Chapter 34 His Game
KARA’S POV
Wednesday hits differently.
I step out of the elevator expecting the usual chaos like phones ringing, chairs scraping, and someone arguing over coffee, but instead I’m greeted by something close to eerie. The office is quiet, too quiet. Desks sit abandoned, monitors are dark, and chairs are pushed back like everyone stood up at once and never returned. It looks like the aftermath of a very organized evacuation.
“What the—” I mutter under my breath.
Then I see her. Cathy is seated at the last table near the window, laptop open, sleeves rolled up, already deep into work. She looks up the moment I step in, her face brightening.
“Good morning!” she calls out, waving.
I blink. “Good morning,” I echo, still scanning the room. “Uh… did I miss a memo? Fire drill? Or Apocalypse?”
She laughs. “Nope.It's summer.”
I walk closer, lowering my bag. “Summer?”
“They all filed a leave,” she says casually, tapping at her keyboard. “Beach trips, family vacations, ‘mental health breaks.’ You name it.”
I let that sink in, of course. It’s the start of summer and everyone grabbed the chance to breathe and to disappear for a few days. Everyone except us.
“So it’s just you and me?” I ask.
“And the security,” she adds. “But yes.”
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “I can’t decide if this is peaceful or terrifying.”
“Give it an hour,” she says. “You’ll love it.”
She’s right because by late morning, the silence becomes comforting. No interruptions, no hovering supervisors, just the soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional clack of keys. When noon rolls around, Cathy stretches and looks at me.
“Lunch?”
“Definitely.”
We take our food to the small break area as sunlight is pouring in through the glass panels. It feels oddly intimate, like we’ve stolen the office for ourselves. We talk easily about work, about how surreal last last night still feels, and about how her plaque is already sitting proudly on her shelf at home. Then, somewhere between bites, she tilts her head and grins.
“You know,” she says, “you feel different from how you look.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That sounds ominous.”
She laughs. “No, I mean… I thought you were the serious type. Always composed.”
“I was a party girl,” I admit suddenly.
Her fork freezes midair. “You?”
“Me,” I say, nodding. “Clubs, late nights, and bad decisions. The whole package.”
Her eyes widen. “I refuse to believe this without proof.”
“I swear,” I laugh. “I don’t even know when I stopped. One day, I just… didn’t feel like it anymore.”
I don’t say his name, I don’t say it was a man who shifted something in me, who made loud rooms feel empty and quiet moments feel heavy. She studies me for a second, then softens.
“College was the opposite for me,” she says quietly.
I look at her. “Yeah?”
She nods. “I was seven when my parents died because of a car accident.” Her voice is steady and practiced. “I grew up bouncing between relatives, scholarships, and part-time jobs. Crawling my way through, really.”
My chest tightens of what I've heard. “Cathy…”
She shrugs lightly. “I learned early that no one’s coming to save me, so I save myself.”
I reach across the table, squeezing her hand. “You did more than saving yourself because you built something.”
She smiles, grateful, then suddenly her expression shifts into something mischievous and excited.
“Speaking of building something,” she says, lowering her voice, “I like someone.”
I blink. “Oh?”
“And,” she adds, grinning wider, “we went to a party last night.”
My stomach dips, just a little. “You did?”
She nods enthusiastically. “He’s a really good kisser. Like, dangerously good.”
I laugh. “Cathy!”
“And we almost had sex,” she blurts out.
We both scream after she said it. This girl is totally insane!
“Oh my God,” I gasp. “Details please!”
She digs into her bag, laughing. “Wait, wait, I’ll show you his face first.”
I’m packing my lunch box when she pulls out her phone, fingers flying as she scrolls, then she turns the screen toward me.
“This is him.”
My world tilts. Finnian Matthew Stewheinz stares back at me from her screen, smiling in a candid shot I’ve never seen before. He's relaxed and happy. Like last last night never happened the way it did for me. My hands go numb of the thought.
Cathy pulls the phone back lovingly, tucking it into her bag, and still smiling to herself. “Isn’t he handsome?”
