CHAPTER 8

HAZEL

"I am sorry, sir, I…"

He raised his hand and cut me off before I could finish the sentence.

The teeth click followed immediately. I had been around this man long enough now to know exactly what that combination meant.

"You must have some nerve," he said, "to lay your stupid self on my bed. You're fired. I cannot work with a mannerless child."

Fired, so this was it.

All of this, the fake robbery, the job application, the five days of enduring this man's moods and cold silences and unreasonable eleven pm laptop emergencies, all of it ending right here in a Gold Coast hotel room because I fell asleep on his bed while finishing his spreadsheet.

One, two, three.

I counted slowly inside my chest, the way Betty taught me back when my temper used to get me into rooms I couldn't get out of easily.

Keep counting, Hazel. Don't explode. You cannot afford to go back to prison over a billionaire's ego.

He is an asshole, just like his son. The apple really did not fall far from that particular tree.

"What are you still doing?" His voice went up a notch. "Get up and leave. Now."

Oh, Elvis. You are genuinely testing the last nerve I have left.

My eyes drifted to his wrist, and the only thing on my mind was twisting it so hard.

I stood up slowly, keeping my face completely neutral, picked up my laptop, and turned toward the door.

"You… are you stained?"

I stopped.

"Is that... time of the month?"

I stood very still with my back to him and did a rapid calculation on my fingers.

How on earth did I forget.

This period of mine dared to arrive every single time without a single warning sign, no cramps beforehand, no bloating, no mood swings, nothing.

Today of all days. I closed my eyes briefly.

Okay. I could work with this.

"Any cramps?" he said.

And just like that, his entire voice changed. The anger was completely gone, replaced with calmness.

Cramps and I had never once been properly acquainted. My period arrived silently and left silently, and caused me zero drama in between. But he did not need to know that.

I placed one hand on my lower stomach. Reached for the chair beside me with the other. Turned around slowly, letting my face do the work.

"I am so sorry, sir. I didn't mean to lie on your bed or stain it." I let my voice go a little tight, the way it would if something was genuinely hurting.

"My pelvic region is on fire right now. Very heavy cramps."

"It's fine," he said. "Come and sit."

I blinked.

He stepped forward, and before I had fully processed what was happening, he was helping me back to the bed and sitting me down gently, completely unbothered by the stain.

He shrugged off his jacket.

"Here." He held it out to me. "Tie it around your waist for the walk back. Go and shower. I will send someone to get you pads and medication." He paused. "Can you walk alone?"

I can run a full mile right now without breaking a sweat.

"Thank you, sir. I can manage."

I tied his jacket around my waist, covering the stain, and made sure I was leaning just enough on the doorframe as I left.

"Call me if you need anything, sir."

"No, just sleep." He exhaled slowly. "And I apologise for raising my voice earlier. I didn't realise you were dealing with cramps. Get enough rest."

I nodded without turning around and walked out.

The moment his door clicked shut behind me, and I stepped into the empty corridor, I did a full 360-degree victory jump inside my head.

My job was still mine.

Back in my room, I showered properly and changed, grateful as always for my personal policy of keeping sanitary pads in every bag I owned.

I had barely finished getting dressed when the sharp electronic chime of my door rang through the room.

I opened it.

A hotel staff member stood there holding a box.

"Good day, ma. Mr. Elvis sent this."

"Oh." I took it. "Thank you."

I closed the door and sat on the edge of the bed, opening the box slowly.

Sanitary pads, tampons, two types of pain relief, a small heating pad still in its packaging, and chocolates.

I stared at the contents for a long moment.

Nobody had ever done this for me. Not Jarvis, not in four years of being his girlfriend and then his fiancée.

A smile spread across my face before I could stop it.

"Thank you, Elvis," I whispered, even though he was one floor below me and couldn't hear a word.

#########

Day seven morning arrived

We walked through the hotel corridor toward the meeting together, and Elvis glanced over at me for what had to be the fifth time since we left his room.

"Are you sure you are okay? I can handle this one alone."

I genuinely wanted to tap his head.

"I am perfectly fine, sir." I kept walking. "And thank you again for the box you sent. It really helped."

He nodded and said nothing else.

The conference room was already set up when we arrived, a long table with suited people on both sides. We took our seats, and things moved quickly.

It was tech-related. An app pitch from the team across the table, led by a broad-shouldered man named Mike, who spoke with so much confidence.

"Our team developed this app," Mike said, sliding his presentation forward. "A blueprint application designed to solve the primary access issues our end users are currently facing."

I typed the app name into my phone quietly while he was still talking.

I found it in under a minute.

And what I found made me sit up slowly in my chair.

The security architecture was a disaster. Any developer who knew what they were doing could walk straight through the cracks and pull private user data without breaking a sweat.

It looked like something built entirely under deadline pressure, with no one stopping to ask whether it was actually safe.

"This won't work."

I said it out loud before I had fully decided to.

The room went flat.

Every head turned toward me. I sat up straighter and kept going.

"The app has serious security issues. It can be hacked easily. It almost looks like the developers were in a rush to finish it."

"I beg your pardon." Mike's voice came across the table

"What exactly do you know about developing an app? Stick to doing your job as an assistant."

"She is a software developer." Elvis's voice came next.

"Not just my assistant. If Hazel says there is a problem with the app, perhaps we should take a look."

"Fine. Let her prove it. And if she is blabbing," he glanced at Elvis, "get her fired."

"Alright," I said simply. "I will do just that."

I didn't miss the grin on Mike’s face as he leaned back in his chair.

Let's see who gets the last laugh.