Rhysand's POV
My jaw tightened as Bridgette walked away, reveling in the compliment from the presentation she had just given.
"Mr. Rhysand," my secretary called, turning to me with her head still bowed.
"What is the matter?" I asked, glaring at her.
"I came to tell you that the meeting you've scheduled with your father is in fifteen minutes, the car is ready, and..."
"You're fired," I coldly cut her words short.
"S—sir?" She stuttered, her lips trembling at my words.
"You heard me, you are fired," I repeated, walking away to the elevator.
"I'm really sorry, Mr. Rhys, but..."
"Rhysand," I corrected.
"Yes, Mr. Rhysand, but you cannot fire me. I need this job," she blurted out, her sharp heels striking the tiles harshly. God, I hate that sound.
"Is that supposed to be a request or an order?" I said, turning back to her already pale face.
"It—it is not what you think." She shook her head repeatedly, her face blank. "I'm just saying I'm the only daughter of my mother, and we...I just need this job, Mr. Rhys..."
"Rhysand!" I yelled, shaking her to her core. "And I suggest that you leave as I demand, or I'll make sure you never get a job in the corporate world again." I clicked the buttons to the elevator and stepped in.
"Why?" She choked. "I mean… I've made no mistakes. Apart from the message with Miss Bridgette's team, there's nothing else. I made no more mistakes." She argued, and I looked back at her, watching as her lips trembled with excuses.
"Your excuses are pointless, woman. You made me stand before my greatest enemy in the whole company due to your silly mistakes. You failed to carry out the tasks I assigned to you."
"It was a mistake, Mr. Rhysand. I promise I won't make any of that sort again." She pleaded, eyes brimming with tears, but they didn't move me a bit.
"I don't give second chances—I made sure it reflected well enough in your appointment letter. Take your things and leave," I ordered, watching as the elevator door closed, cutting the space between my assistant and me.
The elevator turned silent, save for the sounds of its wheels lowering. The anger in my chest refused to ease as the elevator descended, each passing floor fueling the storm in my head.
My secretary's pleading voice echoed in my mind, but I silenced it with a shake of my head. Weakness had no place in my world, and mistakes—no matter how small—were unacceptable.
The doors slid open, and I stepped out, my polished shoes clicking against the marble floors as I made my way to the car waiting outside.
The driver opened the door, and I slipped in, leaning back against the leather seat. The meeting with my father loomed ahead—God knows what he wanted to talk about that made him seem so serious over the phone.
"I need to tell you something, Rhys," he had said, his voice laden with something akin to happiness. His voice had always been cold, lifeless, for as long as I could remember. And I couldn't bear to reject it, despite how stressed I was.
I clicked my tongue, staring out at the city skyline as the car pulled into traffic. My father's empire was vast, but I had carved my own path and built my own success.
And then there was Bridgette.
The thought of her name alone ignited a mix of frustration, anger, and something else I couldn't quite place. She was a thorn in my side, constantly challenging me and defying me at every turn.
She was the only fucking person who had me on my toes, rejected and cornered my every word. Board meetings? She had a question for every point I made.
Yet, there was no denying her brilliance, her ability to command a room with her presence, and I hated the fact that she was the perfection I so much wanted from other people.
She didn't fear me like others did.
No, she stared at me like she was daring me to make her bend.
I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to push the thoughts aside. She was just an employee—a brilliant but infuriating employee who had managed to crawl under my skin.
The car slowed as we arrived at the building where my father was waiting. I stepped out, straightening my tie and squaring my shoulders.
When I stepped off the elevator, the grandeur of the empty hallway hit me. Polished floors, soft lighting, and the faint scent of freshly brewed coffee—it was just like my father to reserve an entire floor for one conversation.
"Rhysand," he greeted, turning toward me with a warm, happy smile.
That took me aback. I'd never seen him that happy, not even when the company hit milestones.
"Father," I replied, stepping inside.
The room was set perfectly. A table of refreshments sat untouched—water, coffee, even a tray of pastries that neither of us would eat. His attention to detail was both infuriating and admirable.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair opposite him. "I know you're busy, so I won't keep you long."
I sat down, keeping my posture as composed as his. "What's this about? The company?" I asked.
"No," he said, his voice calm but firm. "This is personal."
"I wanted you to be the first person to know about it."
"Know what?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
"I'm getting married," he said casually, acting like he was just discussing the weather.
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, I thought I'd misheard him. "You're… what?" I asked, my voice sharper than intended.
"Getting married," he repeated, his tone even. "I've met someone, and I've decided it's time to take that step again."
"Again," I muttered, my mind scrambling to process his words.
"To whom?" I demanded, leaning forward in my chair. "When did this happen? And why now?"
He raised a hand, a silent gesture for me to calm down. "Her name is Margaret. She's intelligent, kind, and someone I care deeply about. As for why now, let's just say life doesn't wait for the perfect moment, Rhysand."
"And you think of all the things that you need to do now, getting married is one of them?"