Bad mood
Bad mood
ZAYN
I woke before dawn very restless. The memory of Rome straddling that man in the club burned behind my eyelids, a flame I couldn’t extinguish. I fell into a cold sweat, my heart hammering against my ribcage.
It was the same man years ago before we broke up. I shook my head trying to clear my foggy head.
By the time I forced myself out of bed, the sun was still half-hidden. I took one look at my reflection, eyes red-rimmed, jaw clenched, and knew there was no going back to calm.
The drive to work was a blur of rain-slicked streets and glaring headlights. My pulse thundered in my ears.
If I’d had time to breathe, I’d have felt shame, shame for locking Rome in that room, shame for the hatred that pumped through me like poison.
But there was no room for shame. Only rage.
How could he think of doing that to another man when he was married to me?
It seems he has been taking my leniency for granted.
I stepped into the lobby ten minutes late. Rain dripped from my coat onto the floor. Heads snapped up, eyes darting like frightened birds. A security guard cleared his throat: “Good morning, Mr. Sanchez.”
I nodded curtly and strode past. My office was on the top floor, the glass walls giving a cold view of the city below, unwelcoming, perfect for my mood.
By the time I reached my desk, my secretary, Jenna, was already there, perfect blouse, perfect posture, perfect nerves stretched thin. She dared to smile when I entered, but it faltered when she saw my expression.
“Good morning, Mr. Sanchez,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.
I nodded, sliding the laptop shut as if it were a book I’d never open again. “Morning.”
Her eyes flicked to the ceiling, then back to her notepad. “You have a full schedule,” she said. “Investor calls at nine… the Kyoto files arrive at ten… and you requested an urgent briefing on the new Omani acquisition, ”
I cut her off with a hand. “Handle it.” My voice was low and dangerous. “I don’t want to be bothered with details unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
Jenna’s face paled. She swallowed visibly. I watched her squirm, and I felt no remorse.
“Y-yes, Mr. Sanchez,” she stammered, turning to gather papers.
Between meetings, I barely registered the employees in the open-plan office. They all gave me wide berth. I heard whispers: He’s in a bad mood.
Around 9:30, Jenna returned with a stack of reports. She tried to hand them to me, but I didn’t take them. Instead, I pointed to the door. “Now.”
Her eyes filled with panic. “But…”
I didn’t want to hear her excuses. She’d been too eager, too perfect, too ready to bend under my displeasure. That was a liability. “You’re fired,” I said, my voice colder than the unblinking city lights behind her.
She gasped. “B-but I, ”
My pulse pounded. I almost pointed out how she’d screwed up the Q1 projections, but that was petty. She’d feel every inch of this humiliation. “Empty your desk by three. Security will escort you out if you linger longer.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. I stood and watched as she dashed toward the elevator, shoulders shaking. The click of the doors echoed too loud in the silent office.
I turned back to my desk. Everything felt stale, papers, screens, chairs. My mind roiled with one thought: Rome.
\---
My phone buzzed silently on the desk. I ignored it for a few seconds, but then hesitation twisted my stomach, so I picked it up.
“The Young Master still hasn’t eaten breakfast and refuses to let the staff near him.“
I scoffed, my voice hoarse in the empty room. “Refuses,” I muttered. “Of course he does.” How dare he? After everything, after that night, he still demanded attention like a newborn.
I rose on trembling legs, grabbed my jacket from the back of my chair, and stormed out. There would be no more work today. I couldn’t sit here pretending it was business as usual. He needed to learn consequences.
The elevator ride felt like an eternity. I stepped into the lobby, hailed my car, and didn’t speak until I pulled away from the tower. Rain had stopped, but the roads were still wet.
My reflection in the window looked ghostly, eyes shadowed, jaw set.
I hated him. Hated him for betraying me, for humiliating me, for testing every ounce of control I had left. And yet…
He was still my husband. Bound by a contract he could never escape.
My grip tightened on the steering wheel. I forced myself to breathe. To separate my fury from what I needed to do next. Because no matter how much I hated him, I still knew how fragile he was, how easily he’d break under real abandonment.
As the city lights slid past, I repeated it like a mantra: He’s mine. He’s mine.
And I would not let him, anyone, ruin what I’d built.
I parked outside the compound, locked eyes with the guard, then climbed the steps to the front door. No words were exchanged, the look I gave him was enough.