Mary's voice sliced through the air like a dagger, her blue eyes burning with rage. She stood in the middle of June's office, seething with indignation, as if she owned the place.
"You know how much I wanted that offer," Mary hissed, her nails digging into her palms. "It was my big shot, my one chance, but you had to snatch it away."
June sighed dramatically, waving the contract in the air. "Correction, I worked for it. I won the board over. You just assumed you had it in the bag."
Mary's jaw tightened. "My ideas were far better than yours. It should have been my win."
June rolled her eyes, skimming the papers in front of her as if Mary's rant was nothing but background noise. This had become a routine, one she had grown sick of—a never-ending tantrum from a woman who had lost her throne.
Mary's wrath was like that of a scavenger vampire—relentless, sucking the life out of others, never knowing when to stop.
"You're nothing but worthless trash."
June chuckled darkly and slammed the papers onto her desk. She met Mary's furious glare with an amused smirk.
"Guess what, Mary? This worthless trash was chosen over you. So tell me, between the two of us, who's really worthless?"
Mary's lips curled in disdain. "You think you're untouchable just because your show is breaking records?"
June tilted her head, unfazed. "No, I think I'm good at what I do. And that's what matters."
She leaned forward, her voice calm but firm. "I'm not perfect, and I don't claim to be better than anyone. But I believe in hard work, and I don't sit around waiting for things to be handed to me. My team and I spent weeks researching, working day and night to deliver something extraordinary. That's why we won."
Mary scoffed. "I've spent more years in this company than you. I know how things work. You're just a lucky newbie with little experience. Mark my words, you'll fall from that high cloud soon."
June's fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the papers. Three years ago, she had been nothing but Mary's assistant, running pointless errands that had nothing to do with her actual job.
Mary had been the golden girl, the top host, admired by all. But most of her success came from stealing June's ideas—crushing her spirit every time she tried to step out of the shadows. Mary had always seen June's potential and feared what she could become.
Now, karma had done its job.
June rose from her seat and placed her hands on her hips, looking at Mary with nothing but confidence.
"If I fall, at least it won't be from someone else's stolen ideas," she said coolly.
Mary's face twisted in fury. "Watch your back. This isn't over. You'll be ruined."
With that, she turned on her heels and stormed out of the office.
"Should we be worried?"
June jumped slightly, turning to see her assistant, Jane, standing behind her.
Jane placed a hand on her chest. "You scared me."
June rolled her eyes. "I scared you? You're the one sneaking up on people."
Jane grinned sheepishly. "But seriously, should we be worried? She sounded dead serious.
June sighed, rubbing her temples. "Mary is always dead serious. I've heard worse, and I've been through worse."
Jane frowned. "But what if she actually does something this time?"
A flicker of doubt crossed June's mind. Mary was ruthless, but would she go so far as to sabotage her? The idea of Mary plotting revenge wasn't far-fetched.
She brushed the thought aside. "You're overthinking. Let's change the topic."
Jane's eyes lit up mischievously. "Okay, how about giving me a salary raise?"
June's hand stiffened around the paper. She shot Jane a pointed look. "I said change the topic, not revisit an old one."
Jane smirked. "It's a different topic."
June groaned. "You've been asking for a raise for ages. Soon, your threats will start walking through my door."
"Of course," Jane cut in before June could finish. "That's what happens when a stubborn boss refuses to give her hardworking assistant a well-deserved salary raise. Give me a raise, or I'll quit."
June let out a scoff and leaned forward, gently cupping Jane's chubby cheeks.
"Jane, you already have a high salary. Stop being greedy. If you want a raise, convince me why I should give it to you."
Jane crossed her arms, pouting dramatically. "I'll come up with a solid reason. Just wait."
"I'll be waiting," June teased.
Jane gave a playful salute. "Till then, tata!" She waved and walked out, her exaggerated expressions making June chuckle.
The night breeze swept through the city, carrying the scent of rain and pavement. A man walked along the dimly lit street, dressed in a long leather coat. His eleven-size shoes skipped over potholes with careful precision. He held a black umbrella, and his gloved hands remained tucked into his pockets.
A sudden movement caught his attention. A small ball flew toward his face.
With reflexes honed over the years, he extended his left hand and caught it mid-air.
