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LIST OF MY WORK

YES MRS. BERNARD

Meeting the characters.

Chapter one.

Chapter two,

Chapter tree.

Chapter four.

Chapter five.

Chapter six.

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Choices fics:

KAMILAH AND AMY, (or) BLOODBOUND:

Be continued:

Vacation: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Why did you leave me? (another universe) Part 1 Part 2

One-off stories:

Can I get your vote? (Priya x Amy x Kamilah)

Check the balance (humor)

Amy vs Aiko

Hickey

Bar night.

Quote

Horror movie

Chats:

Dress, Provoke, Motorcycle, What is red? Library

Videos:

First video - Kamilah Sayeed

Kamilah Sayeed AU

Kamilah Sayeed and Amy - When we talk in the bed (SMUT)

Yvette Flynt & MC

Be continued:

Burnout: Part 1

Ina Kingsley & Bea

Hold me close, please.

choices-binglebonkus

Making a post under the Choices tags in 2026:

livvynka

They need to bring back old good books.. Otherwise.... Goodbye

Chapter six

@fal-carrington @samanthadalton @vonda-b-real @drmmyrs @straightlikewetspaghetti @blaine-hayes @lizielasyd @mrskamilahsayeed @millasayeed @ntoraplayschoices @ilove-kamilah-sayeed @kamilah-is-queen @rhonda-sayeed @queenkamilah @domakir @kwaj115 @fundamentalromantic @somethindarker @crimsonvrose @glowriter @leenasayeed

CONTENT WARNING

This story contains themes and situations that may be sensitive for some readers.

Please read with care if any of the following topics may affect you.

Content includes:

explicit sexual content / smut

psychological trauma and mental health struggles

references to a past emotionally abusive narcissistic relationship

manipulation and toxic relationship dynamics

power imbalance in a workplace relationship (boss/employee)

discussions of personal boundaries and their complications

emotional distress, healing, and recovery from abuse

This story explores complicated emotions, flawed characters, and morally grey situations. Some choices made by the characters may be questionable, uncomfortable, or ethically complicated.

Reader discretion is advised.

If any of these topics are difficult for you, please prioritize your well-being.

English is not my first language. I'm helping myself with AI and Deepl, but all of the scenes are mine. Pictures are creation of AI.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

CONTENT WARNING

This story contains themes and situations that may be sensitive for some readers.

Please read with care if any of the following topics may affect you.

Content includes:

explicit sexual content / smut

psychological trauma and mental health struggles

references to a past emotionally abusive narcissistic relationship

manipulation and toxic relationship dynamics

power imbalance in a workplace relationship (boss/employee)

discussions of personal boundaries and their complications

emotional distress, healing, and recovery from abuse

This story explores complicated emotions, flawed characters, and morally grey situations. Some choices made by the characters may be questionable, uncomfortable, or ethically complicated.

Reader discretion is advised.

If any of these topics are difficult for you, please prioritize your well-being.

English is not my first language. I'm helping myself with AI and Deepl, but all of the scenes are mine. Pictures are creation of AI.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

CONTENT WARNING

This story contains themes and situations that may be sensitive for some readers.

Please read with care if any of the following topics may affect you.

Content includes:

explicit sexual content / smut

psychological trauma and mental health struggles

references to a past emotionally abusive narcissistic relationship

manipulation and toxic relationship dynamics

power imbalance in a workplace relationship (boss/employee)

discussions of personal boundaries and their complications

emotional distress, healing, and recovery from abuse

This story explores complicated emotions, flawed characters, and morally grey situations. Some choices made by the characters may be questionable, uncomfortable, or ethically complicated.

Reader discretion is advised.

If any of these topics are difficult for you, please prioritize your well-being.

English is not my first language. I'm helping myself with AI and Deepl, but all of the scenes are mine. Pictures are creation of AI.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

I woke up to a message from Mara and a smile already on my face.

The sun was slowly creeping through the curtains, and for the first time in a long while I had slept through the entire night without waking up. The first peaceful night since I had stayed in Beatrice's apartment.

I stretched lazily in bed before finally getting up.

I made myself coffee and lit a cigarette. Then I picked up my phone again and reread Mara's message.

"Good morning, sunshine. Hope you slept well. Can't wait for our next date."

I smiled to myself and typed back:

"Good morning, cupcake. I slept great ;) What about you?"

I murmured to myself quietly, "I deserve this."

Soon after, I got dressed casually — high-waisted jeans and a red button-up blouse. I threw on my trench coat and let my hair fall freely down my back, adding lipstick that matched the blouse.

Then my eyes landed on the blazer. Her blazer. The one that had meant safety for so many nights.

I shook my head softly and folded it neatly before placing it back into my bag. When I arrived at the office, I was the first one there again.

I prepared coffee for myself and poured another one into a thermos for Mara so it would stay hot. Once I returned from her desk, I sat down and started working.

The first quarter of the year was approaching fast, which meant reports, account summaries, and presentations piling up ahead of us.

Soon after, Mrs. Bernard arrived. "Good morning, Mia." She stopped behind my chair, waiting for a response. "Working on the reports?"

As much as I didn't want to talk to her, she was still my boss, and a certain level of professionalism was required.

With a quiet sigh, I turned to face her. "Yes, Mrs. Bernard."

For a brief second I saw something in her eyes. Hurt. But it disappeared quickly.

"I'll have the reports ready in two weeks," I continued calmly. "Still ahead of schedule."

She nodded and stepped a little closer. "Good. You were never late. I wouldn't like to see that change."

I nodded and turned back to my laptop.

"Wait, Mia... can we talk?" I stood up and faced her again. "If you want to talk about the reports, Madam, we can certainly schedule a meeting."

She looked down at the floor.

"That's not what I meant."

I shrugged slightly, sat back down, and returned my attention to my screen.

"That wouldn't be appropriate or professional," I said coldly.

She stayed there behind me. She had her chances. Weeks of them. Dozens of calls. Messages. She knew where I lived. She could have come. She didn't want to.

And now... after I went on a date with Mara and we were planning another one... now she wanted to talk?

Hell no.

Mara didn't deserve that. And neither did I.

I wasn't trying to be childish. I gave second chances. Ten chances. But when I'm done... I'm done. Then I remembered the blazer.

She was still standing behind me.

"Oh. I almost forgot."

I pulled the neatly folded blazer from my bag, still wrapped in the textile sleeve she had once given me for documents.

"This is yours, Madam." I held it out and looked into her eyes.

They were full of emotion. Fear. Pain.And maybe something else.

"I gave it to you. It's yours," she said quietly.

Her voice trembled slightly at the edges.

I shook my head. She didn't take it. With a sharp exhale, I walked over to her desk and placed the blazer next to her keyboard.

When I turned to leave, our shoulders brushed. The spark was still there. Warmth rushed through me, spreading from my shoulders to my cheeks. Butterflies erupted in my stomach.

My breath hitched.

I stopped mid-step, closing my eyes for just a second.

But I didn't turn around.

I knew she felt it too.

I sighed and sat back down, forcing myself to focus on work. About half an hour later, a message broke my concentration.

Mara: "Thank you for the coffee!"

I smiled and replied.

"You're welcome. I'm planning to spoil you 😋." Another message arrived. "How generous of you. But next time, close the lid properly. Please?"

I frowned. "What do you mean?" Before I got a reply, a voice behind me made me jump.

"I mean if you want to make me wet, there are better ways than pouring coffee on me."

I flinched and turned around.

"Omg, Mara! You're drenched!"

I burst out laughing. "I'm so sorry!" She pinched my arm. "Of course you are, you menace!"

I stood up and offered her my trench coat. "Let's get you cleaned up, my lady."

My eyes flicked briefly toward Beatrice. She was stiff. Her jaw locked, hands frozen mid-air above a document she had been writing just seconds ago. I turned back to Mara, looking at her soaked white blouse, and giggled again.

"Hey! Don't laugh at me or I'll start thinking you did it on purpose!" I patted her shoulder.

"I would never. Now come on."

She followed me to the bathroom, my trench coat wrapped around her shoulders.

She looked ridiculously good in it. I locked the door behind us.

"Undress," I said playfully.

Her head snapped toward me, lips parting. She stepped closer.

"If you want to see me naked..." she paused, voice softer now. "Mia..."

She wrapped her arms around me from behind.

"You could just say that."

I turned in her arms and kissed her. My hands slid along her back, pulling her closer.

The kiss was sweet. Almost innocent. I broke it first, smiling.

"As much as I'd like that," I said, winking, "I actually meant helping you clean your blouse."

She laughed.

"Oh. Okay."

I turned around to give her privacy as she slipped out of the blouse. When she handed it to me, I started cleaning the coffee stains with cold water and soap, careful not to wrinkle the fabric too much.

When I gave it back to her, she leaned forward and placed a small kiss on my lips. Then she unlocked the door. When we returned to the office, Mrs. Bernard's eyes were already on us.

Careful. Observing. Her gaze lingered on my lips. My slightly swollen lips.

I looked away and sat down.

A second later my phone buzzed. A message from her. "Your lipstick is smudged. Fix it." I hummed quietly, heat creeping into my cheeks and down my neck. After fixing my lipstick, I finally managed to focus on my work.

For a while.

Then my phone rang.

Mr. Moore.

I had been planning to call him for days. He was always unhappy, always pointing out problems that didn't really need fixing.

I stood up.

"Miss Drey."

"Hello, Mr. Moore. It's good to hear from you," I said with professional politeness. "I was actually planning to call you today."

"Miss Drey, you took your time with this phone call. I've been demanding it for days."

I slipped into my professional mask. "I understand your frustration, Mr. Moore. But some preparation was necessary so I could present you with the correct statistics."

I glanced toward Mrs. Bernard and nodded toward the small meeting room. She understood immediately. We walked there quickly — she just behind me. Inside, she sat down while I leaned lightly against the table.

I put the call on speaker so she could hear. Then I lifted a finger to my lips, silently asking her to stay quiet.

"Things will go this way," Mr. Moore continued angrily. "Either you visit us, Miss Drey, or we cancel our account immediately. I've had enough of this bullshit and incompetent behavior."

I paused for a second.

"Mr. Moore," I said calmly, "while we would be happy to visit you and discuss everything in person, I would appreciate it if you stopped threatening us and used more appropriate language. I understand your frustration, but I am trying to handle this professionally."

Mrs. Bernard looked at me in shock. Apparently she wasn't used to hearing someone speak to a client like that.

Mr. Moore fell silent for a moment. Then he laughed. "Miss Drey. You've got balls. I like that."

I allowed myself a small smile.

"Fine," he continued. "I want you here by the end of the week."

"Of course," I said. "Since I'm still new, Mrs. Bernard will accompany me."

He hummed thoughtfully. "That old thing?"

I turned my head toward Beatrice. Her arms were already crossed, her expression sharp.

"Mr. Moore," I said calmly, "that's not appropriate. And Mrs. Bernard is not old. I would say she's experienced."

I winked at her. Mr. Moore burst into loud laughter.

"You're a menace, Miss Drey. Alright then. I'll be waiting for both of you."

"Goodbye, Mr. Moore."

I waited politely for him to hang up. The moment the call ended, I looked at Beatrice and bit my lip, trying not to laugh. But I failed. The laughter exploded out of me so suddenly I had to bend forward, holding my stomach.

"Enjoying yourself, Miss Drey?" she asked dryly.

"Very much, Mrs. Bernard."

I walked toward the door and placed my hand on the handle. But before I could open it, she moved quickly. Too quickly.

She stopped right behind me. Close enough that I could feel her breath near my ear.

"We'll see who will be enjoying herself on this business trip," she whispered.

I froze. "Hours in the car."

A shiver ran down my spine. For a second my head almost tilted back toward her. My heart betrayed me immediately. Because the idea of being trapped in a car with Beatrice for hours suddenly didn't sound like torture at all.

BAD MIA! BAD, BAD, BAD! YOU HAVE MARA NOW! I shake my head.

But then I saw Mara approaching the meeting room through the glass. I stepped away quickly and opened the door. But it was too late, Mara looked between us.

"Hey," she said. "Want to grab lunch with me?" I smiled. "Sure."

Then she nodded toward the meeting room. "But what was that?"

"Oh, that?" I shrugged lightly. "She's angry with me. I'll tell you more at lunch."

I pinched her shoulder playfully. "You don't want me to die of hunger, do you?"

She shook off my hand with a laugh. "I wouldn't like that. Come on." And together we headed toward the company cafeteria.

Once we sat down with our food — we both chose chicken Parmesan with mashed potatoes and salad — Mara asked again the same question I promised to answer.

"So, not that I want to pry, but it seems like there's some tension between you and Mrs. Bernard. And it's not just me...It's half of the office"

My eyes widened and I suddenly felt small.

I said dryly, "We just have different points of view on a lot of things... and remember the face she made today?"

I laughed again, remembering how mad she was.

"Mr. Moore, one of my clients, called her an old thing." Mara almost spit out her drink. "Oh my god! He said that to her?"

I leaned back in my chair. "No, not directly. I had the call on speakers, and she was there. Listening."

Mara laughed again and suddenly stopped, now looking over my shoulder. She leaned closer to whisper in my ear. "Mia, don't say anything more about Mrs. Bernard. Because she's right behind you."

I simply nodded a managed to kill the urge to turn around.

We changed the subject and talked about Mara's work. She has Mr. Hert on her team.

"Did you know he still talks about you?" I smirked. "Oh, he must just love me, then." Mara laughed and shook her head. "I think he's trying to find a way to get rid of you. But most of us just ignore him."

"Let him try. I haven't done anything wrong. Yet." I winked at her.

"So, Mia... I was thinking we could go on our next date on Friday?"

I smiled sadly. "Well... I'm going on a business trip. To see Mr. Moore. We haven't set the date yet, but I guess we'll leave tomorrow or the day after. And since it's hours of driving, we'll be away until the end of the week."

She looked at the floor and nodded sadly.

"But... I'm free tonight." She looked from the floor into my eyes with hope.

"That would be awesome." I giggled at her. "Why are you laughing at me again?"

