Chapter 9

Zaria

“What the fuck are you doing with my sister??”

My voice slices through the hallway, sharper than I intend, but I don’t care. Samantha jerks back, stumbling a little as she wipes her lipstick-stained mouth with the back of her hand, pretending she wasn’t just grinding on Tristan like a shameless parasite. Has she forgotten about her man so fast? 

Tristan doesn’t say a word at first. He just stands there, his chest rising and falling calmly, eyes half-lidded as if he’s bored.

As if I’m the one being unreasonable.

His gaze drifts from Samantha’s flushed face to mine, slowly and deliberately like he’s savoring the chaos he just created. Samantha is the first to speak, her voice way too breathy.

“Z–Zaria… it’s not what it looks like,” she stammers, flipping her hair uselessly. “Tristan just…he just couldn’t help himself—”

Tristan lets out a low laugh. Cold and Mocking. It echoes in the hallway like a slap.

“Couldn’t help myself?” he repeats lazily. “Samantha, don’t embarrass yourself.”

Her face falls instantly. She looks like she might cry, which only makes the scene more nauseating. Then he turns his full attention on me and everything inside me tightens. 

“You look upset, Spitfire,” he drawls quietly. “Why? Didn’t realize your sister still had a thing for me? Or…” His eyes slowly flick down my body, watching me with a razor-sharp gaze. “Did you want to be the one pressing me against the wall?”

My stomach flips, whether it's from anger or something else, I don’t know.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I snap.

His lips curve into a small, cruel smirk. The kind that tells me he’s enjoying every second of this.

“Relax,” Tristan says softly. “If I wanted her, I would’ve taken her already.” He flicks his gaze toward Samantha, who looks happy at first before her face falls when he utters the next words. “But I don’t want leftovers.”

Samantha flinches, cheeks flushing red in humiliation. God. This is a disaster. 

I open my mouth, about to tell Tristan exactly where he can shove his arrogance, but he steps closer, casually and unbothered, towering over me. I have to force myself not to take a step back.

“But you…” His voice drops a notch. “You’re the one I came here for.”

The words shouldn’t mean anything.

They shouldn’t make my pulse race.

They shouldn’t make Samantha glare daggers at me as if I’m somewhow controlling him to say these stupid words.

But they do. And Tristan knows it.

“Be ready by 8AM, Zaria,” he says, his tone snapping back to cold and commanding. “Wear something professional. And try not to slap me again. I won’t let you off twice for such an offense.”

Then he walks away without waiting for a response. Leaving Sam humiliated.

Leaving me breathless. Leaving everything a mess.

And tomorrow morning, I have to face him again. God, why has my life suddenly turned to this?

“You slapped him? Are you insane?!” Sam yells at me after he’s long gone. I turn to her with a glare. 

“Yes I did. He insulted me. And I genuinely think it can’t be worse than what you just did. How do you think Richard will feel?” 

“Oh please! Stop trying to make everything about you. We both know I’m the only one that can stop this madness so why don’t you just back off and stop making everything worse!” 

Before I can respond, Sam walks away angrily. I let out an exhausted breath. I need to sleep and forget about this day. It’s too much for me.

…..

It’s late at night and I’m finally in the soft comforts of my room, but I barely get any sleep. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is Tristan King’s face.

The way he choked me in his office…

The way he whispered in my ear…

The way he licked my tears…

Oh God. I groan into my pillow.

I’m supposed to hate him. I actually do hate him. So why did my body betray me like that?

Because you’re an idiot, Zaria. That’s why.

By the time I finally drift into a restless sleep, it’s already dawn. So of course I wake up late. Very late. The moment my alarm goes off,  I shoot up from bed, panic slamming into me.

“Shit—shit!”

I throw open my wardrobe and grab the first blazer and trousers I see. My hands tremble as I try to iron them, so I give up halfway when I burn the sleeve.

Perfect. Just great.

I yank my curly mess of hair into a low bun. not neat, not styled, just…contained. Exactly how my life currently feels.

At least Sam isn’t here to judge me. She didn’t come home last night by the way.

All she sent was a text message saying she was staying at Rich’s and I shouldn’t wait up. I asked if she’s okay, she read my text but didn’t reply. That hurts more than I expected.

