Layla's POV
The car halted with a jerk. I knew we had arrived at Avitek Avenue. The huge mammoth of a building stood there, unabashed in cold concrete. Glass panes and a steel frame jutted out of its sleek architecture.
"I'll give you a moment to yourself, Layla. But I swear... if you don't come out in a minute, I'll be carrying you out myself," he said, flashing a warning loud and clear.
I nodded. He stepped out, blazer in one hand. Without a word.
I had come to terms with it. Do your job. Stay away from him. And all shall be fine.
"Mrs. Darren—" the old man began, and I realized how embarrassing all of this was.
He had seen Alphonso. Mr. Darren had. How could someone like him work for a man like that?
"I'm sorry. For all that," I said, apologizing.
"What for? I've known that lad for years now. He's had worse days. Things not fit to be spoken of in broad daylight," he said grimly.
My fear gnawed at the base of my neck, where he had bitten. Stinging. Scarring.
"You'll have to take my word when I say he's trying.
I don't know why he'd do that to you. He's never mistreated women. You shouldn't be the start," Cant added.
"Leave him to his own devices. He doesn't handle change well.
I've seen him bring girls around. I don't mean to pry, but he never struck me as the marrying type. And he isn't.
He's doing all of this for his grandmother. Bear with him. It might not seem like it, but you aren't the only one who feels stuck," he said with a sigh.
"That said, Mrs. Darren... I hope your life becomes easier, despite it all.
Have a pleasant first day at work," he said, crow's feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes. He was smiling. Not in an eerie way—just genuinely.
"Thank you, Mr. Cant," I said, and he immediately chuckled.
"Just Cant will do, Mrs. Darren," he chimed.
"In that case, please, and I insist... call me Layla," I added. I was nowhere close to being anyone's 'Mrs.', and this certainly wasn't a marriage. It was an agreement.
"Alright, Layla... have a good day," he said, offering a warm smile.
I quickly ran my fingers through my hair, unsure if I looked like a wreck or just someone reluctantly showing up. Either way, it felt passable.
At least I didn't have to go through an interview. Or charm the HR. If I could just keep my head down and get through this unscathed, it'd be enough.
The car door clicked open.
"Ready or not, here we go," Mr. Darren said as I stepped out.
I instinctively tried to put distance between us. The man was a certified nutjob—no doubt about that.
Would I rather go through all of this peacefully or make it worse for myself? The answer was obvious: no butting heads unless absolutely necessary.
"Our offices are on the eleventh through thirteenth floors. You'll be working in the Editors' Office.
Mrs. Barren will know where to place you," he added.
I didn't bother glancing at him. I couldn't tell if he was even looking at me. All I knew was that I'd be working. This was my first real job.
My freshman year had been hell. I worked three jobs just to cover tuition. A student loan wasn't an option—not for someone with my "humble" background. That year stripped away any rose-colored ideas I had about money or employment.
Working for A&D paid just enough to survive in a city like Crawford. If I saved carefully, I might just get by.
And then, there was the marriage. Even if Mr. Darren didn't pay for me, I'd earn enough to live on my own.
We walked through the revolving doors and into the foyer. I followed Mr. Darren to the elevator.
He punched a few buttons, and we waited in silence. The chains rattled, and with a sharp clang of the bell, the elevator doors slid open.
About half a dozen men and women stepped out, all dressed in sharp formals, their hands full with briefcases and takeaway coffee cups.
One of them stopped and grinned.
Before I could say anything, he extended a hand—not to me, but to Mr. Darren.
"Fancy seeing you here, Al. I heard great things about you this week. Something about a 'ceremonious union'? Though, knowing the kind of things you get up to, it might just be a rumor."
He bared his teeth in a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"No one in the Darren Empire marries for formality, after all."
For the first time since the car ride, I turned to look at Mr. Darren.
His face had gone pale, his glare sharp and unflinching.
It was then I noticed the resemblance between the two. Both had that brooding silhouette—tall, built, a presence that filled the space. But this man—Terry—smiled more freely, albeit menacingly. He had blond hair and piercing blue eyes, but their bone structure, their eyes… they shared something. Brothers? Cousins, maybe?
