real time.

I didn't have the right to feel hurt… But I felt it regardless.