Chapter 6
Freya POV:
I turned to look at him, my eyes burning with resentment and blatant defiance.
He remained unnervingly calm, as if he were simply scheduling a routine meeting. We were at a deadlock.
I didn't move an inch.
He didn't step toward me.
Seconds bled into minutes.
Eventually, he pulled a chair over and sat down right next to me.
The breath I’d managed to steady was snatched away again.
Thankfully, he kept his eyes on the monitor instead of me, allowing my frayed nerves to settle—
If only slightly.
“Like I said, keep your feelings out of the workspace.”
He used the mouse to highlight a paragraph.
“You’ve listed all these specs for the automated warehouse—sensors, motors, all of it. But what is the client supposed to take away from this?
“How much money does it save them? How much time?
“Have you actually run the numbers against our competitors’ data?”
His arm was so close to mine I could practically feel the contour of his muscles.
When he was in work mode, that absolute sense of authority and control pulled at my nerves like a physical weight.
I wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go.
My thoughts were a tangled mess, my vision blurring as I stared at the screen.
He stopped talking and turned to look at me.
Then, he reached out and snapped his fingers right in front of my face.
Click.
“Are you even with me?”
“Huh? Oh... yeah.”
I scrambled to pull myself back to reality.
He frowned, his eyes narrowing.
“Look right here.”
“Okay...”
“Did you run the projections?”
“... the what?”
He took a deep, controlled breath, his eyes masking a flicker of suppressed rage.
I braced myself for the explosion, but it never came.
He simply repeated the question, his voice tight.
“...No. I didn't run them.”
“Fine.”
He swallowed his anger.
The page scrolled down.
“What about the differentiators? Where are our exclusive advantages compared to the other brands?”
“...I didn't include that.”
“Fantastic.”
The document kept scrolling.
He continued the briefing, his tone rich and his arguments impeccably structured.
I sat there, my thoughts were a tangled knot.
I couldn't tell if it was because of the technical critique or simply because of him.
Finally, the talking stopped.
“Are. You. Listening?” he asked, punctuating every word.
I jolted, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“I’ve always written them this way,” I muttered, defensive.
“It hasn't stopped me from hitting my targets.”
He gave a thin, cold smile.
“Not on my watch. Not in my department.”
I shrugged.
“Then I’m sorry, Mr. Tamer. I guess I’m just not cut out for this.”
His gaze turned to ice.
He shoved the mouse toward me.
“Fix it now. I’ll walk you through it.”
I leaned back into the headrest, putting as much distance between us as possible.
“I don't know how.”
His jaw tightened until I saw the muscle pulse.
“I’ll teach you.”
“Don’t bother.”
Before the words were out of my mouth, he grabbed my hand and forced it onto the mouse.
“Stop talking. Just fix it.”
My heart skipped a beat.
His hand was large, warm, and the grip was absolute.
I tried to pull away, but he clamped down, refusing to let go.
It was just like before—the way he used to hold my hand.
Tight.
Possessive.
Panic surged through me, and my fingers went rigid.
I looked up.
Our eyes locked, and for a split second, the world outside that office ceased to exist.
I forgot how to breathe.
The icy blue of his eyes seemed to be thawing, shifting into something I couldn't name.
The office was too quiet.
So quiet that the only sound was the heavy, synchronized rhythm of our breathing.
Suddenly, he let go of my hand and jerked his gaze away.
“Just...” his voice dropped, losing its edge. “Just get it done.”
My stiff fingers twitched uncontrollably.
I took the mouse and slowly scrolled through the document, but the words were just meaningless shapes on the screen.
----
My heart was too loud, and my vision was a blur.
I shoved the mouse away with a sharp jerk.
"I can't do this. I'm not editing it."
I couldn't bring myself to look at him.
I was just praying he’d finally lose his patience and throw me out.
Instead, he stood up and walked back to his side of the desk.
"I’m busy," he said, his tone leveling out.
"You're going to sit right there. You don't leave until that editing is finished."
"By what authority?" I snapped.
He gave me a thin, ghost of a smile.
"You haven't resigned yet. As long as you're on the payroll, you do the work."
"And if I just... don't?"
He was already flipping through a new folder, his focus shifting.
"I have plenty of ways to handle you, Freya."
His voice was quiet, but it carried a weight of authority that made my skin prickle.
I leaned back in the chair and crossed my arms defiantly.
"Fine. I’d love to see you try."
He didn't acknowledge me again.
----
A knock sounded at the door.
