Chapter 25 Dark Eyes
KARA’S POV
Another day, another struggle.
That’s the first thing that crosses my mind as I step inside Stewheinz Construction Supplies, my heels clicking softly against the polished floor. The building smells like steel, coffee, and authority. An environment where everyone walks a little straighter and speaks a little softer. As soon as I reach the reception area, Ma’am Arroi looks up from her desk.
“Good morning, Engr. Viancé,” she greets warmly, her lips curving into a genuine smile. “You’re early today.”
I return the smile, grateful for at least one familiar kindness.
“Good morning, Ma’am. I wanted to finish the report before lunch.”
“Very professional as always.” She nods approvingly.
Before I can respond, a chair scrapes loudly nearby.
Ma’am Salvador.
She doesn’t even bother hiding it as she rolls her eyes the moment she sees me, her lips pressing into a thin, displeased line.
Of course.
I pretend not to notice, even though I feel the familiar burn crawl up my spine. Ever since day one of my internship a year ago, she’s made it clear that my presence irritates her. Whether it’s jealousy, annoyance, or something deeper, I stopped trying to understand a long time ago.
“Morning,” I say politely anyway.
She scoffs under her breath. “Must be nice,” she mutters, loud enough for me to hear, “getting special treatment.”
Ma’am Arroi shoots her a warning look.
“Salvador.”
I keep my expression neutral, my hands tightening briefly around my folder. Not today, I tell myself. I didn’t come here to fight battles that don’t matter. I walk past them and head for the elevator. As the doors slide shut, I finally let out the breath I’ve been holding. The ride up then feels longer than usual.
When the elevator opens on Finnian’s floor, the atmosphere shifts instantly. The hallway is quiet, too quiet, like the building itself is holding its breath.
I take a few steps forward, then I stop.
Voices, raised voices. A man’s voice, sharp and controlled, laced with restrained fury and a woman’s voice is breaking, pleading, and crying. My heart stutters because I know that voice, it's Finnian's. I slow my steps instinctively, my heels barely making a sound against the floor as the argument becomes clearer through the slightly open office door.
“I told you not to come here,” Finnian snaps.
“Please,” the woman sobs. “Just listen to me, Matthew. I didn’t mean for things to end this way.”
My chest tightens. That name, I heard it before. I just don't know where.
“I gave you everything,” she cries. “Time, loyalty, patience. You can’t just erase me like I meant nothing.”
“You erased yourself,” Finnian replies coldly. “The moment you lied to me.”
“I was scared!” Lindsey sobs harder. “You were pulling away, you were changing—”
“Don’t,” he cuts in sharply. “Don’t turn this into something it’s not.”
There’s a sound of movement, maybe him stepping away and maybe her trying to reach him.
“I still love you,” she says desperately. “Just give me another chance. I can fix this, we can fix this.”
The silence that follows is heavy and suffocating. Then Finnian speaks again, his voice is low and dangerous.
“There is nothing left to fix.”
I feel rooted to the spot, my fingers gripping the folder so tightly it bends slightly. I shouldn’t be hearing this, I know that. Every instinct tells me to turn around, to leave, and to pretend none of this exists, but my feet won’t move.
“You don’t get to cry now,” he continues. “You don’t get to beg when you were the one who walked away first.”
“I didn’t walk away from you!” Lindsey cries. “I walked away because you shut me out!”
“Enough,” Finnian says, final and unforgiving. “This conversation is over.”
A sob echoes through the room.
“Finnian—”
“I said get out,” he commands.
The door suddenly swings open.
I freeze. Lindsey steps out first, her eyes red, mascara smudged, and her expression is shattered. She barely glances at me, too consumed by her own pain to notice anything else.
Then Finnian appears behind her. His eyes lift, and lock onto mine. For a split second, something flickers across his face. Surprise, tension, and something unreadable. Neither of us speaks then.
The air between us feels charged, fragile, like one wrong breath could make everything explode.
I swallow hard, forcing my voice to work. “I—I was here to report.”
Finnian’s jaw tightens slightly.
“Come in,” he says quietly.
Lindsey walks past me without another word, her shoulders shaking as she disappears down the hallway. I step inside the office slowly as my heart is still racing.
