Chapter 12: Chapter 11 Nowhere to Hide
The war began at exactly 3:45 AM.
My phone vibrated so hard against my nightstand it nearly took a dive onto the floor. I snatched it before the buzzing could wake Anastelle, my eyes watering as I blinked at the screen.
Flight pushed forward. Malpensa Airport. 4:30 AM. Bring the Q3 logistics brief.
No please. No good morning. Just a slap in the face.
"What the fuck," I whispered into the dark room, dragging myself out of bed. I had slept for exactly two hours. My body felt like it had been run over by a semi-truck, and my mind was still reeling from yesterday’s disastrous confrontation. Care to tell me what my family did to make you hate us so much? I hadn’t answered him. I had just grabbed my bag and bolted out of his office like my pants were on fire. Now, the bastard was punishing me for it.
Giulia rolled over on the couch and squinted at me.
"Tell me that’s not your psycho billionaire."
I held up the phone.
She groaned.
"One day, I’m going to key his car."
"He probably has people who polish his car with diamonds."
"Fine. Then I’m keying him."
Forty-five minutes later, I was sprinting through the terminal at Malpensa, clutching a folder, my hair tossed in a bun that was barely holding together. I found Laziel standing near the security exit. He looked disgusting—not because he looked bad, but because he looked too good for four in the morning.
"You’re late, Miss Brenner," he said, not even looking up from his tablet as I slid to a halt in front of him, chest heaving.
"The text came forty-five minutes ago, Mr. Monroe," I panted, throwing the Q3 brief onto the tablet screen. "Unless you bought me a teleportation device with those Winx Club dolls, I moved at peak human capacity."
Laziel’s pen paused. He slowly lifted his head, his dark blue eyes tracking the messy strands of hair falling around my face, before finally resting on the dark circles under my eyes.
"You look exhausted."
"Sir, you caused it," slipped out of my mouth before I could censor myself.
A tiny, almost imperceptible twitch hit the corner of his mouth. "Acceptable. Get in the car. We have eighty-seven pages of maritime luxury transport data to review before the board meeting at eight."
"Eighty-seven pages? In three hours?"
"Then I suggest you start reading," he said smoothly, turning on his heel.
By noon, I was convinced Laziel Monroe woke up every morning and asked himself how to become a human human-rights violation.
Every time I finished a task, he moved the goalposts. I finished the maritime data; he threw a weekend scheduling conflict at me. I cleared his afternoon calendar; he demanded a full layout of the New York merger files.
I finally managed to sit down at my desk at 1:30 PM, my stomach growling. I had just unwrapped a sad, slightly squished ham and cheese sandwich when my desk line flashed red.
"In here," his voice barked through the speaker.
I grabbed my sandwich and walked into his office. "Yes, Mr. Monroe?"
Laziel looked up, his eyes immediately dropping to the plastic-wrapped lunch in my hands. He didn’t say a word about it. Instead, he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a folder.
"The marketing sheets are moving too slowly," he said flatly. "As of today, your desk is being relocated inside this room. Communication delays reduce efficiency."
I stared at him, completely horrified. "Inside your office? Mr. Monroe, there is literally a glass wall right there. I am five feet away from you."
"And yet, you still manage to hide behind it," he murmured, leaning back.
He was trapping me. If my desk was inside his room, I couldn’t check my phone privately. I couldn’t get a call from Anastelle’s preschool without him hearing every word. I couldn’t even panic in peace. He wanted to watch my every reaction like a scientist studying a rat in a maze.
"I prefer my space," I said, "It helps me focus."
"I don’t care about your preferences, Brenner. Move the files before lunch is over." He glanced back down at his tablet, casually adding, "Oh, and by the way, New York called. The Manhattan division is sending over their luxury couture guest list for Saturday. My brother, Helix is personally overseeing the transport safety."
The word Helix hit me.
I froze, my fingers digging hard into the innocent sandwich. My mind instantly scrambled—Did he notice? Did my face give it away?
"Is there a problem, Miss Brenner?" he asked. "You seem to have a recurring allergy to the Manhattan office."
"No," I choked out, "No problem at all."
"Good. Because if you’re going to survive the weekend, you need to learn how to breathe through your panic." He reached down and tossed a white envelope on top of the desk. "The finalized guest list for the gala. Review it. Print the security badges."
I dragged my new desk into the corner of his office, feeling his suffocating gaze on me with every single step. It was pure torture. Every time I moved a pen, clicked a mouse, or cleared my throat, I could feel him tracking it.
But the real horror happened twenty minutes later when I opened the white envelope.
My eyes scanned down the column of VIP attendees, halfway down the page, I almost fainted.
HELIX MONROE — MANAGING DIRECTOR, NY LUXURY TRANSPORT.
He was coming, he was going to be in the exact same room, breathing the same air. If a single photographer caught a picture of me standing by Laziel’s side while Helix walked in, the puzzle pieces would align themselves.
"You’re staring at the paper like it’s a death warrant," Laziel’s voice cut through the quiet room.
I looked up, my hands shaking so badly the paper rustled. "Mr. Monroe, I told you... I cannot attend this gala. I don’t have anyone to watch Anastelle. Giulia’s shift was extended."
Laziel sighed, looking irritated. He stood up from his desk as he walked over to the small office fridge in the corner. He opened it, reached inside, and pulled out a small carton of strawberry-flavored milk and a bag of apple slices—the exact brand and flavor Anastelle obsessed over.
He set them flat on my new desk, right next to my dying sandwich.
"The office lounge has a private, secured nursery suite upstairs for executive board members," Laziel muttered, "I’ve already had it cleared for her. She will have her cartoons, her snacks, and a personal security guard outside the door. You will be ten floors below her, doing your job."
I stared at the strawberry milk, my blood turning cold. How did he know? I had never mentioned her favorite flavor. I had never told him what snacks she liked. He had looked into our lives so deeply he was curating my four-year-old’s grocery list.
"Why are you doing this?" I whispered, looking up at him, my eyes wide with a mixture of terror and defiance. "Do you wake up every morning and ask yourself how to become a bigger problem in my life?"
Laziel stopped.
He stood right beside my desk, looking down at me. For a second, the monster completely vanished.
And then, he laughed.
The sound was so completely unexpected, so incredibly attractive that it made my heart do a stupid flutter.
Through the clear glass wall outside, two passing workers froze in their tracks, their jaws dropping as if they had just witnessed a dinosaur walk through the lobby. Nobody in this building had ever heard Laziel Monroe laugh.
"You have a very loud mouth, Miss Brenner," He leaned down slightly, bringing his face close enough that I could smell the intoxicating scent of his cologne. "I am not your problem. I am your boss. And on Saturday night, you will wear the black dress, you will bring your daughter, and you will stand by my side."
He straightened up, walking back toward his desk without giving me a single chance to argue.
"You’d be surprised what people reveal when they think nobody is listening, Miss Brenner."
W..what does he mean?