She pinched me with her fork.

"Hey! You're just incredibly cute when you're nervous."

She squinted her eyes. "I'm attractive, I have a body to die for, and you say I'm cute?!"

That made me laugh again. "That's very true, but you're also cute, Mara."

After we finished our lunch we headed back to the office, smiling, laughing, talking. I was honestly glad we'd see each other again after work.

Before my lunch break ended, I went for a smoke. This day has been so good so far. And for the first time, I let myself think it would end well too, and that there was nothing to worry about.

I was still going to the rooftop - even if I knew it was her space - the view and calmness were just everything I needed to quiet my thoughts. Cars passing by, people walking, the world just continuing to exist. Every person out there has their own story, their own pain, their own weaknesses, things they're searching for.

I relaxed, pulling out a second cigarette. Just one more, and then back to work, I told myself.

"Smoking a lot the past few weeks, Miss Drey?"

I flinched and yelled, "Jesus fuck!" My cigarette dropped. I spun around absurdly. "You scared the shit out of me." Of course she'd come here. It's her place, after all.

"Language, Miss Drey."

"Of course, Mrs. Bernard. I'm sorry." I turned away again, trying to ignore her. I lit a new cigarette from the pack and exhaled slowly.

She came closer, but this time at an appropriate distance, leaning on the railing too. "Mr. Moore likes you. It's almost surprising, if it weren't you."

I still didn't look at her. "Thank you. Just doing my job."

"And Miss Drey?" she said calmly. I turned to face her, letting her continue. "We'll be leaving in two days. And we'll return on Sunday."

"I thought so. I've already finished all the documents needed for Mr. Moore. I'll send them to you for approval."

Today is Tuesday. We'll be leaving on Thursday. That means four full days with Beatrice... Great. Does she really have to be my boss? It would be so much easier if she was my colleague. But she's not, and I'm ready to close this chapter for good.

I finished my cigarette and went back into the office without looking back. The rest of the day actually went well. I made a few small edits to the documents, perfecting them to match the tone I thought Mr. Moore would appreciate. After that, I sent them to Mrs. Bernard for approval and left.

I headed home to prepare for my second date with Mara. We both live quite close to the office, maybe thirty minutes, just in opposite directions. We're going to a bar nearby that's pretty well known, right next to the office.

I took a long, hot shower and put my hair up in a ponytail, trying to tame my chaotic hair. I wore a white blazer dress with black knee-high boots.

When I arrived, a text came from Mara: "I'm sorry, I'm stuck in traffic. ETA 10 minutes." I went inside and ordered us a bottle of white wine that would complement the cheese board — which came with freshly baked baguettes, grapes, nuts, olives, and different types of ham.

Soon Mara arrived. She was wearing black pants with a crocheted pink sweater and the trench coat I'd lended her.

I stood up and pulled her into a hug. "You look amazing, Mara. As always."

She smiled. "You look breathtaking, Mia."

She gave me a kiss on the cheek, and I held her chair for her.

We talked freely. It was so easy with Mara, I thought. She was kind, open, easygoing, woman with a golden heart and a perfect smile. Her freckles only added to her beauty.

Then one thought crossed my mind. Being with her felt... nice. Safe. Like stepping into warm sheets on a winter night.

I liked our moments together.

The laughter. The way she looked at me like I was something worth looking at. She was so nice to me. She didn't force anything.

As I watched her pluck one olive into her mouth, something inside me quietly settled into place.

There was no fire. No sudden rush of heat. No spark threatening to burn everything down.

And maybe that was exactly what I was supposed to want.

Maybe that was what being healthy felt like. Still... somewhere deep inside my chest, something stayed quiet.

Unlit.

I talked about her with my therapist. She said that after toxic relationships, people often find calm, comfortable relationships weird. Too calm. Too comfortable.

Maybe the spark will be born eventually. Some things need time. It doesn't mean we don't have a connection. I really like her and she's everything I asked for. I frowned and exhaled to calm my nerves.

"Mia? Is everything okay?" she asked with concern.

"I'm just tired. Sorry."

She took my hand in hers, her thumb brushing against mine. "That's okay. We can leave in a few minutes, and I'll drive you home."

I smiled at her. "I appreciate that, but I'll call a cab. I don't want you driving over an hour at night."

"It's okay, really. We'll see after we leave, okay?"

I nodded.

We didn't speak for a while, but then she broke the silence.

"Um, can I ask you something?"

I replied, "Of course. Anything."

"Are we... dating? Officially?"

I laughed a little. "I guess we are. I like that."

After that, we stood up to leave, but her phone rang. "It's my mom. I need to take this."

"Of course, Mara. I'll pay and wait outside."

She nodded approvingly, she probably knew I wanted to smoke.

I went to pay for both of us and stepped outside. The moment I took my first step, I saw her.

I saw Maya.

That Maya.

My ex.

My ex-fiance.

The fiance who destroyed me.

The one I ran from.

Everything froze. I couldn't breathe. I didn't know what I was doing, but I pulled my phone out of my pocket and I texted.

Texted her.

Texted Beatrice.

"HELP. PLEASE... IN FRONT OF THE OFFICE."

allthingswhumpyandangsty

livvynka

That.... would be unplesent. And weird.

Yes Mrs. Bernard - teaser

Teaser – Chapter 6 + 7

Some things finally come to an end. Some things change their shape. And some things… begin quietly, like a spark rising from ashes.

Chapter 6 is only the beginning. Chapter 7 will change everything.

Links:

YES MRS. BERNARD

Meeting the characters.

Chapter one.

Chapter two,

Chapter tree.

Chapter four.

Chapter five.

CHAPTER FIVE

CONTENT WARNING

This story contains themes and situations that may be sensitive for some readers.

Please read with care if any of the following topics may affect you.

Content includes:

explicit sexual content / smut

psychological trauma and mental health struggles

references to a past emotionally abusive narcissistic relationship

manipulation and toxic relationship dynamics

power imbalance in a workplace relationship (boss/employee)

discussions of personal boundaries and their complications

emotional distress, healing, and recovery from abuse

This story explores complicated emotions, flawed characters, and morally grey situations. Some choices made by the characters may be questionable, uncomfortable, or ethically complicated.

Reader discretion is advised.

If any of these topics are difficult for you, please prioritize your well-being.

English is not my first language. I'm helping myself with AI and Deepl, but all of the scenes are mine. Pictures are creation of AI.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Days have been going really well. Actually, better than good. Which is almost annoying, because I don't really trust things going well. But here we are.

My feelings were there, stable for once. While I still need to work on believing that nothing wrong will come — because when it was good, bad things always happened after that. I'm acknowledging that this is part of the healing, my nervous system protecting me, but I also know I need to let things be. If it happens, it happens. I can't do anything about it, but I can't keep stressing every time I feel good.

My sleep has returned to almost normal. I still have a slightly hard time falling asleep, sometimes I have nightmares, and some nights I still wake up multiple times, but I sleep. And that's what matters.

And maybe one thing helps me. I'm slightly embarrassed to admit it, but I still sleep with her blazer. Every night. It's almost lost her scent by now, mostly just smells like me, but sometimes, if I bury my face in it and close my eyes, I can pretend she's still there. Pathetic? Probably. Do I care? Apparently not.

Sometimes the nightmares are replaced by something almost worse — nights with wild, inappropriate dreams. About her. And me. Us together. The kind of dreams that make you wake up breathless, heart hammering, staring at the ceiling like it personally offended you. She'd be offended a lot. But she doesn't need to know, right?

Fantastic.

I honestly don't know how to get rid of this tension. It's like static electricity building up every time we're in the same room. She's currently avoiding me. Hard. If ignoring were an Olympic sport, she'd win without blinking. But sometimes, I feel the glances. I can't see them, but I'm sure they're there. Those piercing looks she thinks I don't notice. Looks that tell me more than words ever could. We both feel it. We're both fighting it. And this whole "avoiding each other" plan? Well, I guess. Or hope. That it'll work. I know my comments are rather unprofessional. But I can't help myself. Or maybe if I tried really hard, I could.

Maybe I'm waiting for a miracle. For something that will never come. Is it lust? Or is it something deeper? Do we have a connection, or do we just want to fuck? And what does she feel? Is it only about physical need, or is it about something else entirely? It's hard to know when she refuses to talk about it. Maybe she's trying to kill those feelings.

Spoiler: it's not working.

While she's almost stopped talking to me completely — mostly just nodding if she has to acknowledge me, and avoiding my gaze whenever possible — she still stares a lot when she thinks I can't see it. That woman could stare at me from across a crowded room and I'd know.

And again. On one hand, I get it. This thing between us? Dangerous. Complicated. The kind of bad decision that ruins careers. On the other hand, I really want to talk about it. Set boundaries. Acknowledge the elephant in the room so we could both stop pretending it wasn't there. But she won't let me get anywhere close to that conversation.

My mind does it again — the train of thoughts. I want her to start talking to me. Maybe. Just maybe there's another way to break the silence and get her to stop pretending I don’t exist.

When I woke up, I made a game plan. I made sure I looked astonishing. I styled my hair into lazy curls, put on more makeup than usual, and wore her blazer with black, very tight leather pants. Pants that hug you in all the right places. Pants that shape your ass perfectly. I paired them with black heels, two an falf inches tall. Heels that complement your legs, making them longer and slimmer. Then I put on my lace bra — the kind you hate after a few minutes, but you look very good in. Your chest area especially. And then just the blazer. Her blazer. The one that's slightly big on me but brings the whole outfit together.

I unbuttoned two buttons. You can see the lace, still visible, but my breasts are hidden. Professional but dangerous. Edgy but acceptable. Just like me.

I walked into the office earlier than usual, confidence regained. She was already there, sitting at her desk, focused on something on her screen. The morning light was just starting to creep through the windows — soft and grey, the kind of light that makes everything look a little unreal.

She hadn't heard me come in yet. Her back was to me, shoulders slightly tense the way they get when she's concentrating. I watched her for a moment longer than I should have — the way her hair fell, the line of her neck, the small movement of her hand as she wrote something down.

Then I spoke.

"Good morning, Madam."

She turned her head so fast I almost laughed. Her eyes found me immediately, and then they just... stayed. Traveling down, then up, then down again. Taking in the blazer. The pants. The way I was leaning against my desk like I owned the place. When her eyes finally met mine again, there was something there that made my stomach flip. I suddenly felt the room temperature spike to Sahara levels.

I just winked. Slow. Deliberate. With that smirk I know drives her crazy.

Her lips parted slightly. A breath. And then, so quiet I almost missed it: "Fuck."

She turned back to her notebook immediately, but I saw her grip the edge of the table so hard her knuckles went white. Good.

I put my purse down on my table and closed the distance between us. Slowly. Deliberately. Stopped right behind her chair. Close enough that if she leaned back just slightly, she'd feel me there.

"Will you keep ignoring me?" I asked, voice low. "Or can we have a conversation like adults?"

She shook her head slightly. Didn't turn around.

"You made sure you're hard to ignore." A pause. "And it's a bad idea. You know why."

I leaned closer. Let my breath brush against her ear.

"I know why. I was just hoping we could talk about it. I don't think it's good to ignore this completely."

She shifted in her chair, trying to create space between us. But I saw it — her pulse hammering in her throat. The tiny hairs at the nape of her neck standing up. I know I hit that spot. That place on her skin that makes her feel things she doesn't want to feel.

"Absolutely not," she said, but her voice wavered. "And now go sit at your desk and focus on work. Or I'll cuff you to the chair."

I laughed softly. Genuinely.

"You want to punish me?" I murmured. "I like punishment more than you know. Or would like."

She turned then. Finally faced me. Her eyes were dark, that fire I'd seen before burning right there, close to the surface.

"Mia." Her voice was almost a warning. Almost. "Don't play with me. We can't."

I held her gaze for one long moment. Then I straightened up, smiled, and walked to my desk.

I didn't push further. I actually worked. But I made sure she couldn't ignore me, even if she was trying. Every time she looked up, I was there. Not doing anything — just existing. Leaning back in my chair. Crossing my legs. Letting the blazer fall open just slightly when I reached for something. Innocent things. But we both knew they weren't.

One of my colleagues from accounting — Mara — said hi while walking to her desk. Then she stopped. Actually stopped mid-step and just stared.

"Wow, Mia." Her eyes traveled down, then back up. "You look... illegal."

I stood up slowly, crossed my arms, and leaned against the wall. Mara had been visibly flirting with me for days. Sweet girl. Persistent.

"Thank you, Mara." I let my gaze drift over her. "You look devious yourself."

She stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell her perfume — something floral, light.

"I wanted to ask for some time," she said, voice lower now. "But... do you want to grab coffee sometime? Outside the office?"

I tilted my head, considered her. Pretty. Easy smile. Kind eyes. Maybe this was exactly what I needed — someone uncomplicated. Someone who wasn't my boss with fire in her eyes and walls around her heart.

I winked at her. "Why not? You have my number. Text me."

She reached out, tucked a finger under my chin, just barely touching.

"Believe me," she murmured. "I will."

I leaned into her touch slightly.

A sharp cough cut through the moment like a blade. We both turned. Beatrice stood a few feet away, arms crossed, expression carved from stone.

"Ladies." Her voice was ice. "We are currently in the office. Behave like it."

I gave Mara an apologetic look. She nodded, squeezed my arm once, and disappeared toward her station.

I walked back to my desk slowly. Sat down. Let the silence stretch for exactly the right amount of time. Then, without looking at her: "Jealous much?"

She didn't look up from her screen. "You're my employee. There's nothing for me to be jealous about."

"Sure," I said, dripping irony. Then, quieter. So quiet I barely heard it. "Maybe I just don't want to watch her fuck you with her eyes."

I blinked. Turned to look at her. But she was already buried in her work, jaw tight, refusing to meet my gaze. "Sure," I repeated. But my heart was pounding.

Mara was a good woman. Beautiful, easygoing, kind. The kind of person who probably didn't have trauma locked away in boxes she was too scared to open. Maybe I should open myself up to dating again. Not anything serious — not yet. But exclusive. Something steady. Something safe.

