Chapter 9

We walked through the crowded club, bodies pressed against one another in wild rhythm, the air thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and perfume. The music pounded loud and heavy, each beat threatening to rupture my eardrums. I had no idea where we were headed—I simply followed behind him, lost in the chaos.

After what happened back at Miller’s residence, Justin abruptly decided there would be no more work for us tonight. Without a word of explanation, he dragged me out and brought me to this godforsaken place.

A club.

A dizzying mess of lights, sounds, and people.

I couldn’t help but wonder—Does he always come here to drink? Smoke? Hook up with women? The questions chased each other around in my mind like bees, stinging at every turn. But I forced myself to push them away. Now wasn’t the time. I focused on one thing only: keeping up with him and not getting lost in the flood of bodies.

I glanced at him briefly. His face was unreadable, but behind the stoic mask, I could see it—he looked lost. Not in direction, but in purpose. He looked betrayed, and most of all, broken.

And that shattered something inside me.

I didn’t know this man. It was my first day working with him, and yet...why did my chest ache like this? Why did I feel so sad for someone I had just met?

It didn’t make sense.

But what I’d done—how I contributed to this pain—it echoed like a hard slap across my face. A brutal reminder of my foolishness, of how I let pride and anger dictate my actions. If only I had handled things differently. If only I hadn’t been so reactive. Maybe none of this would’ve happened.

Finally, we made it past the dancing throng and reached the VIP section. There, a luxurious sofa sat tucked into the shadows. I couldn’t quite make out its color under the strobe lights, but I could tell just by looking at it—it was expensive. Probably the kind only elite guests were allowed to sit on.

Justin slumped down onto the sofa, his posture weary, drained. A waiter appeared almost instantly, moving with trained precision and exaggerated politeness.

“Welcome, sir. What should I offer you?” the waiter asked, voice crisp, his hands folded neatly in front of him.

Justin didn’t even look up. “The usual,” he muttered.

With that, the waiter scurried off, leaving us alone again.

I remained standing, unsure of what to do with myself. I didn’t dare sit—not unless he told me to. My feet ached, and my heart was pounding against my chest, a steady drum of guilt. I felt it twisting inside me, tightening with every second that passed in silence.

He glanced up at me and caught me standing there stiffly. My body instantly tensed, bracing.

“We’re not in the office,” he said, his voice softer now, less stern. “You can sit.”

He leaned back fully on the sofa, resting his head, finally letting go of his tension. It was only then that I dared to breathe. I lowered myself slowly onto the edge of the seat, careful not to appear too relaxed.

Soon, the waiter returned with a bottle of wine—rich and obviously high-end—and two glasses. He poured the wine with practiced grace, then placed the bottle on the nearby table.

Watching how swiftly and respectfully he was served, it became clear—Justin was no stranger here. He had a presence, a status that demanded attention. It made me wonder, again—Does he often come here when things go wrong? Is this his place of escape?

Does he always drink away his pain?

The curiosity tugged at me. Something inside me, maybe foolish, maybe kind, wanted to help him. But how could I? I could barely help myself.

He picked up his glass and downed the wine in one go. Then another. And another. By the fourth glass, his eyes were darker, heavier.

I said nothing. I simply watched. That was all I could do.

Then, he turned toward me. Our eyes met, and my body reacted before my mind did—I shivered, instinctively biting the inside of my lip.

“What? Why are you not drinking?” he asked, raising a brow.

“I… You didn’t tell me to,” I replied, stuttering, the words catching in my throat.

He exhaled, a long, weary sigh. “I’m not that heartless not to offer you a drink. You can drink.”

He lifted his glass again and took another gulp.

My fingers trembled as I reached for the untouched glass. I brought it to my lips and took a small sip, silently stealing glances at him from the corner of my eye.

Then, just as I started to lower the glass, he muttered something.

“Even though you put me in this mess of a situation.”

I froze mid-sip, choking on the wine as it slid down the wrong pipe. I coughed violently, tears springing to my eyes, and heat rising to my cheeks.

