His words sank into my skin like hooks, dragging something cold and ugly to the surface. I had always had a short fuse but nothing came close to what I was feeling at the moment. My stomach twisted violently, but I didn't let it show.
Kael's lips curled, something almost like pity flashing across his face. "Pathetic," he murmured. It was barely audible, but my ears caught it.
My vision sharpened, edges tinged crimson. For a heartbeat, I didn't just picture crushing his ribs—I felt them splinter under my palms, heard the wet crack of cartilage, tasted copper on my tongue as his blood painted my knuckles.
The urge coiled in my muscles, primal and electric, begging me to leap across the desk, wipe off that infuriating smug off his face with a heavy blow and ruin him without mercy.
"That wasn't me, Sir," I said, voice trembling—not with fear, but the strain of holding back a scream. "I would never make that error." Each word dripped venom. "Seven years. Seven. And you think I'd burn myself over a spreadsheet?"
"It doesn't matter, Miss Thorne." Kael's voice was like ice—calm, lethal, merciless. "The point here is that it came from you. A costly one. And now, you're standing in front of me like some desperate little fool, demanding answers you don't deserve."
Each syllable was a lash to my skin, slicing deep, cutting me off before I could even finish defending myself.
"This isn't right," I snarled, tears boiling behind my eyes, unshed. Fuck weakness.
He leaned back, throne-like, fingertips grazing the edge of a letter opener. "It came from your desk. Your login. Your signature." His gaze flicked to my clenched fists. "Tell me, Miss Thorne—do you enjoy playing victim? Or is incompetence just your natural state?"
I laughed. A dark, empty sound at my own self-control. I'd never let anyone talk down at me like this but he was different.
"Considering what was at stake, losing your job is nothing but a slap on the wrist." He continued and stepped away from me, widening the distance between us, and the second he did, a cold wave crashed over me. A sharp, suffocating kind of cold. My knees trembled under the weight of it.
"Leave," he said, turning his back as if I were already gone. "Before I have you dragged out like the trash you are."
The finality of his words hit harder than a slap.
I was drowning.
Kael watched, completely unmoved by the way my world was collapsing at his feet.
I turned on my heel, forcing myself to walk away. My fists clenched so tightly my nails bit into my palms. Anger. Hatred. Humiliation. It all burned inside me, an inferno licking at my ribs. My shirt clung to my back, damp with sweat.
Mia said something as I stormed past her desk, but I didn't care. I barely even saw her.
The elevator doors slid shut, sealing me in my own personal hell.
By the time I reached my office, the fire inside me was seconds from combusting. Without a word, I packed my things. People watched from a distance, murmurs buzzing like flies in my ears, but I didn't stop, didn't acknowledge them.
Then, my gaze flickered across the room. Sarah.
She wasn't at her desk.
My best friend—away. Meeting with a client perhaps. The only person who could have anchored me through this mess.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and left.
The morning air slapped against my face as I stepped outside, but it did nothing to cool the blaze in my chest.
How could this be? The thought of starting all over again sounded almost like a death sentence. It was so unfair. But life has always been unfair. I of all people should've known that.
The sky stretched above me, clear and blue, almost mocking. It looked down on me with silent pity. I loathed it. I loathed being looked down on—being pitied.
I fumbled for my phone, my hands shaking. Another person—the last person—I could turn to. Eric. My boyfriend.
I dialed once. No answer. I dialed again. Still nothing. "He must be busy," I murmured, flagging a taxi. It didn't matter. I'd just go to his place and wait. As long as I wasn't alone with my thoughts.
The drive was swift, but my patience was razor-thin by the time I reached his building. My hands were still trembling as I dug through my bag for the spare key. Then—I froze. A sound. Muffled. Drowned by thick walls.
I stopped searching. My fingers hovered over the doorknob. Twisted. The lock clicked open. And just when I thought my stomach couldn't sink any further—It plummeted straight to hell.
The sounds hit me all at once. A woman's moans, high-pitched and desperate. A man's grunts, low and satisfied. In his room.
The universe was definitely playing a sick cruel joke on me.
Eric.
"You like that?" the stranger purred. An awfully familiar pitch.
"Yes. You feel so good." Eric groaned eagerly.
"Better than your girlfriend?"
"Fuck! Yes."
I didn't need to hear more. I had already heard enough. The pocket knife in my bag—the large one in the kitchen—hummed, hungry. I could've burst in. Dragged him by his hair. Carved LIAR into his chest. But no—prisons are built for reckless rage. Mine was colder. Sharper.
A laugh bubbled up my throat, bitter and sharp, but I swallowed it. My body moved on autopilot, slamming the door shut behind me as I stormed down the stairs.
I had been cuckolded twice in the same morning. First it was Kael fucking his secretary and now Eric too, screwing a woman that I didn't care to know. Ah! Life was indeed plowing me in the ass without pity. My lungs refused to cooperate, my breaths coming short, ragged.
That little shit. I wasn't running because I was afraid to confront him or the woman who was happily fucking a man in a relationship. I was leaving because if I didn't, someone was going to end up dead. And it wasn't going to be me. This wasn't me talking out of my ass. I truly almost beat someone to death before and since I have tried to keep myself in check.
The rage inside me reached a new level—past fury, past heartbreak. I was calm. Dangerously calm. And this was the part that even I myself detested.
Men like Eric? Replaceable. I could find another man. But Kael?
That bastard took something from me I could never get back. Seven years. Over an incident that wasn't even my mistake and didn't care to investigate it. If I was going to go to prison, that devil would be worth every hole I drilled into his chest with a knife.
My gaze swept across the parking lot, locking onto something familiar. Eric's car. His brand-new Mercedes. The one he had saved up for two years to buy.
My lips curled. Slowly, I walked over. The black paint gleamed under the morning light, clean. Untouched. Not for long.
My eyes flicked around. Searching. And there it was. A rock. Huge. Perfect.
I picked it up, the weight of it grounding me for the first time since this nightmare began.
And then, without a second thought—I swung.
Glass shattered. The windshield cracked, spider webbing outward. The car alarm blared, but I wasn't done. I picked up a metal rod that sat around conveniently—like a little pill from the universe—to ease the pain while it watched me spiral and shattered every other window. But oh no! I wasn't done.
I reached into my bag, pulled out my pocket knife, and dragged the blade across each tire. One by one. Hissing air, rubber deflating beneath my hands. One, two, three, four. It wasn't enough. I carved out letters on the clean shiny body that spelled what that little cheater was on his beloved car. "A CUNT."
By the time I stepped back, I was panting, my body humming with satisfaction. Breathless. Adrenaline sang in my veins, sweet and sticky. This wasn't enough. Nothing would be enough. Not until Kael's empire was ashes. Not until Eric sobbed my name into concrete. But for the first time since this morning—I smiled.