I felt stronger than I had since I ran from Maya. More like myself. And corporate didn't care about dating, as long as it didn't affect work and the people weren't in the same department. Different sections, different rules. It wouldn't complicate things. Famous last words, right?

Today was meeting day. The worst kind of day. We had three back-to-back — the summary meeting, the planning meeting, the goals meeting. The kind of meetings where you want to stab yourself in the eye with a pen just to stay awake, because everything they're saying could've been an email. The normal corporate bullshit everyone hates.

I was heading into the first one. Summary meeting. The one where managers stand up and tell us things we already know, in far more words than necessary.

Mr. Hert started presenting. One of the clients he was talking about? Mine. In my agenda. I leaned back, ready to zone out, when he started blurting lies. "This client is no longer bringing in stakes or profit. He's also pausing one of his projects — the new app development — due to—"

I was on my feet before I even realized I'd moved. "With all due respect," I cut in, voice calm but sharp, "that information is incorrect. The client is bringing in significant revenue, and he has no plans to pause anything."

All eyes turned to me. I didn't care. Everyone hated Mr. Hert. He was a prick, and everyone knew it.

I stood up fully, walking toward the front. "I'd be happy to show you the actual results, current status, and projections for next quarter." He stepped in front of me, blocking my path. Arms crossed. That smug look on his face that made me want to punch something, or better him.

"And what gives you the idea," he said slowly, "that we would want to listen to you?" He paused, letting the silence drag. "Some new flesh? What gives you permission to interrupt someone like me?" I looked at him. No expression. Just dead calm.

"As I said, the information you're presenting is incorrect. Most of it. So instead of wasting everyone's time, let me show you the presentation I prepared. It has correct data."

He threw his hands up dramatically. "I don't care about your presentation. Needless to say, nobody does." Before I could respond, someone else stood. Mrs. Bernard. She raised one hand, and the room went silent. Mr. Hert's mouth snapped shut.

"Mr. Hert," she said, voice quiet but carrying absolute authority, "I would advise you not to rant and be arrogant. I was about to stop you myself." She looked at him, and something in her gaze made him take a small step back.

"So here's how this will go. You will sit down, and you will let Miss Drey present. Because I strongly believe she is the one who actually did the research."

I nodded at her — a small, grateful motion. Then I stepped past Mr. Hert and connected my laptop to the projector. The presentation loaded. I took a breath. And then I began.

"The client's app," I said, voice steady, "the one Mr. Hert just told you was being stopped, is actually in development. Nearly finished. There was a one-week pause due to legal authorization and certificates, but those are currently in approval."

I walked to the screen, pointed at the relevant document. "So we're actually very close to finalizing the app and launching it." I glanced around the room. People were listening. Really listening. "The numbers might look stagnant right now," I continued, "but that's because of the finalization phase. All projections show margins skyrocketing in the short term. Next quarter, we're looking at potentially doubling revenue."

Nods around the table. Good. "Which brings me to another project the client is planning." I clicked to the next slide. "He wants to develop another app — this one for schools. It's designed to help handicapped, non-speaking children communicate. A tablet-based system that gives them a voice, just... differently."

I paused, letting that sink in. "This project won't be as financially beneficial as others. But it's incredibly valuable for our portfolio. It helps people who need it. And it's excellent for representation and brand image." Mr. Hert snorted. "Nobody cares about 'good things.' We're here for money and margins."

I held up a hand before he could continue.

"That might be your way of thinking. But recognition matters. This can bring us more clients, better partnerships. The margins might be lower, but the marketing value? That's going to bring in projects far more beneficial than this one." I finished. Looked around the room. Silence. Then — slow clapping from one of the senior managers. Then another. Then the whole room, except Mr. Hert, who looked like he'd swallowed something sour.

I sat down. Caught Beatrice's eye across the table. She was looking at me like she'd never seen me before. Like she was seeing something for the first time. And for one electric second, the tension between us wasn't about avoidance or denial. It was about something else entirely.

"Miss Drey, after the meeting stay behind, I want to talk about this project a little bit more" I nod. When everyone left she pushed herself away from the table. Slowly. Like she was weighing every movement. "You know what?" she said. "You were good. No — you were perfect."

She stopped. Right in front of me. "You have a talent for data. For seeing things from a different perspective than the rest of us. Your view is..." She searched for the word. "...refreshing. We all focus on margins, and you focus on impact." Something inside me warmed at those words. Not just pride. Something more.

"Thank you," I said quietly. And then, softer: "From someone like you... that means a lot." She looked at me. For a second, I saw something flicker in her eyes. Then she hid it. "But." She said sharply. The word hung between us. She stepped closer. I was leaning against the table — just a few steps away from her before. Now she stood so close I could smell her perfume. Something dark. Dangerous. "You destroyed that guy. Completely." One eyebrow lifted.

I shrugged. "He deserved it. I don't even know why he's still here. His presentations suck, clients hate him, the whole office hates him..."

"He still brings in clients." She said it calmly, but I saw her jaw tighten. "And even if he's not the easiest person... he's still professional in some ways."

"I don't see it." I crossed my arms. Smiled. That smirk of mine, the one that usually got me in trouble. "But it's not my job to analyze his work ethic or results."

I straighten my back and with smirk on my face, looking into her eyes deeply said. "But I still wish I could destroy you." I paused. Let the silence stretch. "In different ways."

That got her attention. I saw it immediately. That spark. The one she had been trying so desperately to suffocate. She scanned the room quickly. No one close enough. No one paying attention anymore. Then she moved.

Both hands landed on the table beside me. One on each side, trapping me there, but not touching. Close enough that I could feel the heat of her body.

My breath caught. Hers followed a second later. Shallow. Uneven. The distance between our faces suddenly felt microscopic. My heart started pounding again. Harder this time. I arched my back slightly, trying to close the distance between us. Just a little, enough for her to notice, enough to let her know I wasn't afraid.

"You can't say things like that," she said quietly. Her voice was rougher now. "Not to me. Not to anyone." A pause. "It's dangerous."

I didn't look away. "You've said that before." My voice barely above a whisper. "Actually… you've said it a lot." I watched her carefully. "But nothing ever happens after." Her fingers tightened against the table, knuckles white. "Don't threaten someone," I whispered, "if you're not going to do anything about it."

For one breathless second, the world seemed to stop. She leaned in. Barely. Just enough that I could feel the warmth of her breath against my lips. I saw it in her eyes. That moment. That choice. Her lips parted. And my heart slammed violently against my ribs.

Then she stepped back. Like someone had pulled an invisible leash. Turned. Walked toward the door. My body suddenly felt cold where her warmth had been seconds before. Her hand rested on the handle. Paused. She didn't turn around, but she spoke. "You have no idea how close you are to something you can't take back."

Then she left. The door clicked shut and the sound echoed in the room like a final note.

The meeting room felt strangely empty, the air still heavy. But inside me something else settled too. Not just adrenaline or excitement. Something quieter — a small ache that spread slowly through my chest. Because when she left, she took something with her.

The warmth.

The tension.

The possibility.

And in that moment, I knew I needed to make a choice. I'm tired of pursuing her, trying to get a reaction. I asked her multiple times to talk, texted her, called her. I was played before, and I don't want this kind of relationship — if we can even call it that. She had so many chances to prove me wrong.

So let it be.

I deserve someone better. Someone who will value me.

I reached for my phone and texted Mara. "Hey, I know I said you should text me, but you know what? Today is — and will be — a boring day. Wanna add a little spark into it after work? Me, you, and a nice dinner?"

Sometimes you need to help your luck a little. I need to open myself up to others. My heart as well. I deserve happiness and to be cared for. And Mara? Mara is someone who deserves it too.

After two more meetings that dragged through almost the entire day, I went for a smoke break, enjoying the view and clearing my head.

That's when I heard her behind me. I didn't turn around. And I didn't break the silence either. She stepped next to me and looked at me. But I didn't budge. Not anymore.

She spoke. "What happened in the meeting room was very unprofessional from me and—"

I raised my hand, stopping her. "Don't." I finally looked at her. "I don't want to hear it." She stepped closer, but I moved back. "I said no." My voice was determined. Strong. Final. "I gave you space. I gave you options to talk to me. And I'm very tired of you playing hot and cold. You had your chance. But you lost it." I turned toward the exit.

"You wanted things to be professional? Then it will be."

I went back into the office. It hurt me, but she had many chances to prove me wrong. To prove that she wasn't playing with me and my feelings. That I mattered. She wanted things strictly professional? Then let it be like that. Two hours later, I stood up and said my goodbyes to my colleagues — but not to her. She didn't deserve it. Don't get me wrong — I wasn't angry, mad, or even sad anymore. I was just done.

Today was my date with Mara, so I went home to shower and get ready. I wore a simple black dress with a low V-cut on the chest. The dress was long, just below my knees. I wore elegant heels and put my hair into a high bun. Mara texted me. She knew a restaurant and where to meet.

When I arrived, she was already waiting for me in front of the restaurant. "You look amazing, Mia. As always." I smiled at her. "You're the one talking."

I took her hand and let her twirl for me with soft giggles. She wore a red lace dress with black loafers and a long gold necklace that complemented her chest.

The place was small, tucked between two taller buildings on a quiet street. Warm golden light spilled from the windows onto the sidewalk, and through the glass I could see small tables covered with white tablecloths and flickering candles.

"May we?" she asked, pointing toward the restaurant while holding the door for me.

"Such a gentlewoman," I said with a wink.

The warm smell of garlic, tomatoes and fresh herbs wrapped around us the moment we stepped inside. The restaurant was cozy in the way only small Italian restaurants seem to be. Wooden beams crossed the ceiling, old black-and-white photos of Italian streets hung on the walls, and soft Italian music played somewhere in the background. It felt intimate, romantic and safe.

We were guided to a small corner table by the window. We sat down. I looked out through the glass where the city lights danced softly against the dark street outside. A candle flickered between us.

"You were fierce in that meeting," she said. "And girl… you have balls. No one ever spoke against Hert like that." I rolled my eyes. "He's a pain in the ass. I don't know why the company keeps him. Everybody hates him."

She giggled. I leaned my elbows on the table and rested my chin on my hands, watching her.

She was very attractive. And cute. When she smiled, laughed, or giggled, dimples appeared on her cheeks. She was a redhead with green eyes. Her features weren't sharp, but she was still gorgeous. Her cheeks were full, her eyebrows thicker but professionally shaped, and her mouth… just perfect. Not too full, not too thin.

"You're staring," she blurted. "And what if I am?" I smirked. "You're beautiful, Mara. I hope you know that. And I hope someone tells you that every day." She leaned back slightly, shy. "Not really." I smiled and gently lifted her chin. "Look at me." And she did. "Maybe I should be the one telling you every day, then." She smiled and nodded. "You're beautiful too, Mia."

We continued talking — about life, about nonsense topics. We giggled and laughed, and it felt so easy. Like we didn't have to try. When we finished dinner and paid, I stood up. "Walk me home? I'll call you a cab after that."

"Gladly," she replied.

It was a twenty-minute walk, but we didn't talk much. She took my hand in hers, and I intertwined our fingers. Soon we were standing in front of my apartment. "This date was nice, Mara. Really nice." She looked at me with so much kindness and hope in her eyes. "Does that mean we can go on a second date?" I laughed. "Of course. I would love to."

We looked into each other's eyes for a long moment. Then I closed the distance between us. She spoke first. "Can…?" She stopped and exhaled sharply. "Can I kiss you, Mia?"

I didn't answer. Instead I put my hands behind her neck. She was taller than me, about three inches. And I kissed her. Softly at first. Then after a while I let my tongue brush against her bottom lip, asking for permission. She let me in, and the kiss deepened. Her hands moved around my waist, pulling me closer. And I let her. When we finally stopped to breathe, I rested my forehead against hers.

"Wow, Mara…" She trembled slightly and giggled. "You're a very good kisser, Mia. And trouble." I slowly stepped back and looked at her. "So are you, Mara." I glanced toward the street.

"Your cab is here. I'd kiss you again, but we probably shouldn't give a show to that poor taxi driver, should we?" She sighed. "What a shame." I laughed and gave her one more quick kiss on the lips. "Now go!"

She turned before getting in the taxi. "Good night, Mia." I smirked. "Good night, Mara. Let me know when you arrive home so I know you're safe, please." She nodded and got into the cab.

As soon as I entered my apartment, I undressed, put on a long cotton shirt and very comfortable sleep pants. I was about to lie down in bed, but I stopped.

Her blazer was lying lazily in my bed. But this time I put the blazer — her blazer — into the washing machine. Tomorrow I'll give it back. It resembled a lot, but right now, it resembled just another manipulator.

Just as I lay down in the sheets, Mara texted me that she was home.

And after that, I simply blacked out. Exhaustion finally caught up with me.

CHAPTER FOUR

CONTENT WARNING

This story contains themes and situations that may be sensitive for some readers.

Please read with care if any of the following topics may affect you.

Content includes:

explicit sexual content / smut

psychological trauma and mental health struggles

references to a past emotionally abusive narcissistic relationship

manipulation and toxic relationship dynamics

power imbalance in a workplace relationship (boss/employee)

discussions of personal boundaries and their complications

emotional distress, healing, and recovery from abuse

This story explores complicated emotions, flawed characters, and morally grey situations. Some choices made by the characters may be questionable, uncomfortable, or ethically complicated.

Reader discretion is advised.

If any of these topics are difficult for you, please prioritize your well-being.

English is not my first language. I'm helping myself with AI and Deepl, but all of the scenes are mine. Pictures are creation of AI.

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I don’t remember clearly how we got to her car. Everything after the bathroom feels blurred, like pieces of memory swallowed by exhaustion. But I do remember one thing — no one saw us leave. And for that, I was grateful.

She helped me into the passenger seat. I was frozen. The crying had drained every last drop of energy from my body. The emotions had wrung me dry. My limbs felt heavy, almost detached from me.

