***Ella's POV***
I awoke groggily from my bed, my mind still clouded with the remnants of sleep. As I squinted at the glaring numbers on my alarm clock, a wave of panic washed over me. "Ahhhh!" I screamed softly, realizing I was running late for work. I scrambled out of bed, my heart racing, and hurriedly made my way to the bathroom.
After a quick shower, I swiftly applied my makeup, barely glancing in the mirror as I pulled on my outfit—a crisp white blouse paired with tailored black trousers. I grabbed my bag and rushed down the hallway. As I passed the dining room, Ethan, my boyfriend who worked from home, gave me a sympathetic smile and waved goodbye.
He gestured towards the breakfast table, where a cup of coffee awaited me, but I didn't have time to indulge.
Arriving at the office, I slumped into my chair with a sigh of exhaustion, feeling the weight of the day ahead press down on me. Just as I was gathering my thoughts to begin processing emails, Stella, our no-nonsense secretary, strode in with a clipboard in hand.
"The boss has been waiting for you, Ella," she announced, her stern expression clarifying that this was not a suggestion but a demand.
I took a deep breath, straightened my posture, and made my way to the boss's office, trying my best to project confidence despite the anxiety bubbling within me. As I approached, I hesitated for just a moment before pushing the door open.
The moment I stepped inside, I could feel his piercing gaze lock onto me, cold and unyielding. He sat behind an ornate wooden desk, the lines of worry etched deep into his brow, a clear indication of the seriousness of the situation. Feeling the weight of his stare, I instinctively averted my eyes, choosing instead to focus on a spot on the floor, my heart pounding in my chest.
I stood rigidly in front of his desk, acutely aware of every second ticking by. I expected him to gesture for me to sit and launch into a scolding tirade, but instead, he remained silent, studying me intently. The air was thick with tension, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken words, as I waited uneasily for him to break the silence.
His gaze pierced through me, an unwavering intensity that made me feel uneasy; I could sense his eyes tracing the contours of my body. He stood up, gliding toward me with an air of confidence that sent shivers racing down my spine. Each of his deliberate movements seemed to echo in the silence, rekindling memories of yesterday's events that I desperately tried to push away.
As he drew nearer, I instinctively took a step back, each retreat feeling like a slow-motion countdown as I counted his footsteps in my head. I focused on this rhythmic distraction, hoping to drown out the unsettling memories that threatened to overwhelm my thoughts.
I finally decided to break the tense silence that hung in the air, mustering all the courage I could find. "Mr. Thompson, I apologize for being late. Please forgive me just this once," I pleaded, bowing my head in a gesture of deep contrition, hoping to convey the sincerity of my words.
As I glanced up, I noticed a flicker of understanding in his eyes, and for a moment, it seemed my act had swayed him. But if I were being honest, my apology was far from genuine; my tardiness stemmed from the whirlwind of thoughts that had consumed my mind all night. No, it wasn't just about him in a straightforward sense—rather, it was the chaos of emotions that swelled within me, triggered by that unexpected moment we shared.
The memory of it lingered, filling my mind with confusion and excitement, tangling my feelings in ways I hadn't anticipated.
As I spoke, I couldn't help but notice his brow furrow deepen—a telltale sign he often displayed whenever he was about to dismiss one of my projects. It was an unmistakable signal that my attempts to persuade him were falling flat.
Frustrated, I shifted gears, a rush of anger surging through me. "Mr. Thompson, you crossed the line yesterday. You need to show a bit of self-respect!" I declared, my voice steady but laced with emotion. I studied his face, searching for a flicker of understanding or remorse, hoping my words had finally resonated with him.
His facial expression remained inscrutable, despite the charged atmosphere between us. With deliberate slowness, he extended his hand over my head, and I couldn't help but murmur, "Uh," my curiosity piqued about his intentions.
Before I could gather my thoughts, he delicately swept his fingers through my hair, skillfully tucking away a rebellious strand that had drifted across my face. Leaning in just enough for his presence to envelop me, he whispered in a low, sultry tone that felt like honey dripped in warm sunlight, "Your hair color is beautiful." His voice, a perfect blend of authority and allure, sent an electrifying shiver coursing down my spine, awakening every fiber of my being.
I felt as if the ground beneath me had shifted, and my mind whirled confused at his words. How was I supposed to respond to a compliment like that—especially from my boss, Mr. Thompson? He had always been a source of irritation, a constant thorn in my side in the workplace. This unexpected display of admiration left me utterly flustered, caught between disbelief and a strange thrill.
I snapped back to reality, my heart racing, and instinctively brushed his hand away with a nervous flutter. Could this be happening? Just yesterday, I had convinced myself that what transpired between us was merely a coincidence, yet here it was unfolding right before my eyes, undeniably real.
"I think I should go now, Mr. Thompson," I said, my voice trembling slightly as I turned to leave. But before I could take a step, he reached out and took hold of my hand, his grip firm yet surprisingly gentle. "Marry me," he uttered, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.