Chapter 5
Ever since I had shot my father with words, he'd been avoiding me.
But I knew him too well. He was up to something. Something that would drag me in if I wasn't careful.
The silence between us wasn't peace—it was the kind that comes before a storm. Every time he passed by me, I could feel his disappointment hanging in the air like smoke that refused to clear.
I left the house early that morning, trying to outrun the heaviness pressing down on my chest. The morning sun hit the city's tall buildings, bouncing off the glass like it wanted to blind me into humility. Each reflection seemed to remind me how small I was, no matter how far I had climbed.
By the time I got to the office, I had worn my usual mask—calm, cold, untouchable.
But that mask nearly cracked when I saw my secretary laughing with a group of employees.
Her laughter was light, sharp, almost melodic—but it felt like knives cutting through the air. The sight of them made my blood boil. I hated distractions, especially during working hours.
"Hey, stinky mouth! What are you doing there?" I called out, my voice echoing across the hall.
Everyone froze for a moment before laughter erupted again, the kind that mocked you without words. I didn't care. I stood tall, my face unreadable. I had learned that in this world, you either owned your voice or you were buried under someone else's.
"Follow me to my office," I said flatly.
She hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line, then obeyed without another word.
Once the door closed behind her, I let the silence stretch. I liked silence—it made people nervous.
"I told you," I began slowly, "one mistake could cost you your job. Leaving your desk to gossip was that mistake."
Her brows furrowed, and I saw something flicker in her eyes—anger mixed with pride.
"Sir," she said, her voice calm but trembling slightly, "why are you treating me like a nobody?"
"Because you're replaceable," I replied without hesitation.
The air changed instantly. Her eyes flared, and whatever warmth I had once seen in her—gone. Her beauty twisted into something fierce, almost dangerous.
"You know what?" she said, pointing a trembling finger at my chest. "I've heard enough! You can't treat me like trash all the time. What do you think you are? Just because they brought a ladder for you to climb, you think you own everyone's breath!"
Her voice grew sharper, stronger.
"If nobody's told you this, let me be the first—you're a bitter, lonely chicken! And don't think you can fire me. You may have a bigger share in this company, but plenty would stand against you before you ever touch me!"
I blinked. For a moment, I didn't know whether to laugh or scream.
She turned to leave but suddenly stopped, snapped her fingers at my face, and said,
"Bitterness is not good for a man. You might be handsome, but to me, you're just a crying baby boy in diapers."
The words hit harder than I expected.
"Bitch," I muttered under my breath as she walked out, her heels clicking against the marble floor, each sound echoing like insult after insult.
For the first time in my life, a woman had humiliated me so openly.
I froze, unable to move. My eyes stayed on the door long after she'd gone, my chest tight, my pride burning like acid in my throat.
I stormed out toward the elevator, anger pulsing through every vein. My mind replayed every single word she'd said.
Bitter.
Lonely.
Diaper boy.
Each one a slap I couldn't ignore.
I reached the elevator and slammed the button, trying to calm the storm inside me. But just as the doors began to open, I saw her running toward me.
For a second, I thought she was coming to apologize. Maybe she realized she had gone too far.
But she stopped right in front of me, her breathing steady, her eyes soft but piercing.
"Even if you work your way for your father to fire me," she said quietly, her tone lower now, "you will never know why I work in your company… or how you became such a big part of my life years ago. I promise you that."
Her words stopped me cold.
And then she added, almost like a challenge, "Try to be more mature this time."
I stared at her, confused, my anger fading into something else—fear? Curiosity? I couldn't tell.
"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice rougher than I intended.
She didn't answer.
Instead, she leaned closer until I could feel her breath against my ear and whispered one word—
"Wait."
And then she was gone.
Just like that.
The elevator dinged softly, but I didn't move. I stood frozen, her perfume still lingering, her words echoing louder than the noise in my head.
Wait for what?
How was I a part of her life years ago?
And why did her tone sound like there was something darker beneath it—something she knew, and I didn't?
The questions clawed at my mind, refusing to let go.
I stepped into the elevator and stared at my reflection in the mirrored wall. The man looking back at me wasn't the same confident CEO everyone feared. He looked… shaken.
My jaw tightened. My hands trembled slightly.
I hated that she could get under my skin like this. I hated that her words had power.
But most of all, I hated that deep down, I wanted to know the truth.
Something in her eyes told me this wasn't just about work or pride.
It was personal.
And if there was one thing I had learned in life—it's that personal always comes with pain.
The elevator doors slid shut, trapping me with my own thoughts.
I could almost hear her voice again, taunting, mysterious, and haunting.
"Wait…"
I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair.
Whatever she was hiding, I was going to find out.
Even if it meant digging into the past I had buried long ago.
Because one thing was clear—this clash wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.
And for the first time in a long time, I wasn't sure if I was ready for what was coming next.