She buckled me in carefully, leaning closer for a moment. A strand of her hair brushed against my neck, but I didn’t react. Not now. Not it this moment.

I sank into the leather seat and simply… existed. I closed my eyes and silently prayed for everything to just stop. The engine purred to life. The quiet vibration of the car filled the silence as she started driving. I opened my eyes again and looked at her.

She was tense. Incredibly tense. And for the first time, I saw through her completely. She looked exhausted. Her shoulders were tight, her jaw slightly locked. It seemed like she was calculating every word she might say… or deciding if she should say anything at all.

And then it clicked. Recognition. She knew something about me. I broke the silence first. “Sorry… that was embarrassing. And it must have been exhausting for you.” Her eyes flicked toward me for a second before returning to the road. “Don’t,” she said quietly. “It’s human.”

I nodded slowly, staring at the window. “But be honest,” I continued. “You know more than you’re saying.” She froze, her knuckles turned white around the steering wheel. “First food,” she said after a moment. “Then we talk.” I hummed softly. “Fine. But you’re not getting out of this conversation.” She smiled. Or at least tried to. “Sure. I have a feeling you wouldn’t stop until I spoke anyway.”

Did she lie to me? Was everything between us some kind of game? Is it possible Maya sent her? Or contacted her? My mind was filled with questions faster than I could process them. But I was too tired to follow any of them. So I closed my eyes again and focused on breathing.

She drove through the city and soon left it behind. Buildings faded into empty roads. The streetlights disappeared one by one and soon we were surrounded by forest. “Did you abduct me and plan to kill me in the woods?” I asked tiredly. Her mouth twitched. “We’re going to my favorite restaurant in a small town. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

I hummed and watched the landscape pass by. The forest was covered in snow. Everything looked soft, quiet… almost sleepy. Like it had always belonged there. I didn’t know where she was taking me. But I didn’t have the energy to do anything about it, so I just let her.

Soon we arrived at a small restaurant that looked like an old log house. It was well maintained, but if you didn’t look closely you wouldn’t even notice it was a restaurant.

It stood alone — the first building welcoming you into the town, while the rest of the houses were scattered further away. She parked the car and turned to look at me. Concern was written clearly on her face. I suddenly realized something. “I don’t have any money on me,” I said quietly. “Not even my coat. Not even my phone… Maybe we should go back.”

Anxiety started creeping up my chest again. “That’s okay,” she said calmly. “This is on me. Your family has been informed that you’re on a work trip and won’t be available on your phone.”

I stared at her. “I don’t know if I’m okay with that… We don’t know each other for long. How can I know you’re not planning to abduct me for real?” She chuckled softly. “You’re free to leave anytime. I can turn the car around and drive you home if you want.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Fine. We eat. Then we talk.”

She smiled again and stepped out of the car, walking around to open my door. She offered me her hand. I tried to stand on my own, but my knees were still weak. She caught my hand gently, closed the car door behind us, and locked it. I was freezing. The air was still well below zero and I was wearing nothing but my t-shirt. Without saying anything she slipped her blazer off and placed it around my shoulders.

It was far too big for me, but I didn’t care. I wrapped it tightly around myself and let her guide me inside. The warmth of the restaurant welcomed us immediately. As we sat down, an older man approached with a bright smile. “Beatrice! It’s been ages. I hope everything is okay with you!” She stood up and hugged him warmly.

“Leonardo! I’ve been busy as usual, but I would never forget my favorite restaurant… or my almost-uncle.” Almost uncle? So this was practically family. Why would she bring me here? I’m her employee. “We’ll order in a few,” she said. “I’ll come place the order myself.”

Leonardo turned his attention to me and studied my face. “Are you okay?” he asked gently. “You look like you’re carrying the pain of an entire city on your shoulders.” I forced a small smile. “I will be. Thank you.” He nodded and walked away. I finally sank into the chair.

“I honestly don’t feel like eating,” I muttered tiredly. Her gaze sharpened immediately. “You need to eat. Or at least try.” I sighed slowly. “Fine.”

I ordered vegetable soup with bruschetta while she ordered pasta. The soup arrived first. I ate slowly. So slowly it felt like hours passed. “Happy?” I asked. “A little.”

“I ordered some appetizers too,” she said calmly. “You don’t have to eat them, but I’d appreciate it if you try.” The soup helped. A little warmth returned to my body. “Alright.”

I looked at her again. Really looked. “You’re staring at me like you’re reading a book and analyzing it at the same time,” she said. I didn’t answer immediately. Only after finishing the soup. “Still… I can’t read you,” I admitted. “Or your intentions. And that scares me a little.”

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and her chin on her hands. “And why would you want to read me?” I answered simply. “Because it’s what I’m used to.” I paused. “Because it was part of surviving.” She didn’t push further. She just nodded and acknowledged it, after that we ate in silence.

The appetizers arrived slowly, one after another, filling the small wooden table between us. Plates with shrimp, homemade paté, fresh spreads with tomatoes and herbs. The smell of warm bread and spices hung in the air. I tried each of them, not because I was hungry, but because she had asked me to. “Hope you’re happy now” I murmured eventually. She shook her head slowly. “I’m just glad you got some substance into your body. That’s all.”

There was no judgment in her voice. No pressure. Just quiet relief. When we finished, she stood up and went to cover the bill. A few minutes later we stepped back into the cold night. The air hit my lungs sharply. I still had her blazer wrapped tightly around me, holding onto it like it was some kind of shield, safe net.

Back in the car she reached for the ignition, but before she could start the engine, my hand covered hers. “You promised to talk.” She didn’t look at me, but I could see panic move through her body like a ripple, her shoulders tightened. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

I pulled my hand back sharply and stared at her. “We will either talk,” I said quietly, “or I’m getting the hell away from this car and from you. I feel like you’re hiding something from me.” She exhaled slowly. “Fine. But not here.” The engine started and the car moved again, headlights cutting through the snowy road. I crossed my arms and watched the forest slowly change into city streets again. At that point, I didn’t care anymore, I just wanted to go home, go to sleep.

Eventually the car slowed and stopped in front of a house. I frowned. “Where are we?” “My house,” she replied calmly. “We’ll talk inside.” I rolled my eyes but stepped out of the car without another question.

The house was modern and stood near the edge of town, surrounded by quiet streets and dark trees. Warm light spilled from the windows, making the place look almost inviting.

She led me inside, guiding me through the hallway and into the kitchen area. Without saying much she nodded toward the sofa while pouring two glasses of wine. She handed one to me and I accepted it. Then she sat down beside me.

For a moment neither of us spoke. Finally she looked at me. “First, I wasn’t lying to you,” she said carefully. “Second… Maya contacted me.” My fingers tightened around the glass. Her name hit me like cold water. “She what?”

Her gaze lowered for a moment before she continued. “Her name sounded familiar when she called. Later I realized why. Our families know each other… distantly. Not like friends, but we ran in similar circles.” I almost dropped the glass. I placed it on the table with shaking hands.

“What the hell? What did she tell you? Did she threaten you?” She swallowed. “No. She tried to get you fired.” Of course she did. My knees buckled and I sat down next to her, but made a bigger space between us.

“She said you’re obsessed with her,” Beatrice continued carefully. “That you can’t leave her alone after she broke up with you. That you moved back here because she threatened to call the police for harassment.” A laugh escaped me. Sharp. Bitter. “Of course she did,” I said quietly. “Of course she would try to ruin me again.” I wrapped my arms around myself. “What exactly did she say? Word by word.” Bernard lifted her hand slightly, stopping me.

“That doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

She sighted. “She contacted me after your first week at work,” she continued instead. “By that time I already knew what kind of person you are.” I stared at her. “And what kind of person is that?”

“An honest one.” The words landed quietly between us. “That’s why I was gone for two weeks,” she added. “Yes, I was primarily on a business trip… but I also used the time to learn more.”

My jaw tightened. I stood up again. “What gives you the right to do that?” I asked, my voice low and dangerous. “To learn things about me? I’m your damn employee.” She didn’t interrupt. “You have no right to know,” I continued. “I didn’t give you permission. And it’s not your story to know.”

I grabbed her blazer from my shoulders and threw it onto the sofa before turning toward the exit.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Her voice was so quiet I almost missed it. My hand froze on the door. I didn’t turn around. But I spoke. “Half of the time I don’t know if you’re playing with me. Flirting with me. Teasing me. Or just praising me.” I took a slow breath.

“I don’t care what you believe or what she told you.” Now I turned. “But I’ll tell you one thing. Trust me or don’t. It doesn’t matter anymore.” My throat tightened. “She destroyed me.” The words came out quieter than I intended. “As you could see… I ran. And she still found me.” Tears slipped down my cheeks again.

“I’m so tired, Beatrice. So tired. I’m trying to heal. Trying to build my life again. But she’s everywhere.”

She stood up slowly. “I know,” she said softly. “And I don’t believe a single thing she told me.” I looked at her again. “And how can I trust you?” The question sat heavily in the room. “Maybe I should just quit and leave.” She shook her head immediately. “That would be the wrong choice.”

“Why?” I said coldly. “You’d be letting her win.” She said with care in her voice. I sat back down on the sofa, picking up the glass of wine again. “Fine,” I muttered. “But you still didn’t answer my question.”

She leaned against the kitchen counter for a moment before speaking. “I’m not trying to play with you or your feelings.” A pause. “I just find you… unusual.” I raised an eyebrow. “You amuse me.” I hummed quietly and looked away but sit on the sofa again.

For a long time neither of us spoke. The wine glasses filled and emptied more than once. Eventually I stood up. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “For being there when I needed someone not to let me fall.” I glanced toward the door. “And for feeding me, but it’s late. I should go home.”

“No need.” Her answer came quickly. “I have a guest room.” I hesitated. “Just this once,” she added softly. “Let someone take care of you.” I sighed.

“You’re my boss. While I appreciate it… it’s not appropriate. If anyone found out we’d both get fired.” She shrugged lightly. “I won’t hold you here. But you’re tipsy and exhausted.”

“You can stay. Lock the doors. Or I can drive you home.” She smiled softly. “Your choice.” I exhaled slowly. I was too tired to argue anymore. “Fine,” I said. “But I need to go home early to change and shower.” She pointed toward the hallway. “I’ll find something for you to sleep in. Bathroom is next to the guest room.” I smiled faintly. “Thank you. And good night.”

I went to the room and grabbed the night clothes she had left for me. A white long cotton shirt and satin shorts. Simple, but comfortable. The bathroom was quiet and warm.

I stepped under the shower and let the hot water fall over me. For a long moment I didn’t move. I just stood there, letting the day wash away from my skin. The tension, the fear, the memories.

I rested my forehead against the cold tiles and closed my eyes. The water ran down my back in steady streams while my breathing slowly returned to something normal.

For the first time that day, my mind felt… quieter. After a few minutes I finally turned the water off and wrapped myself in a towel before returning to the room.

On the bed I found a set of clothes waiting for tomorrow. High-waisted black jeans and a simple white blouse. Elegant. Minimal. Almost my style. The blouse was slightly bigger than my size, but it would work. I put the clothes aside. Then a simple thought crossed my mind.

The blazer, the one I had thrown earlier. I walked back into the living room, picked it up carefully and tried to smooth the wrinkles. The fabric was still warm from the house. Without thinking, I brought it closer and inhaled. Her scent. Something soft and clean with a hint of smoke and expensive perfume. I returned to the guest room and placed the blazer on the bed beside me. For a moment I simply looked at it. Then I laid down next to it.

Her smell wrapped around me like quiet reassurance. I pulled the blazer closer and hugged it against my chest. Almost like a shield. A protection. For the first time in weeks, my body relaxed completely. And after a long day filled with too many emotions, I fell asleep. Without nightmares, without waking up, without the endless train of thoughts that usually chased me through the night.

The first thin streams of sunlight woke me. Golden light slipped through the curtains and painted soft lines across the room. “Five more minutes,” I mumbled into the pillow. I buried my face deeper into it, still holding the blazer tightly against me. Just five more minutes.

A soft knock broke the silence. “Noo… just five more minutes,” I murmured. A quiet chuckle answered from the other side of the door. “Beatrice, are you mocking my morning voice?” I called lazily. Another soft laugh. “No,” she replied. “Can I come in?” I smirked into the pillow. “If you want to see me naked…” She cleared her throat on the other side of the door. “You’re bold again.” The door opened slowly and she stepped inside. I lifted one eye lazily to look at her. “What if I actually was naked?”

She smiled. A devastating smile. “That would be your fault,” she replied calmly. “Breakfast is ready and we don’t have time for sleeping in, Mia.”

Her gaze dropped slightly and landed on the blazer still wrapped around me. “You can keep it,” she added. “I see you like it more than I do.” I buried my face in the pillow again. “Uhh…No need. You look better in the blazer than me anyway.” She walked closer and sat on the edge of the bed.

“You need to get up,” she said calmly. “Or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you to the kitchen.” I opened one eye again. “Challenge accepted.” Then I buried my face into the pillow once more. I didn’t actually think she meant it.

But suddenly strong arms wrapped around me. I yelped. “Oh my god!”

She lifted me easily and threw me over her shoulder.

I started laughing immediately, kicking my legs uselessly in the air. “Okay, okay! I’ll go by myself! Put me down!” She laughed softly and finally placed me back on my feet.

Only then did I fully look at her. And suddenly became very aware of how I looked. My hair resembled a bird’s nest. I wore nothing but the thin white cotton shirt and satin shorts. The shirt was slightly transparent in the strong morning light. Her gaze moved over me for a second before she stepped back. Both of our breaths felt strangely unsteady. I quickly looked away and escaped toward the kitchen. Breakfast waited on the table, yogurt filled with fresh berries, warm croissants and coffee. I turned slightly, still a bit flushed.

“Thank you. How did you know I like sweet breakfasts?” She smiled slightly. “I observe.” I sat down beside her. “I appreciate it. Thank you.” I took a sip of the coffee before glancing at her again. “But I observe you too.” She tilted her head slightly.