Still, something told me they weren't close. Mr. Darren slapped away the offered hand, his movements stiff with disdain.
"Cut it, Terry. It's too early for your bullshit," he muttered, stepping into the elevator.
Terry chuckled, clearly pleased with the discomfort he'd stirred.
I waited for him to move along, but instead, he turned toward me, eyes scanning, calculating.
"You look… familiar," he murmured.
A chill prickled down my spine. My fists clenched until my knuckles went white. I pretended not to hear him as he mumbled to himself.
"What are you waiting for, Miss Chen? We don't recruit slackers at AD Publications," Alphonso barked.
I jumped, startled.
Quickly, I stepped into the elevator, refusing to look back at the stranger. I stood next to Mr. Darren, still trying to gather myself.
Just before the doors shut, my eyes met Terry's.
His lips moved—but it wasn't a smile. It was more like a gasp, twisted and eerily slow, like he'd seen something… or someone.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Mr. Darren scowled, his voice sharp beside me.
I blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Were you flirting with him?" he asked, and I scoffed.
"Are you out of your fucking mind, Mr. Darren? Believe it or not, some of us don't readily jump on everyone we see around us," I said, turning away from him.
"Did he flirt with you, then?" he asked, his voice dropping into a peculiar tone. Weirdo.
"Nobody flirted with anyone. What's wrong with you?" He was so fucking annoying.
"I want to fuck you," his voice dropped an octave.
God. This man.
"Don't you think before you speak?" I scowled at him, putting as much distance between us as possible.
"Why should I? I don't care what you think about me. You're just dead weight," he argued.
"That you can't help but think about fucking," I snapped back.
"Oh, fuck that. Please. It's only because of that fucking asshole," he muttered.
For a moment, he didn't say anything. The air shifted uncomfortably between us. A low grunt escaped his lips.
"Are you alright?" I asked, and the next thing I knew, I was pushed to the back of the elevator as he leaned over me.
"Fuck it."
Our lips touched. Softly, at first. And then ferociously. He sucked on them, causing me to gasp. I couldn't breathe anymore.
I used all my strength to push him away. But it hardly made him budge. Whatever "spell" he was under had come to an end.
"God, you know you're such a fucking creep," I groaned.
"Keep using that mouth of yours, and I'll find another use for it," he threatened, and I watched him, wide-eyed.
"I don't care what you do, but you do know that 'that' was so inappropriate. People go to jail for that," I said, biting my lower lip.
The irony wasn't lost on me. He was a fucking criminal. Working with the government. He would never be brought to justice.
He let out a low grunt.
"Fine. I am sorry. I lost control there, for a second," he said, in barely above a whisper. Sorry? Did he just say sorry? There was no way someone like him would even know when to use the word, shall the need arise.
"That's not excuse—"
What was I supposed to say?
"I am not trying to give you one. I have things. Things I cannot see past. It makes me lose control. I apologized. I think it should be enough," he said, shifting uncomfortably.
Something about this man always seemed strange.
I spared a glance at him. My gaze followed his.
Sighs.
"What's your deal? I get it that people like you have seen more than what normal people do. But despite it all, why do you have to act so condescending and broody! I don't bite. And, I for sure don't want to get involved.
You keep thinking that I am always out to get you. Look at me! I am a pathetic woman, who was sold by her brother in exchange of his life... To a man who wants nothing to do with me. I am in a marriage I didn't even ask for.
I was probably so stressed about it that I had to take pills to forget all of it. Even though, I have never even had a drink. And we probably fucked because of it.
You know what? I am sorry too.
Because I am the last person you want to be stuck with in an elevator. And I don't think it's very different for me," my breath gave away.
Before I realised what had happened, my cheeks were already wet.
His eyes met mine. Something in them softened.
"We didn't fuck. I knocked you out," he said, with a hint of amusement. "You were so feral. It was a stupid idea to have a hash brownie. You passed out. The scars... On your back... Sorry about that," he said.
Ting.
The elevator's doors opened.
"That's our floor. Ah, Mrs. Barren..." His demeanor changed almost immediately. As if, he was a different person altogether. The softness was gone. His jaw clenched.
"That's the girl I was talking about," he said, pointing to me. "You can have her at the editor's office. Get her a desk," he said, before turning away.