Chapter 22 Messing With Him
KARA’S POV
I don’t understand it.
No matter how many times I replay that meeting in my head, no matter how many explanations I try to force into place, none of them make sense. Mr. Stewheinz asking me to report to him every single day feels wrong in ways I can’t even properly explain.I’m not a secretary, I’m not a personal assistant, and I am definitely not his errand girl.
“I’m an engineer,” I mutter under my breath as I sit at my desk, staring blankly at the site plans on my screen without really seeing them. “Not whatever this is supposed to be.”
My fingers hover over the keyboard, stiff and irritated. Engineers belong on-site, in meetings, solving problems, and building something real. Not sending daily reports like a school requirement to a man who already knows exactly how businesses work.
Especially him, especially Finnian Matthew Stewheinz.
“This isn’t even part of my job description,” I whisper to myself, pushing my chair back slightly. “Why me?”
I glance toward Mr. Lu’s office, the glass walls revealing him deep in paperwork, calm as ever. He didn’t even ask if I was willing, he just instantly decides for me. Just like that.
I entrust you this project, Engr. Viancé.
As if entrusting something so personal, so complicated, didn’t come with consequences.
I let out a quiet breath, rubbing my temple.
“Professional,” I remind myself. “This is just business.”
But my chest tightens because business shouldn’t feel this heavy. Still, no matter how much I want to protest, I know the truth.
I don’t have a choice.
Mr. Lu believes in me. He sees potential, not just in my skills but in my ability to handle difficult situations. Turning this down would mean questioning his judgment, and I can’t afford that, not when I’ve worked so hard to get where I am.
So I swallow my pride, I straighten my back, and I comply. Even if every fiber of my being is screaming don’t.
“What I don’t get,” I whisper later, walking alone toward the elevator, “is why an engineer like him suddenly wants a food business.”
The question nags at me like an itch I can’t scratch. Finnian Stewheinz doesn’t do things without reason, he never did. Everything he touches turns strategic, calculated, and precise.
So why food? Why now? Why us?
A bitter laugh slips past my lips.
“Unless this isn’t about business at all.”
The thought makes my steps falter.
What if this is his way of getting back at me?
A quiet revenge for the night I screamed at him, the night I chose myself over his control. For the moment I walked away and refused to let him pull me back into his chaos.
“I didn’t dump you,” I murmur, pressing the elevator button harder than necessary. “I protected my peace.”
The memory of his eyes that night flashes through my mind. Dark, dangerous, and possessive.
Try it, Kara and you’ll see.
My hands curl into fists.
“I’m not afraid of you anymore,” I whisper, even though my heart betrays me with a faint, traitorous ache. “You don’t get to ruin what I rebuilt.”
The elevator doors slide open, and I step inside, forcing my shoulders to relax. Whatever this is, revenge, coincidence, or fate playing another cruel joke, I won’t let it break me again.
I’ve already survived him once and this time, I intend to stay standing.
My first day starts the way all bad ideas do, quietly and deceptively calm. I arrive earlier than usual, heels clicking against the polished floor as my tablet hugged close to my chest like armor. I tell myself it’s just another workday, another report, and another meeting.
Nothing more.
That lie lasts exactly three minutes.
“Engr. Viancé,” his secretary says politely as soon as I step out of the elevator. “Mr. Stewheinz is expecting you now.”
Of course he is.
I nod once, professional, composed, even as my stomach knots.
“Thank you.”
His office hasn’t changed. Still too big, too clean, and too controlled. Floor-to-ceiling glass, dark wood, and the city stretched behind him like something he owns. And there he is, standing by the window, hands in his pockets, and posture relaxed in that infuriating way that tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.
He turns slowly when he hears me.
“Kara,” he says, voice smooth. Too smooth. “Right on time.”
“I’m here to give a report,” I reply flatly, walking in without waiting to be invited. I place my tablet on his desk with more force than necessary. “As requested.”
One brow lifts, amused, and dangerous.
“Sit,” he says.
“I’ll stand.”
A pause stretches between us, thin and sharp.
“As you wish,” he murmurs, taking his seat instead. “Go ahead.”
I clear my throat and launch into it, technical details, timelines, projected costs, and logistics. I keep my voice steady, neutral, and professional. I refuse to look at him for longer than necessary.
Until—
“Stop,” he says suddenly.
I freeze. “Excuse me?”
“You skipped something,” he adds calmly.
I frown and scroll back. “I didn’t. The site inspection was completed, and—”
“No,” he interrupts. “Your tone.”
My head snaps up. “My… tone?”
He leans back in his chair as fingers are steepled.
“You sound like you’re reading numbers. I want insight and interpretation. What do you think?”
I stare at him, stunned.
“This isn’t a performance review,” I say tightly. “You asked for updates. I’m giving you updates.”
“And I’m asking for more,” he replies, unbothered. “Daily, remember?”
Heat crawls up my neck.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter before I can stop myself.
His lips curve, just slightly. Victory, served cold.
“Careful, Engineer,” he says softly. “You’re still in my office.”
Fine.
You want to play?
I straighten, lift my chin, and smile, sweet and sharp.
“Then my professional opinion, Mr. Stewheinz, is that expanding into food production without hands-on experience is risky and inefficient. And frankly, an odd choice for an engineer who claims to value precision.”
The surprise on his face is instant. It is subtle, but unmistakable.
“Is that so?” he asks.
“Yes,” I continue, voice steady now and emboldened. “Unless this venture has nothing to do with food at all and everything to do with control.”
Silence slams down between us. For a second, I think I’ve gone too far.
Then he laughs. A low and slow laugh.
“Well,” he says, standing, and walking around the desk toward me. “That’s finally honest.”
I refuse to step back, even when he stops an inch too close.
“You wanted my insight,” I say quietly. “There it is.”
He studies me like a puzzle he’s missed, like I’ve surprised him.
“Noted,” he replies. “You may go.”
That’s it. No argument and no retaliation.
I turn and leave before he can see the way my hands tremble. I don’t make it far.
“Engr. Viancé.”
I stop at the door without turning around.
“Yes?”
“Tomorrow,” he adds casually, “come prepared because I don’t like being bored.”
My fingers curl into a fist.
“Oh,” I say over my shoulder, smiling. “Don’t worry, Mr. Stewheinz. Neither do I.”
I walk out, heart racing and pulse loud in my ears. By lunchtime, word has already spread. People look at me differently, curious, and cautious. No one challenges Finnian Matthew Stewheinz, not openly, and not like that.
But I don’t feel victorious instead, I feel awake.
Later that afternoon, an email pops up on my screen. I immediately clicked it and read what's in it. My brows furrowed when I finally read it.
Subject: Daily Report Revision
From: Finnian Matthew Stewheinz
Engr. Karaella Viancé,
Add your personal assessment next time because I will be expecting a candor.
I scoff.
“You are unbelievable,” I whisper, typing back without thinking.
From: Karaella Viancé
Then stop asking for my honesty
Three dots appear.
Disappear.
I lean back in my chair, exhaling sharply.
“So that’s how it’s going to be,” I murmur.
If this is what he wants, a battle of wills wrapped in boardrooms and paperwork, then fine. I’ll play, I’ll do my job, I’ll do it well, and I won’t let him see me flinch. But one thing is clear as I shut down my computer and head home, my heart is pounding with something dangerously close to anticipation.
Finnian Matthew Stewheinz may be messing with me again and this time, I’m messing right back.