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Chapter Nineteen.
The second the elevator car doors slide open. I exit, turning left, unsure of my destination. I notice a small sign directing me to the ladies room and I follow it.
The want to be free of his presence is intense.
The raunchy thoughts racing through my mind have no business being there, given I am here on a Castello-assigned mission. I've been in Aydem's company for the entirety of, what?
Five minutes.
And already I am hot and flustered.
I enter the ladies room, depositing my bag onto the opulent basin and turning on the cold water. I splash it all over my face in an attempt to chill my hot cheeks and restore their natural colour tone.
As I turn the tap off, I raise my eyes to the mirror, concentrating on my breathing and recalling the new Identity I've been given.
Clara, Clara Cross, is the name I've been given. My new nickname is C.C. I reside three blocks away in the newly constructed and furnished 'Harding and Jet' apartment
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My legs are trembling as I approach his office. I'm a nervous wreck, and the moment I feel my foot snag on the rug, I scream as I stumble three steps forward before collapsing on my face.I lay there wishing the ground would rip open and engulf me completely. To say I am overcome with embarrassment is an understatement and for the second time within an hour, Aydem Buraks expensive oxford dress shoes stand before me.He extends his hand, indicating that I should accept it, and I do. I make a conscious effort to ignore the warmth of his hand as it devours mine. And while he assists me in rising to my feet, I am unable to look him in the eyes as I express my gratitude."Thank you," I mumble in a whispering tone.I take my hand away from his, running it down the front of my black pencil skirt, and inspect my shoes to ensure that the heel hasn't snapped. It was merely a little fall, but where I am concerned. Anything is possible."Well
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I make a conscious effort not to fidget for the next hour as Aydem and the two gentlemen sitting next to him interrogate everyone that sits around the table. I love how one of the women gets up and talks confidently; I can not help but admire the apricot blouse she is wearing that matches the shade of her lipstick and blush. As she is bombarded with questions, she does not back down when she is confronted with the prospect of proving her thoughts viable. She handles herself well as she is put under duress, duress that is solely being encouraged by Aydem, who effortlessly dominates the room. "Excellent work, Tia," Aydem says and he gives her a small compliment as he begins to wrap things up. "I'm looking forward to reviewing the designs in person. What would entice you, Ms Cross, to purchase the shoe?" I blink, startled to see that everyone in the room is now looking at me. "Uh, excuse me?" I gulp as my cheeks flush. His gaze is piercing in its
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I can not stop myself from trembling uncontrollably. My entire body is paralysed with panic as I tremble frantically all over. My hands continue to shake incessantly, regardless of how much I wish for them to stop. They simply will not.My fingers round the huge butcher knife in my hand with increasing vigour. I have never grasped anything more tenaciously in my life than this object. I have the distinct impression that I am being possessed. I am compelled to grasp this knife, as my life is at stake.I'm numb; my entire body is devoid of sensation.My inner Goddess is screaming at me to drop the knife and flee. However, my body begs me to fall to my knees. To submit to the darkness in order to bow down and pay respects to the dark lord himself.I will not submit to her. I am not going to let my body betray me, and I shove the knife forth, slicing through the air.I watch as the scarlet red liquid splatters on the ground, and I am struck by its stun
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I enter the Burak Legacys Building with two minutes to spare. I stroll through the foyer to the bank of elevators in a fog of bad thoughts. Some days I feel like I'm punching under my body weight. Frequently, who or what remains debatable. I wait for the elevator car to descend to my level and for the doors to slide open. But, today I have a name and a face. Trent Esposito. This man drives me insane with agony. He causes my blood to boil as if it were lava coursing through my veins, and my heart to turn black, resembling a shrivelled up prune. I get inside the elevator car and punch the level eight button, watching as the doors slide shut. This morning's beautiful nightmare is still too raw. My tongue is stained with a metallic flavour. My ears still ring with the agonising sound of crushing bones, and the sensation of sinking into a black hole still caresses my senses. As I open my purse and take out a chocolate bar, I grumble
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I take my seat, despite the fact that a part of me wants to scold him for speaking to me in this manner. I mean, the word 'please' never really hurt anyone. He removes a portfolio from the top drawer of his desk. He stares at me with pride, his palms resting on top of the leather fabric. "I have something I would like to present to you." As he unzips the leather portfolio, he murmurs gently. "I need a clear set of eyes to analyse my design and tell me the truth." "I'm truly honoured, Mr Burak. However, I believe that my opinion will be irrelevant. Particularly with regards to your designs." I inform him apprehensively. He would soon realise that I have no sense of fashion whatsoever if he were to know that I dont pick out my weekly outfits. Castello chooses everything I wear. He has also gone through the trouble to name my clothing after the days of the week. He's done his best to try and dummy-proof everything for me. If I had it my w
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I walk out of Castello's office feeling utterly stupid. To be more specific, a failure. Castello's folder, which he gave me a few weeks ago, is still in my bottom drawer, hidden beneath my clothes. I thought it was a brilliant idea to approach this mission blindly. I was hesitant to study his file in the hopes of judging him based on the facts provided to me only. For some odd reason, I wanted to judge him objectively, based on my own experience. I am curious about what makes him tick, and the last thing I want is for him to question how I have gathered so much information about him.I mean, yeah. His backstory can be found on any search engine if one is truly committed to doing a deep dive and getting to know him better than he believes he does. However, as my mother always used to say. 'You can't believe everything you read.' I close the
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I reach halfway up the stairwell, praying like fuck that there will be no bloodshed tonight. If either of them gets their hands covered in blood.There will be an uproar within the family.And if Trent survives, it is a certain conclusion that he will also have my head. He will make it clear that I was the catalyst for their falling out. And that is not a possibility for me. Prior to Sandro's birth, I would have looked death in the eye like a lovestruck teenager.However, my greatest fear at the moment is dying, abandoning little Sandro. I want more for him; I do not want him to believe that being an Esposito family member is all he is capable of.Beyond these kingly-sized iron gates. There is a world full of wonderment and I want, no. I need him to work towards a future that will not tarnish his beautiful hands."Tesoro," (Treasure.)I come to a halt and turn around to see Ace at the bottom of the steps, holding Sandro in his arms. If
Hidden Secrets: A Screwed Up Love Story Chapter Twenty Seven.
"Hey, Akira." I stand at her desk after she buzzes me in. Today, she is wearing a maroon dress that ends just above her knees and hugs her figure, highlighting her womanly curves. "Good morning, C.C." Her cheeks are slightly flushed with a faint smile. "You're looking very professional today?" She arches a brow as her gaze sweeps over me. I tuck my loose curls behind my ears and stare down at myself. "A pair of black dress slacks and a white blouse is hardly professional." I chuckle. "It is more a case of playing it safe." I groan, wishing I possessed the confidence to dress up like the majority of the girls around here. "Is he in?" I enquire sceptically, hoping that I am not too late. "Nope, he is upstairs this morning, I believe." "Thank the Gods," I reply. "I'll catch up with you later." "I'll be here." She hums as the sound of her tapping away on her keyboard follows me down the corridor. I take a seat behind my des
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