"Throw it over!" a child called from a nearby court. A group of kids stood by a net, cricket bats in hand.
The man turned, meeting the boy's gaze with a blank expression. He tossed the ball back, watching as the child caught it before jogging back to his friends.
Dave Deen walked with quiet purpose, his polished shoes skimming over the pavement, his long coat shifting with each step.
He was a man who preferred structure. Every action measured, every movement calculated. Chaos was an enemy he had learned to subdue long ago. In his thirty-five years, he had seen enough disorder to last a lifetime—both in the minds he studied and in the past he refused to acknowledge.
As a psychiatrist, he had spent years untangling the complexities of human behavior, diagnosing the fractures in people's minds with unshakable precision. He had treated minds that were considered lost causes, whispered truths to those who wielded too much power, and dissected emotions with a clinical detachment that kept him untouched by their weight.
It was why he despised unpredictability.
And yet, unpredictability had a way of forcing itself into his life.
The rain had left a chill in the air as he walked past a quiet café, the dim glow of its interior spilling onto the sidewalk. His mind was elsewhere when a sudden burst of movement shattered the momentary peace—a blur of motion, a cry, and before he could register the weight of what was happening, a body collided into his arms.
The woman was light, her breath hitched in surprise as she clutched onto him. Her hands, small but firm, gripped his shirt like an anchor. Dave barely had time to react before her voice broke through the moment.
"Why didn't you save my cupcakes?!"
June eyes glares at his dame gorgeous eyes, she had just been swept out of her feet by the guy being chased by some cops and for a moment she felt her body was going to sore from the fall. Yet a grace laid on her by the sudden hands that clutch her body from hitting the ground, and just as she's about to show gratitude, her eyes caught hold of her cup cakes on the ground.
The same cup cakes she had stood an hour or more in wait to get , was now on the dusty pavement all smash from it beauty.
And that she just can't help but….scream?
"Why didn't you save my cupcakes?" Again she lash in the coolest way she could as silence stretched between them.
Dave blinked. His arms were still around her, his brain still processing the fact that he had caught a falling human being—one that, despite her near-death experience, seemed far more concerned about a box of pastries now crushed on the sidewalk.
His jaw tightened. Of all the absurd encounters he had been forced into, this ranked high on the list.
"You should have saved my cupcakes instead of me," she continued, her voice laced with accusation.
A muscle in his temple twitched. He dropped his arms.
And let her fall.
A sharp thud followed.
"Ow!" June groaned, glaring up at him from where she now sat on the pavement, her expression a mix of betrayal and disbelief.
Dave exhaled through his nose, stepping back as he retrieved his black leather gloves from his pocket. He slipped them on with meticulous care, ensuring not a speck of dirt from their encounter lingered.
"You're insane," he muttered, turning on his heel, already dismissing whatever absurdity he had just been dragged into.
"And you're the mad one here!" she shot back, her irritation clear as she dusted herself off. "First, you didn't save my cupcakes, not even a single one, and then you just let go of me—"
He ignored her.
Or at least, he tried to.
A tug at his wrist stopped him in his tracks. He turned sharply, only to see her fingers curled around the sleeve of his coat, her eyes blazing with a stubbornness that rivaled even the most difficult of patients he had dealt with.
"Where do you think you're going?" she demanded.
Away from this, he wanted to say.
Instead, his irritation deepened when she tightened her grip, accidentally yanking free the glove from his right hand. His bare fingers met the cold air, and in an instant, his body tensed.
His reaction was immediate. Swiftly stepping back, he snatched the glove from her grasp, his jaw clenching as he retrieved a pocket-sized sanitizer from his coat. He sprayed the exposed skin before slipping the glove back on, his movements methodical, as if cleansing himself of whatever contamination she had inflicted.
June stared at him, brows raised.
"…Are you okay?" she asked, genuine curiosity replacing her earlier frustration.
No.
Not with her standing there, not with her questioning gaze dissecting him, not with the way she had, in mere minutes, shattered the carefully structured order of his evening.
"You," he finally said, pointing a gloved finger at her with controlled exasperation. "I never want to see you again."
And with that, he turned and walked away, his long coat sweeping behind him.
June scoffed, arms crossing.
"Same here, madman."
Yet, as both walked in opposite directions, neither realized the universe had already decided otherwise.