“Not that I’m blind, but what exactly did you notice?” A slow smirk spread across my face. I leaned closer to her ear and whispered quietly. “When you’re stressed, you lock your jaw.” She didn’t move.

“When you speak with someone you don’t like, you wrinkle your nose when they get too close.” Her breathing slowed.

“And when you feel… very different emotions…” My lips moved closer to her ear. “You touch your neck.” I blew out a soft breath against her skin.

“But that’s not a discussion an employee and her boss should be having.” I straightened up again, winked at her and continued eating. She exhaled slowly.

“You are very dangerous.” I chuckled. “You said you were. The roles could switch anytime I choose.” I poked her shoulder playfully with my finger. “But I choose to be a good girl and not let that happen.”

Suddenly her hand caught mine. Firm. That forced me to look into her eyes. The playful sparks were gone. Now there were towering flames.

“I would strongly advise you,” she said quietly, “not to start something we should not even be thinking about starting.” Her voice dropped lower. “When I say I’m dangerous… I mean it.” My pulse jumped. “Let’s just say,” she continued calmly, “we would work the entire day.” A pause. “Just… differently.”

A quiet moan escaped my lips before I could stop it. “...oh god.” I felt her shudder. She stood up so quickly the dishes almost rattled on the table.

“Change please.” she said stiffly. “I’ll wait in the car.” She left the kitchen before I could say anything else.

That escalated quickly. Very quickly. And I liked it. I closed my eyes for a moment and imagined her pushing me onto that table, showing me exactly what she meant. But I knew that would complicate everything.We still had to work together. Pretend to be professionals.

I finished breakfast quickly and went back to the bathroom to get ready. The black jeans fit surprisingly well and shaped my figure nicely, especially my ass. The blouse rested softly on my shoulders. I left two buttons open. Professional, but slightly dangerous. I grabbed her blazer and draped it around my shoulders for the walk to the car.

She stood outside leaning against the passenger side, smoking. I took a moment to simply look at her, but she noticed immediately. The fire in her eyes was still there. More controlled now.

“Cigarette?” she asked. “Yes please.”

I took one from her pack and leaned beside her, crossing my legs casually.“That blazer suits you,” she said quietly. “Keep it.” I shook my head. “Coworkers would notice. We don’t want gossip, do we?” She shrugged. “I don’t care. Wear it or don’t. It’s yours.” I nodded slowly. “Thank you. And not only for the blazer. I will repay you for everything” She huffed softly. “There is nothing to repay. I did it because I wanted to. And because you deserved it.”

I didn’t push further. I just smiled. We finished our cigarettes in silence, letting the freezing morning air clear our heads. The drive to the office was quiet too. But comfortable.When we arrived, I turned toward her.

“I’ll go first. Give it five minutes?” I carefully placed the blazer on her seat.

With a small wink I stepped out of the car and headed toward the escalators.Five minutes later she walked into the office.

“Good morning, Miss Drey.” I looked up from my desk and answered sweetly. “Good morning, Madam.”

CHAPTER THREE

CONTENT WARNING

This story contains themes and situations that may be sensitive for some readers.

Please read with care if any of the following topics may affect you.

Content includes:

explicit sexual content / smut

psychological trauma and mental health struggles

references to a past emotionally abusive narcissistic relationship

manipulation and toxic relationship dynamics

power imbalance in a workplace relationship (boss/employee)

discussions of personal boundaries and their complications

emotional distress, healing, and recovery from abuse

This story explores complicated emotions, flawed characters, and morally grey situations. Some choices made by the characters may be questionable, uncomfortable, or ethically complicated.

Reader discretion is advised.

If any of these topics are difficult for you, please prioritize your well-being.

English is not my first language. I'm helping myself with AI and Deepl, but all of the scenes are mine. Pictures are creation of AI.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

⚠️ Trigger Warning 2!!!

Especially this chapter contains depictions of panic attacks, trauma flashbacks, emotional breakdown, and references to past abusive relationships and manipulation.

There are also brief mentions of self-harm behavior during distress.

Please take care while reading.⚠️

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Days began to move painfully slowly. Too slowly. I started drowning in so much information that my brain felt like it was beginning to burn. Every new system, every new procedure, every new face and name pressed into my mind until my thoughts felt overcrowded, overheated, like a machine pushed far beyond what it was built to process.

By the time I returned home each evening, my head throbbed and my thoughts scattered in every direction at once. And then came the nights. Sleep never stayed with me for long. I woke up again and again, sometimes every hour, sometimes after only a few minutes of shallow rest. Each time I opened my eyes I found myself staring into the darkness, my mind drifting backwards. Into the past.

The past… it felt strange now. Sometimes it felt like everything had happened yesterday. Other times it felt like years had passed, like another lifetime entirely. Both feelings existed at the same time, tangled together in a way that made it impossible to separate one from the other. When I left, no when I run, I promised myself something. I promised myself that if there was ever another woman in my life, I would watch her with the eyes of a hawk. I would not trust easily again. Trust would have to be earned slowly, carefully, painfully. It would have to be built piece by piece, ground and worked for over time. And if someone ever broke my heart again—if someone lied to me, betrayed me, hurt me not by mistake but by choice—I would leave them behind without hesitation. Burn the bridge. With them on it. Then I would walk away and never look back. It would not matter who they were.

Friend.

Coworker.

Family.

I would leave.

At least that was what I promised myself. But the truth was more complicated. Because my heart was still good. Too good. Too caring. And sometimes I hated that about myself, because caring meant vulnerability, and vulnerability meant that sooner or later someone would find a way to hurt you. Maybe the real thing I needed to learn was not how to distrust people. Maybe I needed to learn how to trust myself first. So I kept my guard up. I could not let it fall again.

And yet… despite everything… I kept thinking about her.

Mrs. Bernard.

Sometimes she praised me in ways that made my brain short-circuit. Not in the distant, polite tone most bosses used with their employees, but with something warmer beneath it, something almost teasing.

“I’m glad I chose you. I’m glad you’re working for us.”

Or another time, with that same small smile that made it impossible to understand her intentions: “You are a treasure to our office.”

Was she flirting with me?

Was I going mad?

Was it all in my head?

The confusion irritated me so much it made me angry. What the hell was happening? I was good at reading people. It was something I had always been able to do almost instinctively. I could read people like text on a page. I could see through them. And then I met her. And suddenly I couldn’t read anything at all. Was she simply praising me? Was she playing with me? Was she testing me? I didn’t know. And the not knowing made my chest tighten with frustration. It wasn’t easy to find anything about me online. I rarely posted. I rarely shared anything personal. But if someone searched long enough, carefully enough, reading between the lines… they might see it. They might notice. That I had been with a woman before.

Most people didn’t react badly to that, but older people sometimes did. For some of them it was still a sin. So maybe she had searched, maybe she knew. But why would she even bother? I was surely no one to her, just another employee. I groaned quietly in the darkness and turned onto my side, trying to force myself to sleep again.

After one of those strange conversations I texted her.

“You praise me a lot ;) Thank you, I appreciate you.”

Bold.

Maybe too bold.

But I had always been bold.

She called me after that. Actually called me. “You are too bold,” she said. “Am I?” I replied. “I’m just replying. Nothing else, madam.” Two days later she left on a business trip. For two weeks.

Even my colleagues thought it was strange. Maybe it was coincidence, maybe it wasn’t. I didn’t know, noone know, and that was the problem. I had promised myself I would stay away from relationships for a while. I needed to heal. I needed to rebuild my life. Rebuild my fire. My fire that Maya had extinguished. Piece by piece.

Maya. My fiancée. The woman I ran away from.

She played with me. With my mind. With my kindness. With my heart. She manipulated me slowly, carefully. She isolated me. In her world I was always the problem.

Everything I did was wrong.

Every move I made was disgusting.

Every person I spoke to was apparently someone I was secretly sleeping with.

She took everything from me.

She destroyed me.

She killed my fire.

My love.

My everything.

When I left her, I was nothing. Just a hollow shell walking away from a life that had burned to the ground. And yet… after almost three months… something inside me flickered again.

A spark.

Small.

Almost invisible.

But it was there.

I needed to keep going.

I needed to breathe again.

To believe again.

To trust.

To live.

To feel something.

Because I had always felt deeply. Everything in my life had been intense. When I loved someone, I loved with everything I had. With my soul. With every fiber of my body. I would have burned the world for the people I cared about. But now I felt hollow.

And yet somehow… with Mrs. Bernard… I felt something again.

Not love.

Not anything real.

Maybe just lust.

But it was something.

And something was better than nothing. For so long I had felt absolutely nothing that I started to believe I might never feel anything again for the rest of my life. My therapist said my brain was protecting me. That my nervous system had shut down parts of itself to keep me safe. But was that really protection? Living without joy? Without excitement? Without warmth?

I lived. I breathed. My heart hammered in my chest.But often it felt like I was watching my own life from far away, like observing someone else moving through the world inside my body. Except when she was near. Those moments were short. Minutes, seconds perhaps. But suddenly the world felt real again. And that terrified me. Because she was older, much older and she was my boss. And she had a boyfriend, she had mentioned it once, casually, during one of our strange conversations where every sentence seemed to carry multiple meanings.

Was she saying it for herself? For me? For both of us? Was she confused too? Or was she simply like that with everyone? I didn’t know.

And my ADHD made it worse. My thoughts moved like a train with no brakes. Fast. Chaotic. Impossible to stop. You couldn’t slow it down. You couldn’t control it. You could only hold on and hope it didn’t crash.

And when the memories of Maya came back, they came back violently. Because with narcissists there are not only bad moments, there are good ones too, perfect ones. They make those good moments so bright, so perfect, that you hold onto them desperately. They trap you with them. They make you crawl back again and again, because you believe those moments are the real ones. And slowly they convince you that the bad ones must be your fault, that you are the mistake. Always.

I remember one evening clearly. A colleague offered to drive me home. She had a partner. They were planning a child. Planning a wedding. She offered simply because she saw how tired I was. She was driving to visit her family who lived close to my house. But when I told Maya… I still hear the ringing in my ears. Her scream. “IF YOU FUCKED HER JUST TELL ME!” Her voice slammed against the walls of the apartment. “SHE KNOWS WHERE YOU LIVE! DO YOU THINK THAT IS NORMAL?!” Then she grabbed a knife. And threw it. The knife hit the floor right beside my feet. The sound of metal against tile exploded through the room like a gunshot. For a moment everything stopped. When the knife fell, it felt like my entire life collapsed in that instant. Everything I believed in, everything I thought love was, everything I thought we had built together… it shattered in that moment. Something inside me died. And I started mourning it right there, in that exact second. The knife missed me. But that only made her angrier. “YOU BITCH! YOU ARE NOTHING! YOU ARE JUST LIKE YOUR MOTHER! NOTHING!” She slammed her fists against the wall. “LOOK WHAT YOU ARE DOING TO ME! THIS IS YOUR FAULT! YOU MADE ME LIKE THIS!”

Even now I shiver when those memories return. Because I remember how much power she had over me. She didn’t work. She let me drown in debt. I worked sixty to eighty hours a week, just to get by, barely. I took care of the apartment, of the bills, of everything. She cooked sometimes.

That was all.

And once…Once I was so tired I could barely stand. I was hanging freshly washed clothes onto the drying rack. I couldn’t afford a dryer. After a thirteen hour shift. After four hours of sleep because the night before I had worked late again. When I finished hanging everything she walked in. And looked at the socks. “You are so stupid,” she said calmly. “Look how you hang the socks.” She pulled them down one by one. “I’ll teach you how to hang them properly.” I remember blinking slowly, I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open. I hadn’t even eaten that day. We had been fighting all week. Again. When she said, “I’ll do it myself. You are not capable of hanging socks. Get the fuck out of my sight. I don’t want to see your disgusting face. This is your fault. You make me crazy,” I simply walked away. She started throwing things again.

I went to the bathroom and filled the bathtub. After a while I fell asleep inside it. When I wake up the water was cold, so cold it hurt. For a few seconds when I woke up I thought I was dead.

And in that moment… I wished I was.

That was why I ran, I ran and never looked back, or at least I tried not to. And that was why it felt so terrifying to feel even the smallest spark again. Because I was afraid. Afraid someone would hurt me again. Afraid someone would break my heart again.

I was strong.

Incredibly strong.

But I knew I would not survive it again.

And yet the thoughts of Mrs. Bernard returned. The way she sat in her chair. Head tilted back slightly. Her hair falling behind her shoulders. The long line of her neck stretched under the office light. It was almost… erotic.

I sighed.

Yes.

I was definitely losing my mind.

And sleep never came back that night. I didn't even try. I sat in the kitchen at three in the morning, a cup of coffee in my hands, smoking cigarette after cigarette until my lungs burned.

I needed to feel something, telling myself. Pain. Anything. Even nothing again.

The cigarettes kept disappearing one after another between my fingers until the ashtray was full and my throat felt raw. The bitter taste of coffee mixed with the sharp smoke in my lungs until everything inside me felt heavy and numb at the same time. I wasn’t even sure how long I had been sitting there. Time had lost its shape somewhere between midnight and the pale grey light that slowly began to seep through the kitchen window. Eventually I stood up and walked onto the balcony. The cold hit me immediately. It was far below freezing, the kind of cold that clawed its way through your clothes and settled deep inside your bones.

But strangely enough, that was the first moment my brain slowed down. Just for a second.

The city stretched out beneath me in silence, still half asleep. Streetlights flickered against empty roads, rooftops pale under the early morning sky. I stood there longer than I meant to, letting the icy air bite at my skin until my thoughts finally quieted. For a few seconds my mind was blank.°

Then my alarm went off. “Great,” I muttered to myself.

I stared at the phone in my hand for a moment, contemplating whether I should go to work at all. My body felt heavy with exhaustion. My head burned. My mood was darker than the winter sky outside. I didn’t have the strength for her games today. But I still went, because I needed the job.

