The morning at the office was the same as always—phones ringing, footsteps echoing across the polished floors, staff rushing from desk to desk.
But for Thompson, nothing about the morning felt normal. His chest was tight, his thoughts heavy, and even the hum of the elevator seemed louder than usual as he and David stood silently inside it.
David kept glancing at him, noticing the stiffness in his jaw and the way Thompson's fingers tapped restlessly against his thigh.
Thompson had barely spoken since they left the house.
When the elevator doors slid open, they walked together into Thompson's office, side by side yet worlds apart in thought. The moment Thompson stepped inside, he dropped his suit jacket, slumped into his chair, and told his secretary in a low voice:
"Cancel everything for today. Every appointment."
The secretary hesitated.
"All, sir?"
"All." His tone was sharp, ending the conversation.
She nodded quickly and left, closing the door behind her.
David remained seated across from him, watching him with concern as the silence grew heavier.
"Bro," he finally said, leaning forward, "what's going on with you? Yesterday I came to your room and you weren't there. And you've been acting off since morning. Talk to me."
Thompson stared at the table, breathing slowly, trying to gather himself. Then he spoke in a quiet, shaken voice:
"I nearly hit Sylvia yesterday."
David's eyes widened. Of all the things he expected to hear, that wasn't one of them.
He knew Thompson. He knew the man's patience, his temperament, the way he controlled his emotions. Even with all Sylvia's dramatic behavior, violence or anything close to it was never something Thompson would allow himself.
"What happened?" David asked carefully. "I heard voices last night, but I didn't want to interfere."
Thompson swallowed hard, his forehead tightening.
"She said terrible things… about my mother."
His voice cracked slightly, something David rarely heard.
"We were arguing about something small. Something meaningless. Then suddenly she started insulting my mother. And I just… lost myself for a moment."
He shook his head. "I've never felt anger like that before. Never."
"And since last night," he continued, "she hasn't spoken a word to me. You know how I get when she shuts me out like that. I can't focus. I can't think. I cancelled everything today because… I'm not myself, Dave. Her silence… it's affecting me."
David exhaled deeply and rested back in his chair.
He cared about Sylvia, but he knew she had a sharp tongue—a dangerously sharp one.
He also knew how deep Thompson's love ran, and how much Sylvia's moods could tear him apart.
"Look," David said softly, "I won't say anything that will get you angry. But I'll say this: just take it easy. Especially with Sylvia. You know how she gets… and how you get when it comes to her."
Thompson nodded, but the pain in his expression didn't fade.
"Still," David added, "is that really enough reason to cancel everything today?"
"I—" Thompson began, but the door suddenly slid open.
Both men turned.
Sylvia stood there.
Beautiful. Cold. Confident.
Wearing a fitted white dress that hugged her every curve.
She didn't spare David a glance as she said sharply:
"Excuse us."
David, already irritated by her attitude, stood up quietly and left. Sylvia walked past him without a second look, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.
She moved straight to Thompson and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss on his lips. He didn't respond. He simply watched her, quietly, as if he was trying to read her face.
"I heard everything you said," she murmured, brushing her fingers against his cheek. "Baby, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for everything I said last night. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. And I'm sorry for letting you leave the house angry."
Thompson exhaled slowly.
His love for her was always a battlefield—one moment pain, the next overwhelming desire.
Was it her beauty that disarmed him?
Her confidence?
Her shape?
The gap between her teeth that made her smiles unforgettable?
Whatever it was, she had a way of dissolving his anger simply by being close.
He didn't even realize his gaze had softened until she stepped away, walked to the door, and quietly turned the lock.
Click.
She came back to him, took his hands, and placed them gently on her chest. Her voice lowered, warm and seductive.
"Let me make it right…"
She slid the front of her top loose, exposing her skin to him, waiting—inviting. Thompson felt his control slipping.
All the anger, the pain, the frustration—melted into raw, undeniable desire.
He pulled her close, kissing her urgently, hungrily.
She let out a soft breath against his lips, her body melting into his.
Her fingers moved to his belt, slowly unfastening it as she leaned into him, her breath warm against his neck.
Thompson felt his resolve crumble entirely.
She wanted him.
She wanted to erase the fight… and she knew exactly how to do it.
Their kisses deepened, hands exploring, breaths quickening, the tension between them turning into magnetic heat. Thompson lifted her easily, placing her on the edge of his desk, pulling her closer as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Her whisper brushed his ear.
"Come here…"
His hands moved down her waist, pulling her against him as the room filled with soft breaths, the rustle of clothes, the warmth of closeness—too real, too intense to resist.
They forgot where they were.
Forgot the office.
Forgot the world outside the locked door.
For long minutes, the only thing that existed was them—one heated moment after another, passion replacing anger, closeness replacing silence.
Eventually, out of breath and flushed, they paused—remembering they weren't home, remembering work still existed.
Sylvia fixed her clothes slowly, her eyes still locked on Thompson's, her expression smug and satisfied.
She kissed him lightly and placed a lunch box on his desk.
"I'll see you at home later," she whispered. "Don't stay too long."
She walked out confidently, leaving her perfume and her chaos behind.
Thompson watched her leave, shaking his head with a helpless smile.
No matter how much she hurt him, she always knew exactly how to pull him back.
A moment later, the door opened again.
David stepped inside, looked at the scattered papers on the floor, then raised a brow.
"Well," he said, grinning, "I can see serious office work happened here."
Thompson smirked.
"Call the PA," he said. "Tell her to reschedule all my meetings for this afternoon instead. I'll take them."
David chuckled as he walked out.
"What can a woman not do?"