His gaze never left me.

He’d said it.

He knew.

And from the way he looked at me—sharp and piercing—I knew it wasn’t a guess. It was certainty.

How the hell did he know?

Had Arian told him that I was the one who took the photos and sent her his location? Did he see me sneaking the pictures himself?

“Don’t die on that wine,” he said casually. “I don’t wish to be accused of poisoning you.”

He turned his attention back to his glass, pouring himself another drink like nothing had happened.

But for me, everything had.

I didn’t know what to say or do. My chest was heavy, like a stone had been placed right over my heart. The guilt was drowning me. And what broke me even more was that he knew… and yet he hadn’t lashed out or punished me.

He was still sitting there, still treating me like a human being.

I never imagined things would turn out this bad. If I had, I swear, I never would’ve done it. I understand what it means to lower one's pride and apologize—especially when forced to. But this… this was deeper.

He looked at me again, his eyes unreadable, but his words were sharp and sure.

“Those pictures… they could’ve only come from you. After all, she hired you purposely to make sure I wasn’t cheating. It’s only natural that she’d instruct you to keep an eye on me and report to her.” He leaned back further. “And this situation… wasn’t any different.”

I broke.

Tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them, though I tried. My throat closed up, and I couldn’t breathe properly. He laid it all bare, as if he had been there the entire time we were plotting.

“I—I didn’t mean to do it,” I choked out, my voice trembling. “I was angry… when you yelled at me, even though I wasn’t at fault. And how harsh you’ve been to me since I started working…”

The words tumbled from my lips, ragged and honest.

“I thought maybe… this was the best way I could get my revenge.”

The tears came faster now, hot and unrelenting.

I felt awful. So awful. I could never have imagined I’d end up hurting someone like this.

Justin glanced at me, and for a split second, I saw it—his pain. A deep, private kind of pain. The kind that didn’t scream, but sat there quietly, weighing everything down.

“I should be angry at you,” he said after a pause. “And fire you for putting me through this.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, heart pounding against my ribs. This was it. The end. I braced myself for the blow, fully ready to accept it. I deserved it.

“But strangely… I’m not.”

My eyes flew open, stunned. I met his gaze, and for a few seconds, neither of us looked away.

“What you did today taught me a great lesson,” he said finally. “I shouldn’t have poured my anger on you. You weren’t the one who offended me.”

His voice was calm now. Soft. Almost… apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” he added, “for talking to you so rudely. So harshly. I was over the edge… and the fall was inevitable.”

My heart broke into a million pieces. I could hardly believe it—after everything, he was still willing to apologize. To forgive me. Maybe… just maybe… he wasn’t the man I thought he was. Maybe he wasn’t rude—maybe he was just misunderstood. Shaped by circumstance.

“Sir…” I began, my voice quivering.

He held up a hand.

“Justin,” he corrected gently. “Call me Justin when we’re outside the company.”

I nodded slowly, wiping the tears from my cheeks, trying to steady my breathing.

For a while, neither of us spoke. He poured himself another drink—was it the fifth or sixth glass? I’d lost count. I just sat there, watching him quietly.

Then he broke the silence.

“I tried, you know… to be the perfect son. To please them. But they never see me.”

He took another sip, this one slower.

“All they care about is me marrying her… because her father has money. Because he has better deals to offer us.”

He coughed hard after gulping down the wine. I jolted forward instinctively, stretching out my hand to reach him—but I stopped myself mid-air.

I’m only his PA.

The thought came crashing down. I lowered my hand quickly and placed it on my lap, clenched tightly.

Boundaries.

I needed to remember them.

And maybe it was for the best. My secret would remain mine.

“How can they not see how much I’ve invested in this?” he continued bitterly. “The bigger deal that’s waiting for us? All they want is for me to marry her…”

His voice cracked.

“I don’t love her. I never did. When will they learn to stop caring about money… and start caring about my happiness?”

He broke down.

Right there in front of me.

And all I could do was sit… and watch… as the man I barely knew exposed the wounds he’d been carrying far too long.