When I arrived at the office, people looked at me with a strange mixture of curiosity and concern. Or maybe I was imagining that part. Maybe it was just my own paranoia speaking. I knew I looked terrible. I hadn’t worn makeup. I had only forced my hair into something that vaguely resembled a normal hairstyle. My skin felt pale and tight, and my eyes burned with the kind of tiredness that sleep could not fix. I greeted people with small nods as I passed their desks. When someone from higher management walked by, I forced out a quiet “hello,” barely louder than a breath. Then I sat down at my desk and opened my notebook. Coffee. I needed coffee more than oxygen at that moment. I walked to the kitchen, poured myself another cup, and returned to my desk.

When I sat down again, she was already there. Mrs. Bernard stood a few steps away with her arms crossed, watching me. Her gaze carried too many emotions at once. Questions. Curiosity. Concern. Something sharper beneath all of it. I looked at her briefly before turning back to my screen. “Anything I can help you with, madam?” I asked coldly. She frowned slightly. “Are you feeling okay?” I nodded without looking up. “Sure. Nothing to worry about.” Then I focused on my work. Tables. Data. Contracts. Emails. Numbers. Words. Anything that kept my mind busy.

After a while I stood up. “I’m taking a smoke break.”

Yesterday I had bought regular cigarettes again. Not a vape. I didn’t care anymore. I walked toward the rooftop carefully, making sure no one noticed where I was going. When I reached the door and stepped outside, I finally let out the breath I had been holding for what felt like hours. The city stretched beneath me again, the cold air wrapping around my body like a warning.

I closed my eyes. The distant sound of traffic and wind hummed quietly around me while I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, trying not to break apart.

Then a voice spoke behind me. “Will you keep lying, or will you finally tell me what’s bothering you?” I jumped so violently the cigarette almost slipped from my fingers. “What the fu—”

I turned around. She was there, of course she was. Mrs. Bernard stood a few steps away, watching me. Her eyes held too many things at once—playfulness, pity, curiosity, anger, something softer underneath it all. “I’m not lying,” I said sharply. “I’m okay. Or I will be. Eventually. But don’t worry. My work ethic and efficiency won’t be affected.” She stepped closer. Quietly. She didn’t need to say anything. Her presence alone demanded that I look at her.

“That’s not why I’m asking.” I was done with her. Done with the strange mixed signals, the teasing words, the sudden distance when she disappeared for two weeks.

Maya had done that too. Hot and cold. Attention and silence. I would not let anyone treat me like that again. I turned away from her and stared down at the city. “It’s nothing work related,” I said, my voice tight, sharp. “Madam.” The word came out sharp. “And if my mood is affecting you, madam, I will book the small meeting room so I’m out of your sight. Like I was for those two weeks.”

I flicked my wrist and dropped the cigarette to the ground. She looked shocked. I started walking toward the exit, but before stepping inside I glanced back for a second. She bent down and picked up the cigarette I had thrown away. Of course she did.

I needed to be alone for five minutes. Just five minutes. Instead she followed me.

Anger bubbled inside my chest as I walked quickly through the hallway and into the bathroom. The fluorescent lights buzzed quietly above me as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I looked pale. Almost sick. Dark circles sat under my eyes like bruises. My lips were swollen from biting them too hard. I splashed cold water onto my face. Again and again, trying to calm myself down.

The water ran continuously from the faucet, the quiet sound filling the empty bathroom. Then I looked at my reflection again. I just stared at myself, I was hollow again. Painfully hollow. Maybe that was good. At least I could feel something now. Tiredness. Pain. Grief. Grief for the years she had taken from me. My emotions. My love. My heart. My everything. I hadn’t cried when I left. When I ran. Maybe it was coming back now. Everything was coming back and I was terrified I wouldn’t survive it.

It felt like I was holding onto blades of grass while a tornado tried to rip me away from the ground. The wind pulled harder and harder, tearing at everything inside me, and my fingers were slipping.

Then the door closed behind me, I didn’t even need to look. She was there... Again.

Why couldn’t she leave me the fuck alone? I grabbed the counter with both hands, my knuckles turning white as I tried to breathe. But I couldn’t. She stood there for a moment, silent. Then she pulled out her phone. “Clear my schedule,” she said calmly. “Me and Miss Drey are going to meet the client I wanted to introduce to her. She’ll be taking care of his account.” She stepped closer.

“Yes, Mrs. Smith.” A pause. “Yes. Thank you.”

I turned around slowly, anger soaked through me like poison. “What are you doing?” I asked with tone that could cut glass. “I don’t know what’s going on,” she said quietly. “And I’m not going to ask again. But we’re going for a ride.” That only made me angrier. She was playing with me again. This lie could cost me my job and hers too. “I’m not going anywhere,” I snapped.

Fuck the job. I didn’t care anymore. I started walking towards the door, ready to leave. Then I heard the click of the door behind me. “No.” Her voice was sharp. Firm. I looked at her again, straight into her eyes. What the hell was she thinking? I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch something.

I wanted— ... ... ...

Then I saw her expression. Her eyes said everything at once.

Care.

Patience.

Pain.

So much pain.

She looked at me like I was the sun. Like I was the only thing in the room that existed.

She crossed her arms and gave a sad smile. So incredibly sad. Her eyes were glossy, tears threatening to fall. And that… That broke me.

I grabbed my hair and pulled it hard, frustration boiling inside me. My nails dug into my palms until it hurt. Then my hands moved to my face, scratching at my cheek. She moved instantly.

Her hands closed around my wrists, holding them firmly but carefully. I tried to pull away but it was useless, she was stronger than me.

She looked at my hands. Then at my face. Like she was seeing me for the first time. And suddenly everything collapsed. I started crying.

Not quietly. Not softly. I cried like a maniac, my lungs choking on air I couldn’t pull in properly. I couldn’t breathe. Everything inside me shattered at once. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me. She navigates my hands against her neck and then she held me tightly. So tightly. I screamed. The sound tore out of my chest like something breaking apart. Tears soaked into her blouse. I felt her body shaking slightly too, and when my face pressed against her neck I realized something else. She was crying too, only a few tears, but they were there.

I screamed again, the sound raw and painful, my entire body shaking violently. She only held me tighter. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her arms around me said everything. I buried my face deeper into the curve of her neck and cried until my throat burned. Her blouse was wet. Her neck was wet. I didn’t care. She didn’t care either.- I slide down with her. Her back pressed on the cold wall, still holding me.

For the first time in months I was feeling everything again. The pain. The grief. The fear.

My anxiety crashed back into my body like a storm. I still could not breath. “Shh,” she whispered finally. “Breathe. Breathe for me.”

But I couldn’t. She pulled back just enough to look at me. “Look at me.” I shook my head. My knees were giving out. “Mia. Look at me.” One of her hands gently lifted my chin, forcing my gaze upward with a softness that hurt more than anger ever could. “Mia,” she said quietly. “Breathe for me. Everything is okay. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to stop holding you.” Her voice softened even more. “I never will.” Then she added, almost like a whisper: “But breathe, love. Breathe.”

And I did.

The first breath came shaky and broken. Then another. And another. My hands wrapped around her neck again, pulling myself closer as the scent of her perfume surrounded me. And slowly…

I started breathing again.

And slowly… I started breathing again. My chest still shook with every breath, but the air finally reached my lungs without tearing them apart. I clung to her like someone drowning, my fingers tangled in the fabric of her blouse, my forehead pressed against the warm curve of her neck. Her hand moved slowly up and down my back in quiet circles, patient and steady, as if she had all the time in the world.

Neither of us spoke.

The bathroom was silent except for the quiet drip of water from the faucet and the uneven rhythm of my breathing slowly returning to normal. I could still feel the warmth of her tears on my skin. And that was the moment I realized something that made my stomach twist.

She hadn’t let go.

Not even for a second.

Not when I screamed.

Not when I broke apart.

Not even now.

And the worst part was… I didn’t want her to.

Chapter two

CONTENT WARNING

This story contains themes and situations that may be sensitive for some readers.

Please read with care if any of the following topics may affect you.

Content includes:

explicit sexual content / smut

psychological trauma and mental health struggles

references to a past emotionally abusive narcissistic relationship

manipulation and toxic relationship dynamics

power imbalance in a workplace relationship (boss/employee)

discussions of personal boundaries and their complications

emotional distress, healing, and recovery from abuse

This story explores complicated emotions, flawed characters, and morally grey situations. Some choices made by the characters may be questionable, uncomfortable, or ethically complicated.

Reader discretion is advised.

If any of these topics are difficult for you, please prioritize your well-being.

English is not my first language. I'm helping myself with AI and Deepl, but all of the scenes are mine. Pictures are creation of AI.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

A few weeks later—after two more interviews, one with a senior sales representative and another with the CEO—they hired me.

I remember staring at the email longer than necessary, reading the same sentence three times before it actually settled in my mind. We are pleased to offer you the position. Just a simple line of text, black letters on a white screen, yet it somehow felt heavier than it should have. For a moment I simply sat there, phone in my hand, feeling the tension in my shoulders slowly loosen. Relief arrived first, warm and quiet, spreading through my chest like sunlight breaking through a thick winter cloud.

I had a job. A good job. Then the excitement came.

And right behind it... worry.

Because having sexual tension with your boss from the very beginning was probably not a great start, right? That had to be weird. There were probably entire HR manuals written about how that sort of thing should absolutely not happen. Mrs. Bernard was older than me too. Not just a little older. Maybe fifteen years older. I had always liked older women. But not that much older.I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my forehead slowly.

Maybe I was actually losing my mind. Or maybe I was just dumb. Or both. Then another thought crossed my mind and I sighed. Right. I was a lesbian. Which basically meant I was already slightly insane by default. Lesbian equals crazy. Scientific fact, clearly.

Maybe she was like that with everyone. Maybe she simply had that kind of charisma that made people feel things that weren't actually there. The kind of personality that filled a room and made people pay attention without even trying.

Or maybe— No. Stop. I was overthinking again. My brain had five days before my first official day at work. Five days to calm down and return to a functioning state. Otherwise I would end up imagining things like my boss grabbing me by the collar, pushing me against a wall, her hand around my neck while I sqeezed her ass bringing her close to me —

"You idiot," I muttered to myself. I dropped face-first onto my bed and buried my head in the pillow. I wasn't someone who slept around. That had never been my style. I needed connection before getting into any relationship. I needed trust, emotional closeness, some sense that the person I was with actually saw me.

But still... A girl had needs. "No," I groaned into the pillow. Bad brain. Focus.

Five days later I stood in the office again, leaning casually against the reception desk while waiting for someone to show me to my workspace. The building looked exactly the same as during the interview—clean, modern, glass walls reflecting the pale winter light that filtered in from outside. People moved quietly between desks, conversations blending together with the rhythmic clicking of keyboards and the occasional soft laughter from somewhere deeper in the office.

These were the people I would be working with now. The realization made my stomach tighten slightly. What if I messed up? What if this wasn't the right place for me? I had already been through enough. Another toxic workplace could break me completely. Some of the people closest to me had told me that during the past year something inside me had dimmed. That I had lost my life energy. My spark. My fire.

And if I was being honest with myself... they weren't wrong. I had let someone destroy me.I had hidden behind pink-colored glasses because I wanted to be loved. I wanted attention. I wanted to believe that if I just tried harder, if I became more patient, more understanding, more forgiving, things would eventually get better. Instead I ended up emotionally exhausted.Depressed. And deeply in debt.

A quiet, amused chuckle broke through my thoughts. Shoot my gaze to the sound and there she was. Leaning casually against the nearby wall with her arms crossed, watching me with a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips. Mrs. Bernard. For one extremely unfortunate second my brain flashed back to the exact same wall—just in a very different context. Fantastic. Just throw me out the window already.

"Nervous or day-dreaming?" I straightened and offered my hand with a friendly smile. "Hello, Mrs. Bernard. I'm really glad to be here." The smile was bright. A little too bright, perhaps. "I was just thinking," I added quickly. "And tired. But who sleeps well before their first day at a new job, right?" She studied me for a moment before answering. "Right." Then she pushed herself away from the wall and gestured toward the office. "Follow me, please. I'll show you around, your desk, and you'll meet your coworkers."

Her energy filled the space around her the same way it had during the interview—alive, confident, impossible to ignore. She walked quickly, speaking easily with people as we passed by. Every now and then she would stop to introduce me to someone, exchanging a quick joke or a few friendly words before moving on. Within twenty minutes my brain had already forgotten all of the names I just learned. I can blame my ADHD brain.

Eventually she guided me into a meeting room. This one was much larger than the tiny room where we had done the interview. Sunlight spilled through wide windows, reflecting off the smooth wooden table between us. We sat across from each other.

Mrs. Bernard leaned forward slightly, resting her hands on the table. "I know you're clever," she said. Her tone was calm but firm. "But let's get a few things straight from the beginning."I instinctively straightened my posture. "I demand a lot," she continued. "But I give a lot back. I won't stand behind your shoulder watching every move you make. I don't micromanage. You will have space, freedom, and trust." Her gaze held mine. "But you need to do your job well."I nodded, trying not to look as nervous as I suddenly felt.

Then she added, almost casually, "And don't even try to screw me, our CEO, or anyone else in this office." Well, that escalated quickly. "You'll only get one chance to do something like that," she continued calmly. "And I will find out. I always find out."

I leaned back slightly in my chair, letting out a quiet breath. "That should be easy enough to follow," I said with a faint smile. "I'm not someone who tries to screw people. Not this way anyway" Feeling bold you idiot? The corner of her mouth twitched.

After that the training began. Mrs. Abrew, one of my coworkers, walked me through the systems and procedures while I tried to look both intelligent and attentive. Asking questions was important—everyone knew that. First impressions mattered. The truth was, most of the information wasn't difficult. The systems were logical, the process straightforward.

But after two hours my head started to ache. Why was there so much information on the first day? Were they sadists? I rubbed the back of my neck and shifted slightly in my chair, my nicotine craving beginning to grow stronger with every passing minute. I closed my eyes for a moment. Just one moment. That was when I felt it. Someone watching me. I looked up suddenly. "Sleeeping on your first day, Miss Drey?" Mrs. Bernard stood right beside me. Too close. My face flushed instantly. "I was just resting my eyes." She narrowed her gaze slightly. "Very well." Then she tilted her head. "What was the last thing Mrs. Abrew told you?"