"Enter," he called out.
Emily stepped in, a stack of files cradled in her arms.
When she saw me sitting there, her eyes nearly popped out of her head.
"Mr. Tamer, these are the project logs I’ve been managing."
"Thanks. Put them on the desk."
He glanced up for a fraction of a second before returning to his paperwork.
As Emily turned to leave, she caught my eye and flashed a frantic, silent 'What the hell?' expression.
I just gave her a helpless shrug and went back to my standoff.
Once again, it was just the two of us.
I sat there like a delinquent student serving detention.
After a few minutes of staring into space, I pulled out my phone and opened TikTok.
The upbeat, frantic music of a comedy clip suddenly blared through the quiet office.
Harvey frowned, his gaze flicking toward me with clear irritation, but he didn't say a word.
He was buried, reviewing documents, signing off on requests, taking calls—his pen never seemed to stop moving.
Gradually, the boredom began to set in.
I lowered the volume on my phone and started watching him from the corner of my eye.
The way he was so clipped and decisive on the phone... the sharp, piercing way he dissected a report...
This was a side of him he’d never shown me two years ago.
His eyes were so much colder now.
But his lips—thin, soft—they looked exactly the same.
I realized I’d stopped scrolling .
He finished a call and his gaze swept across the room, colliding head-on with mine.
A jolt of electricity shot through me.
I let out a dry cough and buried my face in my phone, letting the mindless video audio mask my humiliation.
----
The minutes crawled by. Clock-out time came and went.
Outside, the office began to empty as my colleagues trickled out, but Harvey remained buried in his paperwork, showing absolutely no intention of leaving.
I hesitated, wanting to remind him that the day was over, but the memory of his icy stare made me swallow the words.
He was a total workaholic now.
He hadn't been like this before.
Back then, he couldn't wait to get home just to be near me, to lose ourselves in each other.
I cursed him silently.
Sitting there at his desk doing nothing made me feel like an idiot.
I’d lost interest in TikTok long ago.
I’ve always loathed being bored.
Giving in to the restless energy, I pulled up the cloud document for the proposal on my phone.
Following the points he’d grilled me on, I began typing, adding new content bit by bit.
Outside the window, the sky bruised into a deep twilight.
Harvey finally looked up, his expression cold and drawn.
"Are you done playing around?"
I clicked my phone screen off and met his gaze with a smirk.
He let out a long, weary sigh and swiveled his monitor back toward me.
"Fine. I’ll walk you through the edits," he said, moving to stand beside me. "Pay attention."
He scrolled through the document, only to find the screen lit up with colored revision marks.
He froze.
He shot me a look of pure disbelief before scrolling all the way to the final page.
"How did you—"
I leaned back in the chair and let out a triumphant laugh.
Every inch of the document had been overhauled.
I’d just finished it.
It had cost me a significant number of brain cells, but it was done.
A flash of genuine pride sparked in his eyes, but he smothered it instantly, his face returning to a mask of stone.
"You just had to turn this into a fight, didn't you?"
I looked at him, savoring the small victory.
"Mr. Tamer, for the sake of your future, I hope you consider adjusting your 'brute-force' approach with your staff."
"That depends entirely on your cooperation."
I stood up to leave, but I’d forgotten I’d been sitting in the same position for too long.
My right leg was completely numb.
The moment I tried to take a step, I felt the danger.
A small gasp escaped me as I reached out, desperate for anything to hold onto.
My body pitched forward, out of control.
My only thought was:
Not again.
The next second, Harvey’s arm shot out, and I slammed hard into his chest.
Everything went dark.
As if someone had flipped a master switch in the dead of night.
Fear and despair clawed at my throat.
I began to shake uncontrollably, my breath hitching in a sob that wouldn't come out.
My leg.
It was happening again.
Worse than last time.
It was getting worse every single time.
I couldn't think; I could only gasp for air like a drowning person.
Harvey’s light, teasing chuckle sounded from above.
"Alright, crying after one little trip? You’re still as sensitive as ever."
He braced me, tilting my face up to meet his.
"Come on, crybaby, I’ve got you—"
The smile on his face froze.
"Freya? What’s wrong?"
His voice was trembling now.
“Don't scare me.
“Tell me this is a joke."
My consciousness slowly clawed its way back to the surface.
"I'm fine..."
I pushed off him, forcing myself to stand on my own.
I wanted to scream that it wasn't a joke.
But that time in hell...
I truly didn't want to speak a single word of it.