A lot of things hurt more than I expect these days.

By the time my Uber drops me at the company, my stomach is tied in knots. Everything looks familiar yet foreign, like someone rearranged the world while I slept.

As I enter through the main glass doors, someone calls my name.

“Zaria?”

I look up and spot Jack. My father’s former operations manager. He’s older and friendly, one of the few people who was always genuinely kind to me.

“Jack…hi,” I breathe out.

He walks up to me quickly, concern etched on his face. “I heard what happened to your father. How is he holding up?”

My chest tightens. “He… woke up yesterday. He’s weak, but stable.”

“That’s good.” Jack nods and then his voice softens. “I’m sorry you’re going through all this, kid. Your father wasn’t always easy to work with, but this…losing everything overnight, no one deserves that.”

Something in my throat stings. Before I can respond, Jack gently pulls me into a hug. It’s warm. Familiar. Something I didn’t realize I desperately needed. I gladly hug him back.

“Stay strong, Zaria,” he murmurs. “And… good luck with the new guy.”

I pull back, blinking. “New guy?”

Jack chuckles with a short shake of his head. “Everyone’s talking about him. The staff say he’s… intense.”

Intense is probably the understatement of the century.

“Just… watch your back,” Jack adds before walking away. 

I continue to walk into the building, my heartbeat thundering louder the closer I get to Tristan’s office. The atmosphere feels different. As if the walls themselves know who’s in charge now.

When I reach the executive floor, Tristan’s secretary, a pretty and elegant woman with smooth dark skin named Naya looks up from her desk.

“Miss Buckley.” She smiles politely. “Mr. King is expecting you. You can go right in.”

Just like that. No warm-up. No pause. 

Straight to hell. I swallow hard, grip my bag tighter, and walk to the door.

My hand hovers over the handle for a beat too long because I know the moment I step inside, nothing will ever feel normal again. After a few seconds, I push it open.

Tristan is behind his desk, leaning back in his chair like the king he clearly believes he is. Sunlight pours through the tall windows behind him, lighting up the sharp lines of his face, the strong set of his shoulders. He doesn’t look up immediately.

But when he does… God.

That tension from yesterday slams back into me like a physical force. His grey eyes sweep over me slowly, starting at my messy hair, lingering on my wrinkled blazer, dropping all the way down to my shoes.

He doesn’t blink. Not once.

I suddenly wish I’d stayed in bed forever.

“Good morning,” I say, trying to sound collected. My voice cracks anyway.

He raises a brow.

“Does your voice always sound like that in the morning,” he drawls, “or is it just for me?”

My cheeks heat instantly. “I—I woke up late.”

“Clearly.”

He closes a file with deliberate slowness, then folds his hands on the desk, eyes locked on me like I’m something he plans to dissect piece by piece.

“Tell me,” he begins calmly, “do you make it a habit to flirt with coworkers on your first day?”

I blink. “What?”

His lips curve into a small, lethal smirk.

“Judging by how you walked in just now,” he continues, “you seem out of breath, blushy… messy. I thought maybe you were entertaining someone before you got here.”

My jaw drops. Is this bastard serious?

“I wasn’t— That’s not— What are you talking about? I don’t flirt with coworkers! Jack is just a friend and we were only catching up.”

“Really?” he asks softly. “You sure about that?”

“Yes!”

He hums, unconvinced. “Interesting. Because your sister was very eager to… catch up with me yesterday.” His cold eyes glitter. “Maybe it runs in the family.”

My blood boils. “Don’t you dare talk about my family.”

He leans forward, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“Then don’t walk into my office looking like you rolled out of someone else’s bed.”

My heart stutters.

Oh, now I understand that he’s doing this intentionally. Humiliating and taunting me.

And it’s working.

Before I can speak, he lifts a folder and drops it in front of me. “Your tasks for today, Spitfire. Try not to disappoint me before lunch.” And why does he call me spitfire?? 

My insides are boiling as I grit my teeth in frustration, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I flash him a fake sweet smile before turning on my heels with my chin held high and proudly walk out of his office, feeling his heated gaze burn through my back. 

***