"Are you having trouble, Miss Miller?"
His voice, suddenly cutting through the grind and my internal screaming, which startled .
He’d taken out the AirPod and swiveled his chair, watching with that sa unnervingly calm expression.
"Just... getting into the rhythm, Mr. Walton," I managed, forcing a tight smile that probably looked more like a grimace. I held up the manual sharpener, pretending it was a fascinating artifact. "Quite the... vintage model."
He raised an eyebrow, a tiny flicker of amusent in his eyes that made want to ram the sharpener through his monitor. "So find the manual touch more... authentic."
Authentic misery, maybe.
He watched for a mont longer, then turned back to his screen. "Don’t let the dust get on the carpets," he added idly.
I was this close to stabbing him with a pencil.
The only thing that saved Mr. Walton from being impaled with freshly-sharpened pencil was a phone call he received.
Adrien didn’t look at . Didn’t flinch. Just slid the phone from his desk with one hand and answered, voice suddenly lower, firr. Sharper.
"Yeah?"
His posture straightened as he listened, the easy arrogance draining from his face and being replaced with sothing colder. I could swear the room was starting to freeze.
The change in him was instantaneous and absolute. The casual slouch was gone, replaced by a stiff alert tension that seed to emanate from his core.
His fingers gripped the phone tight, and I think I saw his knuckles white.
As I was scraping away, with the sharpener in my hands, I stopped, forgetting all my troubles about manual labour, and my eyes focused on the brute force thathad just slamd into the room.
He didn’t say much, mostly listened, but when he spoke, his words were clipped, precise and offered little warmth or humor.
"No. Don’t move until I say so. I’ll be there in twenty."
He glanced at his watch. Just once.
"Keep everything exactly where it is. I want a full update when I arrive."
And then the call ended.
The man who turned to wasn’t the Adrien Walton who made sharpen pencils. This one had an edge.
"Round it up," he said. "You’re done for the day."
I blinked, frozen with the sharpener still clutched in my hand like a weapon. "I—what?"
"I’m leaving. Personal business." He was already standing, already shrugging on his jacket with precision. "Call my driver. Tell him to bring the car to the front."
I stared at him.
"Now, Miss Miller."
He didn’t wait for a response for long.
He was at the door, already opening it and pausing just long enough to look back at blankly. "Lock up when you’re done."
And just like that—he was gone.
Silence settled in behind him like dust.
I slowly turned back to the pile of pencils, the sharpener now forgotten in my hand.
Personal business, huh?
I really hoped it involved him stepping on a Lego.
But curiosity nagged at , forcing my mind into overdrive. What kind of "personal business" required such an abrupt shift in his deanor? It hadn’t been the first ti I caught a glimpse of what lay beneath the polished exterior; sotis I got the feeling that there was a darker, deeper Adrien just breaking the surface—a broken mask that showed sothing intimidatingly intense.
I shook my head, trying to push the thoughts aside.
ADRIEN’S POV
The dull sound of the pencil sharpener was like a dentist drill in my ear. Not because it was overly loud, but because she was there.
Isabella.
Standing there like so tragic heroine in business-casual, glaring at a perfectly innocent chanical object like it had personally wronged her.
I watched her in the reflection of my screen, her mouth pressed into a line, hands working with quiet fury. I could practically hear the sarcastic comntary brewing behind her eyes.
"Are you having trouble, Miss Miller?"
She jumped. Just a little. The way she always did when she forgot I was watching.
"Just... getting into the rhythm, Mr. Walton," she said, voice too bright to be sincere. She held the sharpener like it was an exhibit in a museum. "Quite the... vintage model."
I let the corner of my mouth twitch. Barely. "So find the manual touch more... authentic."
Her eyes practically said die in a fire but she just gave that sa saccharine nod. She didn’t realize how obvious she was.
I turned back to my screen before I said sothing I’d regret. Again.
But then—
My phone buzzed.
Caron.
I picked up the call without looking at Isabella. I already knew whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good.
Caron never called during work hours unless it was urgent.
"Adrien. You need to see this. Right now."
"It’s trending—front page on at least three gossip outlets. And it’s spreading fast.
They’re calling you ’the oblivious CEO.’"
"Yeah?"
"They’ve identified her. Everyone knows Isabella’s your girlfriend now and they think she’s cheating on you."
I stared blankly ahead, every sound in the room blurring into white noise.
"They have pictures," he continued, grim.
"From that night. The rain. The guy who you said found her."
He paused as if he was hesitating. "There’s a shot of him holding her while she’s crying. Another of him taking her into a hotel. Adrien, they’re spinning it like she’s having a public breakdown from the guilt of an affair. The captions are brutal."
I glanced to the side—Isabella, still hunched over the sharpener, lips pressed together in frustration, completely unaware.
"’Mysterious Woman Linked to Adrien Walton Seen in Emotional Embrace with Unknown Man.’"
"’tycoon CEO’s Girlfriend Caught in the Rain With Another Man.’"
"’Secret Romance or Scandal?’
The more he reads the headline the more my blood boils.
"It’s everywhere man. People think you’ve been duped."
God.
I did this to her.
She didn’t ask for this circus. I dragged her in.
My voice was low, calm, controlled: "Don’t move until I say so. I’ll be there in twenty."
I checked my watch. My brain was already moving at lightning speed, calculating the fastest route, the cleanest way to shut this down.
"Adrien, you should prepare a statent. Or—"
"Keep everything exactly where it is," I snapped. "I want a full update when I arrive."
I ended the call and exhaled once. Long.
I looked at her. Still struggling with the sa pencil. Still fuming over sothing that, compared to what was about to hit her, was so blissfully innocent.
I couldn’t tell her. Not yet.
She’d spiral. The dia would eat her alive. And I was the one who fed her to them.
So I straightened my cuffs, picked up my jacket, and slipped back into the only armor I knew—cold detachnt.
"Round it up," I said, turning to her. "You’re done for the day."
She froze, sharpener still in hand. "I—what?"
"I’m leaving. Personal business." I shrugged the jacket on. "Call my driver. Tell him to bring the car to the front."
She just stared, and I didn’t let my eyes linger too long.
"Now, Miss Miller."
I was already at the door when I paused, turning back just enough to look at her—neutral, unreadable. Just enough to keep suspicion from blooming.
"Lock up when you’re done."
And I left.
But the mont the door shut behind , the mask dropped.
The world had just set itself on fire.
And now—I had to decide who started it... and what I was going to burn down in return.
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