Oh.

I was definitely screwed.

"I—" I swallowed. "She said that before moving to the next step I need to save the attachment in the system, otherwise it won't upload properly."

Mrs. Bernard leaned casually against the chair I was sitting in, resting her head on her hand as she watched me. "Is that correct, Mrs. Abrew?" Time stretched painfully. Then Mrs. Abrew nodded. "That is correct." Relief washed through me.

"Well," Mrs. Bernard said calmly, straightening again, "if you need a break, just ask. We're not that sadistic." "Thank you," I said quickly. "Can I step outside for a smoke? Just five minutes.""Of course," she replied. "I'll show you where." A few minutes later we stepped onto the rooftop of the building. The city spread out around us in every direction, rooftops glowing faintly under the cold winter sun. The air was crisp and sharp, carrying distant sounds of traffic far below.

"It's beautiful here," I said quietly. "I'll really enjoy my breaks up here."

"Don't tell anyone," she replied casually, pulling out a cigarette. "Technically we're not supposed to be here. Safety reasons. I bribed security to keep this entrance open." I blinked. "I didn't expect you to be a smoker." She looked at me then, and the fire in her eyes flickered again. "There's a lot you don't know about me." I smirked. "Well, I'm looking forward to learning."Her expression sharpened immediately.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," she said softly. "That can be dangerous." She stepped a little closer. "I know you're bold," she added. Then her voice dropped slightly. "But I'm bolder."My eyes betrayed me again, drifting briefly to her lips.

And suddenly I realized something unsettling. For the first time in a long time... I had absolutely no idea how to read someone standing in front of me. And that made everything infinitely more interesting. The air between us shifted slightly, like the moment before a storm when the atmosphere changes just enough for your skin to notice. I suddenly became very aware of how close she was standing. Too close for a normal workplace conversation.

It had weight.

She inhaled slowly and exhaled a thin stream of smoke that disappeared into the winter air. I straighten my back trying to look casual while my brain loudly reminded me that my boss was standing less than a meter away.

And apparently threatening me. Or flirting. Or both. Honestly I still couldn't tell.

For a moment the silence between us stretched longer than expected. The cold wind brushed against the rooftop, tugging lightly at my coat while Mrs. Bernard stood beside me, her cigarette glowing faintly between her fingers. She inhaled slowly, watching the skyline as if the entire city belonged to her. Then, without much thought, she flicked the cigarette down to the concrete at her feet. The small orange ember hit the ground and dimmed. And before my brain had the chance to stop me, my mouth moved.

"I don't want to be rude," I said carefully, "but you should probably pick that up."The words hung between us immediately. Wonderful. Great timing, Mia. Mrs. Bernard slowly turned her head toward me. There was no immediate anger in her expression, but something in her gaze sharpened.

"It can hurt birds," I continued quickly, realizing too late that I was already digging my own grave. "And the environment. I'm not some eco-terrorist or anything but..." I stopped.Because now she was fully looking at me. And the fire in her eyes had returned. Not the playful spark from before.Something a little hotter.

"You're very commanding," she said slowly, "for someone who has been here exactly one day."Then she glanced sideways at me again. "You speak your mind quite easily," she said. The comment made me blink. "I'm sorry?" "The planet comment," she clarified. "Most people wouldn't correct their boss on their first day."

Ah.Right.That.

I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to sound... commanding." One corner of her mouth lifted. "You did." There was no anger in her voice though. If anything, the opposite. Something closer to amusement. "But it's not necessarily a bad thing," she added. That surprised me enough that I looked at her properly. The wind moved through her hair slightly, soft strands shifting around her face. Up close I noticed again how unusual her eyes were, the colors blending together in a way that made them difficult to define. Hazel.Green.A little grey.

And always that spark of something behind them. "You'll learn quickly that I prefer people who say what they actually think," she continued. "Even when I disagree with them."

"That sounds dangerous," I said before I could stop myself. Her eyebrow lifted. "How so?""Because if someone like me takes that literally, you might end up hearing a lot of opinions you didn't ask for." She studied me for a moment. Then she laughed, not loudly, but enough that the sound felt genuine. "I'm aware," she said. "But honesty is still easier to work with than fake politeness."

That answer settled somewhere quietly in my mind.We stood there for another minute in silence. The wind grew slightly stronger, carrying the distant sound of a tram somewhere below.

"Break's over," she said.

Just like that, the brief calm moment disappeared and the professional tone returned.We headed back inside through the stairwell door. The warmth of the building wrapped around us instantly, the hum of office life slowly returning as we walked back toward the main floor.

The rest of the afternoon passed surprisingly smoothly.Mrs. Abrew continued training me, explaining the system step by step while I took notes and asked questions whenever something seemed unclear. A few coworkers stopped by our desks at different moments, introducing themselves properly now that the chaos of the morning had passed.

Every now and then I caught Mrs. Bernard walking through the office. Each time she passed by our section she slowed slightly, her eyes scanning the desks quickly before moving on again.Twice our gazes met across the room. Both times she looked away first. Or maybe I imagined that part.

By late afternoon the office had started to empty. One by one people packed their bags, said quick goodbyes, and disappeared into the hallway. Eventually Mrs. Bernard approached my desk again. "Alright," she said, resting one hand casually against the edge of the desk. "You can go home." I blinked. "Already?" Her lips curved slightly. "You survived your first day. That's enough productivity for now."

I glanced around the office. Most desks were empty already. "I guess everyone escaped early," I said. "They usually do on Mondays," she replied. "Give it a few weeks. You'll start doing the same." I stood and gathered my things. "Thank you," I said. "For the tour. And the training. And... not firing me after two hours." The corner of her mouth twitched again. "You're still on probation," she reminded me calmly.

Fair enough.I walked toward the elevators, feeling the strange mixture of exhaustion and quiet adrenaline that always followed the first day in a new environment.

As the elevator doors closed, I leaned back against the wall and exhaled slowly. The elevator descended smoothly toward the lobby, the numbers lighting up one by one above the door.When I stepped outside the building the cold air greeted me again, sharp and refreshing after the warmth of the office. The sky had darkened slightly, the winter afternoon already sliding toward evening. I pulled my coat tighter around myself and started walking toward the tram stop.My brain, of course, immediately started replaying the day. The meeting. The rooftop.The way she had looked at me. The way she had stepped closer when she said she was bolder.I groaned quietly to myself. This was going to be a problem. A big one.

Because I had come here looking for stability. For a place where I could rebuild something after everything that had happened before. What I had not expected... Was a boss who looked at me like a challenge. And the uncomfortable realization that part of me might enjoy that far more than it should.

Chapter one

CONTENT WARNING

This story contains themes and situations that may be sensitive for some readers.

Please read with care if any of the following topics may affect you.

Content includes:

explicit sexual content / smut

psychological trauma and mental health struggles

references to a past emotionally abusive narcissistic relationship

manipulation and toxic relationship dynamics

power imbalance in a workplace relationship (boss/employee)

discussions of personal boundaries and their complications

emotional distress, healing, and recovery from abuse

This story explores complicated emotions, flawed characters, and morally grey situations. Some choices made by the characters may be questionable, uncomfortable, or ethically complicated.

Reader discretion is advised.

If any of these topics are difficult for you, please prioritize your well-being.

English is not my first language. I'm helping myself with AI and Deepl, but all of the scenes are mine. Pictures are creation of AI.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Leaving that city had not felt like moving on. It had felt like escaping. Like running with your lungs burning and your heart beating somewhere in your throat, hoping that if you ran fast enough the past would eventually get tired of chasing you.

Leaving her felt like survival.

If I were being completely honest with myself—and that was something I was still learning how to do—it wasn't exactly a dramatic cinematic escape. There were no slammed doors or screaming arguments echoing through stairwells. No shattered glasses or neighbors calling the police. It was quieter than that. Which somehow made it worse. I packed my things, closed the door behind me, and never looked back. That was three months ago.

And now I stood in a polished corporate building that smelled faintly of coffee, printer toner, and expensive cleaning products, hoping desperately that I would land this job.

Because I needed it. Badly.

It paid well. The location was good—close enough to public transport that I wouldn't have to waste half my life commuting across the city. The company seemed stable, which was more than I could say for my own life at the moment.

And, to be fair, the work itself wasn't bad either. I would basically be doing the same thing as in my previous job, or at least something very close to it.

Sales.

Talking to people. Reading them. Understanding what they wanted before they even realized it themselves. That part I was good at. Really good. Which was exactly why leaving my last job still felt like a small personal betrayal from the universe.

I stood at the main reception desk pretending to calmly observe the middle-aged receptionist typing on her keyboard while my brain tried to convince my body not to have a mild panic attack in the middle of the lobby. The building itself was modern in that cold, minimalist corporate style. Glass walls everywhere. White polished floors, polished so much they reflected the overhead lights like clear water. A few abstract paintings hung on the walls, probably expensive enough to pay my rent for three months.

The receptionist looked like she had worked there for at least a decade. Her hair was perfectly styled, her posture straight, and the expression on her face carried that quiet professionalism of someone who had answered the same questions thousands of times.

Meanwhile I tried to slow my breathing. I wasn't the nervous type. Or at least that was what I liked to believe about myself.

But leaving a four-year relationship with a narcissistic bitch, having a complete emotional breakdown, losing my apartment, and ending up with almost no money to my name except a rather unfriendly debt... well. That does something to a person and suddenly job interviews stop feeling like normal everyday tasks and start feeling like life-or-death situations. Which, in my case, wasn't that far from the truth. Because the alternative to getting this job was being homeless. Right now I'm hanging out on my father. Well that father who never cared. And was never present. I still ask myself why did I go to him instead of my mother. Who is lunetic, but she care.

And that option sounded about as appealing as chewing broken glass. So yes. This interview mattered. A lot.

I approached the receptionist and asked for directions to the correct office. She pointed me toward the right entrance of the building with the calm efficiency of someone who had done it a thousand times before. I thanked her and walked toward the elevator area. Then I stopped. I was too early. Way too early. I checked the time again, even though I had already done it three times in the last minute. Fantastic. Perfect. My brain immediately tried to comfort me with the classic lie every anxious person tells themselves. Better early than late. Still, I couldn't help feeling slightly embarrassed about it.

I leaned my back against the cold glass wall near the entrance and took a slow inhale from my vape. Sweet vapor filled my lungs, warm and artificial, carrying the faint taste of strawberries and bad life decisions. Outside the glass wall the city looked frozen. Winter had that particular brutal mood today—the kind where the air bites your face and the pavement looks permanently angry. It was well below freezing.

For a moment I had the strange feeling that the vapor might freeze in the air before it even left my mouth. Or inside my lungs. That would be an interesting way to die. I can see the headlines. "Local woman suffocates from strawberry flavored vape during job interview." At least I would be famous for once.

Great headline. I exhaled slowly and pushed myself away from the wall. Alright. Enough. Time to stop overthinking. Inside the elevator the silence felt almost aggressive. I pressed the correct floor and watched the digital numbers climb while my neck slowly tightened with every passing second.

Be brave. You used to be brave. Before she destroyed you. Before you spent nights lying awake wondering if you were actually the crazy one. Before you started apologizing for things that weren't even your fault. I closed my eyes for a brief moment. Not today. Today you are just a woman at a job interview. Nothing more. Nothing less.

The elevator dinged softly and the doors slid open.

A middle-aged woman greeted me at the reception area of the office floor and guided me down a short hallway before leading me into a conference room. And when I say small, I mean small. Not cozy small. Not minimalistic small. Just... small. Maybe one and a half meters wide.Two meters if we were feeling generous. A round table sat in the center with four chairs squeezed around it like someone had placed them there as a practical joke.

If two people sat here, physical contact was basically inevitable. Knees brushing. Shoulders touching. Even if you were Twiggy and tried your absolute best to shrink yourself into the smallest possible human shape. Well. That was intimate. The woman told me someone would be with me shortly and left the room. I sat down. The chair creaked slightly.

Ten minutes passed. Then the door opened. And she walked in. Tall. Energetic. Somewhere in her forties. But the first thing I noticed wasn't her age. It was the fire. There was something about her presence that immediately filled the room, like oxygen suddenly becoming more flammable. Her eyes carried a spark that felt both amused and dangerous. And the way she moved... God. She moved like she was dancing. Smooth. Confident. Almost...Seductively.

Oh shit. You cannot think about things like that. You horny idiot. I scolded myself internally while standing up. "Hello, my name is Mia. Nice to meet you," I said.

My voice sounded so confident I almost turned around to check if someone else had spoken. She took my hand in warm and firm grip. Professional but still.. seductive? Kinda?

"Mrs. Beatrice Bernard," she said, her tone polite but carrying a faint hint of amusement. The corners of her lips twitched slightly.

"I'm glad you are here. Please sit down."

The word please carried just enough weight to sound like a gentle command. I caught myself staring at her for half a second too long. Then I quickly sat down. Her gaze sharpened as she studied me.

"So tell me about yourself, Mrs.?" "Miss Drey," I corrected gently with a small smile. "And I'm glad to be here." Her eyebrow lifted slightly. "So, Miss Drey. I hope you don't mind if I call you Miss. Some people rather don't like it, even at your young age." I leaned back just slightly. "I don't." And then I started talking about myself and my work experience, when she asked. The typical bullshit when you tried to sell yourself and picture yourself as the best god in the universe, trying to be the perfect fit. But we all know it 's plain bullshit. I started blurting out.

"I can say I'm very honest, persuasive, organized and I can empathize with people's moods or what they want. I'm really good at reading people... I mean customers. I love being in sales. I have a good feeling for how to set prices to get more money from customers but still be fair and to their liking." I paused and inhaled. Wow. At this tempo I could probably become a rapper.

