He watched her walk out of the boardroom, shoulders stiff, her silence louder than any words she could've thrown at him.
Sasha.
He whispered her name in his mind like a prayer. Or a sin.
The door clicked shut behind her, and with it, he felt another piece of himself go quiet.
He rubbed his temples, the pressure behind his eyes building. "It was a mistake," he had told her. The words tasted bitter now, sour and untrue. Cowardly.
Because the truth was,every time he looked at her, he ached.
Every time she smiled at someone else, his jaw clenched.
And every time he saw her walk into a room, his world stilled.
She was the quiet in his chaos and the fire in his control.
And yet… he had pushed her away.
He sat in the empty boardroom for a long while after everyone left. Her chair was still slightly pulled out, her scent lingering in the air,soft, floral, undeniably hers.
His fingers traced the edge of the table where her hand had rested during the meeting. God, he missed touching her. Not just the night they shared,but her presence, her laughter, her ideas, her voice.
He had built an entire empire mastering control, but now, all he felt was loss.
And he couldn't even show it.Because he was married.
Because he was her boss.
Because everything about wanting Sasha was wrong,yet felt more right than anything else in his life.
He remembered the way she looked at him today when she called him out.
"Pretending I don't exist? That's cruel."
She was right. And he knew it.
But he had stood there, stoic and silent, hiding behind guilt and fear.
And now… now she was gone again.
He rose from the chair and paced the room, his mind spiraling. How did I get here? How did one night unravel everything I thought I had under control?
It wasn't just lust.
He had told himself that for weeks,months, even. That it was just tension. That it would pass. That Sasha was a beautiful complication, but one he could manage.
But when he finally had her,when she fell into his arms and moaned his name,something shifted.
He had tasted what it was like to feel alive again.
And now he was starving.
Later that evening, he sat in his office, staring blankly at the reports in front of him. The numbers blurred. None of it mattered.
He opened his drawer and pulled out the pen she once borrowed and forgot to return. It was stupid, keeping it,but it reminded him of her laugh that day. The way she playfully accused him of hoarding all the good pens.
He chuckled to himself.
He missed her.
More than he should.
And yet he kept punishing them both.
He had told her she wasn't needed.
But in truth?
She was needed.
She kept his ideas in check. She asked the right questions. She challenged him. She didn't fawn or flatter,she thought. She cared. She made the meetings better. Him better.
Kian leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
If he were honest,brutally honest,what he wanted right now was to walk to her desk, pull her aside, and tell her:
"You belong here. Not just in this company. Not just in these meetings. But close to me. Always. Because without you, this place feels like stone."
But he wouldn't say that.
He couldn't.
So instead, he stared at her empty desk from behind the tinted glass wall.
She wasn't looking up at him anymore.
And that terrified him.
Later that night, as he sat in his car outside the building,he didn't know why he hadn't driven home yet.
His wife had texted earlier, a casual message about dinner plans for the weekend.He hadn't responded.Because all he could think about was Sasha.
He opened his phone, scrolling through the contacts.His thumb hovered over her name.
He almost texted.
Almost.
But then remembered the look in her eyes,the disappointment, the hurt, the way she had said "cruel" like it was the only word that made sense anymore.
He didn't want to hurt her more.
But God, he missed her voice.
He missed her.
He leaned forward, resting his forehead on the steering wheel.
"What the hell am I doing?" he whispered.
He had spent years building a life that looked perfect. A wife, a legacy company, polished shoes and pristine ties.But with Sasha, none of that mattered.She saw him. The real him.And for one night, she touched the part of him no one else had in years.And now, he didn't know how to go back.
Later that night, he opened her message thread again. Still empty.He had been the last to text. Something about a client file.
All work. No warmth.
He typed:
"You were right today. I miss you in the meetings. I miss… you."
He stared at it.
Then deleted it.
Then typed again:
"If I knew how to fix this, I would. But please know that I never meant to hurt you."Then deleted that too.Eventually, he put the phone down and poured himself a drink.The whiskey didn't burn enough.And the silence still hurt louder than anything else.
To be continued…