I stare at her, my throat closing as my heart splintering into sharp, unforgiving pieces. I force my lips into something that might pass for a smile, even as my eyes burn.
“Yeah,” I manage. “He is.”
Fuck Finnian Matthew Stewheinz, looks like I lose again.
For the second time around.
I hate that I have to see him.
The moment the meeting with Cathy ends, the thought settles in my chest like a stone and it's heavy and unavoidable. I stare at my screen longer than necessary, pretending to reread emails I’ve already memorized, hoping and irrationally that the task will disappear if I ignore it hard enough.
But it doesn’t because it's my job.
So I grab my keys, my report folder, and whatever dignity I can scrape together, then drive to Stewheinz Corporation with my jaw clenched and my heart doing that stupid, traitorous thing where it beats faster the closer I get.
The lobby is exactly how I remember it, power humming beneath every surface. I check in, get escorted up, and before I know it, I’m standing in front of his office again.
Finnian Matthew Stewheinz.
I step inside. He’s already standing, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, and attention snapping to me like he’s been waiting. The sight of him still does something to me, and I hate that too. Hate how easily my body remembers what my mind is trying to forget.
“Kara,” he says softly.
I don’t return the warmth. I walk straight to the chair across from his desk and place the folder down between us like a shield.
“I’m here to report on the fused supplies between your company and Mr. Lu’s,” I say, clipped and professional. “There were discrepancies last quarter, but everything’s been aligned now. Inventory, logistics, timelines, all accounted for.”
I open the folder, explain the figures, point out the charts. I keep my eyes on the paper, not on him, not on the way he hasn’t interrupted me once.
When I finish, the silence stretches.
Then he says, “That’s the last report you’ll need to make.”
I pause.
“What?”
He leans back slightly, studying me with that unreadable expression I’m starting to despise. “Today’s the last day. I don’t want to exhaust you anymore by going back and forth.”
The words land wrong. Not relief. Not kindness. Something else.
“Oh,” I say flatly.
I should thank him. I know that. It’s the polite thing to do, the normal thing. Instead, I nod once, close the folder, and stand.
“Noted,” I say. “If that’s all, I’ll take my leave.”
I turn my back to him before he can say anything else. If this is another game, another move meant to confuse me, to pull me back in just when I’m trying to step away, I’m done. I’m so tired of his mixed signals, tired of feeling like I’m constantly misreading the rules of something I never agreed to play.
From what I have said, I will messed up with him too, but looks like I was the one being messed up here and I detest that thought.
“Kara,” he calls.
I’m already walking. I reach the door when I hear his footsteps, faster now and urgent. He’s right behind me when I step into the hallway.
“Kara, wait.”
I feel his presence before I see him, close enough that I know his hand is about to touch my arm, before he can do it, I move away just in time. I turn around and stare at him, blank and distant, the way you look at someone who’s hurt you one too many times.
“Don’t,” I say quietly.
His hand freezes midair.
Something flickers across his face. He's surprise and maybe even confused.
“I’ll be focusing on my work with Mr. Lu’s company from now on,” I continue, my voice steady even though my chest feels like it’s cracking. “So we won’t be seeing each other for a long time.”
“For a long time?” he repeats, brows knitting. “Kara—”
“I’m serious.”
He searches my face, like he’s trying to read something I’m deliberately not letting him see.
“Are you hungry?” he asks suddenly, as if that might soften whatever this is between us. “We can talk over lunch.”
I don’t answer and I don’t even acknowledge the question. I turn and walk away, heels echoing down the hallway, as every step an act of will. I don’t look back and I don’t slow down.
I leave him standing there, confused and alone. And maybe that should make me feel powerful.
Instead, it hurts. I know I don’t have the right to be jealous, I know that. We’re not a couple 'cause we never were. Nothing was promised and nothing was defined. But knowing that doesn’t erase the fact that I let him step over my boundaries again.
Not just step, but I let him cross.
And standing in the elevator, staring at my own reflection in the mirrored walls, I finally admit the truth I’ve been avoiding. I feel like a loser in a game he never told me I was playing.
And this time, I don’t just risk losing him, I risk losing myself and I won’t let that happen again.