Mrs. Bernard looked at me again. And I swear. You could see little flames dancing in her eyes. Not in an obvious way. Nothing dramatic or theatrical. But there was a kind of brightness there, something alive behind the calm professionalism. The kind of look people have when they are quietly entertained, when they are watching something—or someone—with genuine curiosity. And for reasons I couldn't quite explain, that look was directed entirely at me.

Mrs. Bernard leaned back slightly in her chair, studying me in silence for a moment longer. One corner of her mouth lifted almost barely, like she was holding back a smile she wasn't ready to show yet. Her posture was relaxed, but her attention was sharp. Focused. Evaluating. "That's very impressive, Miss Drey," she said eventually.

Her voice was smooth and calm, the kind of voice that carried quiet authority without needing to raise its volume. The kind of voice people probably listened to without questioning. Then she leaned forward slightly. Her elbows moved onto the table, her hands loosely supporting her chin as she closed the distance between us just enough to make the room feel smaller. Which, considering how small the room already was, felt almost unfair.

"But I also noticed something." Her tone didn't change, but something in her eyes sharpened. "I see that you changed jobs quite often." Ah. There it was. Of course there is. That question always came sooner or later. "We need someone for a longer period of time," she continued. "Perhaps two years or more. Loyalty is something we value here. What I value. But we also try to offer the same in return." Her fingers tapped once lightly against the table, the movement small but deliberate. "Don't misunderstand me. Your CV is very intriguing. Your personality as well. You seem like someone who would fit this position quite naturally."

Her gaze lingered on me for a moment. "But I found it... unusual." Unusual. That was a polite corporate word for suspicious. I couldn't help it. A small smirk appeared on my face. Not because I found the situation funny. But because honesty had always been easier for me than pretending. I leaned back slightly in my chair, stretching my legs under the table without thinking. And that was when it happened. My foot brushed against hers. The contact was brief. Accidental. But the effect was immediate. Electric. I pulled my leg back instantly, my brain screaming a series of internal alarms. Goosebumps rose along the back of my neck.My eyes drifted down for a second— And then, like traitors, they moved upward again.

Straight to her lips. FUCK. What are you doing retard? You absolute silly goose. My brain immediately switched into emergency mode.

Focus.

The room suddenly felt warmer. Much warmer. Which was ridiculous, because five minutes ago I had been convinced the air outside might freeze inside my lungs. Now I was sitting in a tiny conference room trying not to stare at my potential future boss like a teenage idiot discovering attraction for the first time. Fantastic. I cleared my throat.

"I understand why that might worry you," I said. My voice sounded calm. Surprisingly calm. Which was impressive considering my brain was currently running a chaotic slideshow of unhelpful thoughts. Like getting laid on that round table whil--e-.. SNAP OUT OF IT! "And honestly, I would probably feel the same way if I were in your position."

Mrs. Bernard didn't interrupt. She simply watched me. Her expression neutral, but attentive.

"But right now," I continued, "I'm looking for stability. Real stability." My hands folded loosely together on the table. "Every job I left had a reason. A very good one. Sometimes personal. Sometimes professional." I hesitated for half a second before finishing the thought. "But I understand that trust is something that has to be earned. Especially when someone's work history looks... inconsistent."

The word hung between us. Inconsistent. Her gaze remained steady. Then she leaned back slightly again, her posture straightening as if she had quietly reached some kind of internal conclusion. Her eyes narrowed just a little. Not in suspicion. More like interest.

"Alright," she said. "You are certainly a very interesting candidate." Candidate. Not employee. "Yet.

"But we have more interviews scheduled," she continued. "So it would be unfair of me to make any immediate decisions." Fair enough.She stood up. And damn. She was even taller than I had realized while sitting.

Tall.

Slender.

Hot.

Elegant in that effortless way some people simply are. Her posture was perfect, her movements smooth, her confidence completely natural. And somehow that combination made her... Dangerously attractive. Which was deeply inconvenient. We shook hands again and for a brief moment we simply looked at each other. It wasn't long. Just a second or maybe two. But something passed between us in that quiet pause. Something unspoken. Something subtle. Something that made the air feel slightly heavier.

Mrs. Bernard took a small breath. "We will contact you within one week," she said. Her voice returned fully to professional calm. "Have a good day, Miss Drey." I nodded politely. "You too." Then I left. The hallway outside the conference room suddenly felt much larger than the tiny space I had just escaped. Or maybe the word escaped was a little dramatic.

Although part of me did feel like I had just walked away from something unexpectedly intense. The elevator ride down felt strangely quiet. My reflection stared back at me from the mirrored wall. Same face. Same messy hair who never listen. Same slightly exhausted expression. Nothing had changed. And yet my brain refused to stop replaying the last thirty minutes.

The way she looked at me. The slight curve of her lips when she smiled. The onfidence in her voice. And that strange moment when our feet touched. By the time I stepped outside the building, the cold air hit my face like a reset button. Winter had not become any friendlier in the meantime. The sky was grey and the sidewalks were half frozen.

People moved through the street wrapped in scarves and heavy coats like small migrating animals trying to survive the season. I pulled my jacket tighter around myself and started walking toward the tram stop. And that was when my brain decided it was the perfect moment to start overthinking everything.

What the hell was that?

Was that normal?

Did job interviews usually feel like that?

Because I had been to quite a few of them in my life, and none of them had included accidental foot contact and internal gay panic. Internat baby gay panic. I was never gay panicking.

Maybe I imagined it. That would make sense. People often imagined things when they were stressed. And I had definitely been stressed. We were strangers, complete strangers. It had been the first time we had ever seen each other. Which made the entire situation even more ridiculous. Still... The feeling refused to disappear. That quiet spark. That strange tension sitting somewhere in the back of my mind.

I reached the tram stop and leaned against the cold metal railing. A small cloud of vapor escaped my mouth when I exhaled. And that was when the final thought arrived. One simple realization that explained a lot. I was extremely gay. Like...

Gay gay gay.

So gay that Freddie Mercury would probably look at me and say, "Alright, calm down." And maybe...Just maybe... A little horny. I sighed. Yeah.

Definitely horny.

Which meant my brain was probably exaggerating the entire situation. That had to be it. There was absolutely no way my future boss and I had some kind of strange sexual tension during a job interview. That would be ridiculous.

Or I am ridiculous.

Completely unrealistic.

I shook my head and pulled out my phone while waiting for the tram. One week. They would contact me in one week. Which meant seven days of waiting. Seven days of pretending not to care. Seven days of trying not to replay every single moment of that interview in my head.

Fantastic.

Just fantastic.

As the tram arrived and the doors opened with a quiet mechanical hiss, one thought lingered stubbornly in the back of my mind. Mrs. Beatrice Bernard had fire in her eyes. And something told me that fire had not been imagined.

CONTENT WARNING

This story contains themes and situations that may be sensitive for some readers.

Please read with care if any of the following topics may affect you.

Content includes:

explicit sexual content / smut

psychological trauma and mental health struggles

references to a past emotionally abusive narcissistic relationship

manipulation and toxic relationship dynamics

power imbalance in a workplace relationship (boss/employee)

discussions of personal boundaries and their complications

emotional distress, healing, and recovery from abuse

This story explores complicated emotions, flawed characters, and morally grey situations. Some choices made by the characters may be questionable, uncomfortable, or ethically complicated.

Reader discretion is advised.

If any of these topics are difficult for you, please prioritize your well-being.

English is not my first language. I'm helping myself with AI and Deepl, but all of the scenes are mine. Pictures are creation of AI.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

After escaping a toxic, four-year relationship, Mia is trying to start a new life in her hometown again. Broke and in debt, with her trust in people shattered, she applies for a job at a sales company that could provide the stability she desperately needs.

At the interview, however, she meets Mrs. Beatrice Bernard, a confident and charismatic woman with fire in her eyes and authority in her voice. A strange tension immediately arises between them that neither can explain.

What begins as a normal employer-employee relationship gradually turns into a dangerous mix of attraction, power, secrets, and unresolved trauma.

Mia thinks she has escaped her past.

But some things can catch up with you.

Some women can change your life completely.

What begins as a normal employer-employee relationship gradually turns into a dangerous mix of attraction, power, secrets, and unresolved trauma.

Mia thinks she has escaped her past.

But some things can catch up with you.

Some women can change your life completely.

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Mia one the left. Mrs. Bernard on the right.

Mia Drey

Mia Drey is the kind of person who looks calm and composed—until she starts talking. Then you realize that behind those dark, observant eyes lives a mind that never truly stops moving.

She is twenty-five years old and only recently realized that the life she thought she had built was never really hers.

A four-year relationship. A shared apartment. And then everything collapsed.

After leaving a toxic relationship that slowly eroded her confidence and sense of self, Mia fled the city almost overnight. What she took with her were two suitcases, a debt she would rather not think about, and a quiet determination to start again.

Mia is resilient, even if she doesn't always feel like it.

She is perceptive, emotionally intelligent, and exceptionally good at reading people. In sales, that ability becomes a powerful advantage. She knows how to understand what customers want—even when they cannot articulate it themselves.

Despite the sharpness of her instincts, there is still something fragile about her. A piece of her that is learning how to trust again.

Her brown hair rarely behaves the way she wants it to, falling into slightly messy waves that make her look effortlessly human rather than polished. Her eyes notice everything: small gestures, subtle tone changes, the things people try to hide between their words.

On the outside she appears confident, quick-witted, sometimes sarcastic.

On the inside she is still quietly rebuilding herself.

And, although she might joke about it, one thing about her identity has always been very clear.

Mia Drey is unapologetically, unmistakably gay.

Beatrice Bernard

Beatrice Bernard is not the kind of woman who quietly blends into the background of a room.

She enters spaces the way a spark enters dry wood — suddenly, unmistakably, and with a kind of energy that makes people instinctively look up.

In her forties, Beatrice has spent years building both her career and her reputation. Not through cold calculation or distant authority, but through presence. She talks to people easily, laughs loudly when something genuinely amuses her, and carries a kind of natural charisma that makes conversations feel effortless.

People tend to remember her.

Not just because she is beautiful, or tall, or impeccably dressed in sharp business suits that fit her like they were made for her.

They remember her because she feels alive.

There is a brightness about her, a restless spark of energy that never quite sits still. When she speaks, her expressions move quickly — a raised eyebrow, a crooked smile, the small twitch at the corner of her lips when she finds something amusing.

Her eyes are perhaps her most striking feature.

A complicated mix of hazel brown, green, and soft grey that shifts with the light. At first they appear warm, curious, almost playful.

But if someone looks long enough, they might notice something else behind them.

Fire.

Beatrice Bernard is passionate about the things she believes in. About loyalty. About honesty. About people who say what they mean and mean what they say.

She trusts easily at first. But only once. Because Beatrice also has another side. If someone lies to her, betrays her trust, or tries to manipulate her, they will learn very quickly that the same fire that makes her charismatic can also make her terrifying. She does not shout.

She does not create scenes.

But when she is angry, people feel it.

And they remember it.

For years she has met countless employees, candidates, partners, and competitors. Faces that blur together over time into a long professional history.

Very few people stand out.

Very few manage to catch her genuine curiosity.

But one cold winter morning, when a young woman named Mia Drey walks into her conference room and introduces herself with surprising confidence and slightly messy dark hair, Beatrice finds herself watching a little more closely than usual.

Curiosity, after all, has always been one of her greatest weaknesses.

And sometimes…

Curiosity is where dangerous stories begin.

Sorry, but I need to move forward

So… it kind of breaks my heart, but I need to move away from the Choices theme a bit. Not entirely — just mostly. I really enjoy writing, and now that I finally have time for it, I don’t want to abandon it or create a whole new account.

I’ll be posting a new fic about a boss/employee romance with some heat. I feel like this is the direction where I can grow and let my ideas out.

I will still post some things here and there related to Choices. But lately I feel like they’ve lost their spark. Many of the newer books feel AI generated, without a deep story. The characters blend together and it just doesn’t fulfill what I’m looking for. It doesn’t bring me the same excitement or adrenaline rush when reading anymore.

Most of us are adults now, and after talking with many of you, I know a lot of you share the same opinion. Still, it would be a shame to throw everything away.

If you’re here only for Choices fics, feel free to unfollow me. But if you want to see more of what’s inside my head, I’d really appreciate your feedback. @fal-carrington @samanthadalton @vonda-b-real @drmmyrs @straightlikewetspaghetti @blaine-hayes @lizielasyd @mrskamilahsayeed @millasayeed @ntoraplayschoices @ilove-kamilah-sayeed @kamilah-is-queen @rhonda-sayeed @queenkamilah @domakir @kwaj115 @fundamentalromantic @somethindarker @crimsonvrose @glowriter @leenasayeed

Honestly, I feel like the community is slowly declining. I mean, There are some good books, but they're not as good as they were a few years ago.

Those were my thoughts exactly when I started reading The Choices books again. Some of the Choices books aren't that bad, but… They're just not thrilling enough. It's bittersweet. You go through them and are kind of satisfied, but that feeling—the adrenaline rush—is not there. I don't know if it's because I'm getting older or if I'm just less excited. But, to be fair, I remember the older books more than the new ones. The new one are really similar to each other, and kinda boring?

#pb choices #choices stories you play #choices

kinda-iconic

Can you post a set of Kamilah’s Ai pics?

As requested ☺️

DUH, I'M BACK

Almost 5 years older, a lot of bolder, single and ready to mingle (I'm kidding about the last part). Getting back into the Choices games (I guess I like to suffer). And thinking that MAYBE I should create some stuff here. Is this fandom and game dead or are you still alive? @fal-carrington @samanthadalton @vonda-b-real @drmmyrs @straightlikewetspaghetti @blaine-hayes @lizielasyd @mrskamilahsayeed @millasayeed @ntoraplayschoices @ilove-kamilah-sayeed @kamilah-is-queen @rhonda-sayeed @queenkamilah @domakir @kwaj115 @fundamentalromantic @somethindarker @crimsonvrose @glowriter @leenasayeed

#kamilah sayeed #choices stories you play #choices kamilah

I'm sorry that I don't post anymore... I found my own Kamilah and I'm in love. And of course give my time only to her. I'll be back soon or later...

#Youtube

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