I don’t know what I just walked into, but I know one thing for sure. Nothing about Finnian Matthew Stewheinz is ever simple.
I sit across from him and begin the report like nothing just happened.
Like there wasn’t a woman crying her heart out moments ago.
Like I didn’t hear my name echoed in his past through another woman’s pain.
Like the air between us isn’t thick enough to choke me.
“As per the revised proposal,” I start, my voice steady despite the chaos inside me, “the projected cost for the first quarter—”
My words float in the room, but they don’t land.
The silence presses against my chest, heavy and suffocating. Finnian doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t comment, doesn’t even move. He just sits there behind his desk, fingers steepled, eyes locked on me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
I swallow.
The pain in my chest is sudden and sharp, like something tightening around my ribs.
Why does it hurt like this?
I don’t know if it’s exhaustion, anger, or the residue of everything I just witnessed, but my breathing turns shallow. I force myself to continue.
“—the suppliers agreed to the adjusted timeline,” I say, glancing down at the papers to avoid his gaze. “Delivery will start next—”
“Kara.”
My name from his lips stops me cold.
“Yes?” I answer, looking up.
For a moment, he just stares at me, his jaw tight, his eyes darkened by something unreadable. Then he stands abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.
“Stop,” he says.
My brows knit together.
“Stop… the report?”
Before I can even process what’s happening, he’s already moving. Fast. Decisive.
“Mr. Stewheinz—” I begin.
He’s in front of me in two strides.
Then his hand closes around my wrist.
Firm. Possessive.
My breath leaves me in a sharp gasp.
“What are you doing?” I ask, startled, my heart slamming violently against my chest.
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, he reaches for his car keys from the desk with his other hand, the metallic jingle loud in the quiet office. He turns and starts walking, pulling me along like my resistance doesn’t matter.
“Finnian,” I hiss, trying to pull back. “Let go of me!”
Still no response.
My heels stumble as I’m dragged out of his office. Heads turn instantly, conversations stop, typing pauses, and People stare.
I feel their eyes burn into my skin.
Whispers bloom like poison.
“Is that Engr. Viancé?”
“What’s going on?”
“Why is he holding her like that?”
The humiliation hits harder than fear.
“Stop!” I say sharply, my voice shaking now. “People are watching!”
He doesn’t slow down.
We reach the elevator, and he presses the button with a sharp jab. The doors slide open and he pulls me inside, releasing my wrist only to press the button for the basement.
The doors close.
I yank my hand back, rubbing my wrist instinctively. “You can’t just do this,” I snap, anger finally overriding shock. “You can’t just grab me and drag me around like I’m—”
“Like you’re what?” he cuts in, his voice low and dangerous.
I falter.
“Like I don’t have a choice,” I finish quietly.
The elevator dings and the doors open to the garage as the cool air hitting my skin. He steps out first, then turns back and grips my arm again, this time tighter.
“Finnian!” I protest, struggling. “Answer me. Where are you taking me?”
Still nothing.
We pass rows of parked cars, his footsteps echoing harshly against the cemented floor. My heart pounds so loudly I swear it echoes too. Employees in the garage stop what they’re doing. Some pretend not to look, others don’t bother hiding their stares, eyes sharp with curiosity, judgment, and something malicious.
I feel stripped bare and exposed.
When we finally reach his car, he releases me just long enough to unlock it and open the passenger door.
“Get in,” he says, finally speaking.
“No,” I reply immediately, my voice firm despite the tremble in my knees. “You don’t get to do this. Not after everything.”
His eyes meet mine. They are dark, stormy, and unsettled.
“You’re coming with me,” he says quietly, with an authority that sends a chill straight down my spine. “We’re not finishing this conversation here.”
My chest tightens again, painfully this time.
“This isn’t a conversation,” I whisper. “This is you losing control.”
Something flickers in his expression at that. Anger, guilt, or maybe both. But he doesn’t step aside.
And standing there in that cold garage, surrounded by concrete and staring eyes, I realize something terrifying and that is that I don’t know what he’s about to do, and worse is that a part of me is afraid of how much power he still has over me.