Chapter 8- What is wrong?

Leonard's pov.

The city moved past the window in long, wet streaks.

I wasn't seeing any of it.

My eyes were fixed on the glass but my mind was somewhere else entirely, turning the same question over and over without arriving anywhere useful.

Liam never called me to his office without a reason. There was always a reason. There was always something I had done or failed to do or should have anticipated, and the fact that I couldn't identify what it was this time made the not knowing worse than the knowing would have been.

I kept my hands still in my lap and my expression neutral and told myself there was nothing to be nervous about.

"Why did you allow that boy to stay at the café, young master?"

Marcus’s voice broke the quiet. He was watching me through the rearview mirror, his hands tight on the steering wheel.

I kept my face completely blank. "I just didn't want to create a scene."

"If you want," Marcus said, his tone dropping into a low, protective cadence, "I can make sure he doesn't come back to that café anymore."

My gaze drifted back to the window, but I wasn't looking at the streets. Instead, I thought about the sketchbook. I remembered the way the boy’s fingers moved as he pointed at the pencil lines, and the bright look in his eyes when he talked about the rain and the dark sky. He had looked so happy just drawing a simple rainy afternoon.

Ever since my mother's death, I hadn't seen anyone enjoy art like that.

"You don't have to do that, Marcus," I said quietly.

Marcus hesitated. "But you like your privacy, sir. Are you really okay with that boy intruding on your space?"

"He seems to like the café just as much as I do," I replied, my voice dropping lower. "Just let him be."

Marcus stayed quiet and focused on driving.

A few minutes later, the car pulled up to the curb beneath the massive glass tower. The sign for 'Michaels Global Holdings' gleamed against the dark stone.

The door was opened for me, and I stepped out into the damp air, taking a deep breath to calm the shake in my hands before entering the building.

The elevator ride to the top floor was smooth and silent. I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting my suit jacket and straightening my tie.

Everything had to look perfect before the doors opened.

When the elevator chimed, Liam’s secretary was waiting. She gave a stiff nod and led me down the hallway toward the heavy mahogany doors. She knocked twice, and Liam’s voice called out from inside.

"Come in."

We stepped into the large office. Liam was sitting behind his desk, writing quickly on a stack of documents.

"I’ll bring tea for both of you," the secretary said quietly, stepping out and closing the door behind her.

Liam didn't look up right away. "You must be wondering why I called you here, Leonard," he said, his voice entirely casual.

I swallowed past the dryness in my throat, keeping my hands behind my back. "Yes."

Before Liam could say another word, the door swung open hard.

Father walked into the room, his face twisted in deep anger, holding a thick file in his hand. Liam stood up from his chair instantly.

Father’s sharp eyes snapped directly onto me and whatever controlled patience he had arrived with evaporated instantly. "It's great that you're here," he barked, his voice booming through the room.

He didn't waste a second. "Look at this logistics contract! You missed a massive tariff adjustment for the new maritime laws! You are the executive liaison for this entire group, Leonard! How could you make a mistake this stupid?"

Before I could even think, he threw the heavy file straight at my face.

The sharp edge of the papers cut across my cheek before the folder burst open. Documents and spreadsheets flew into the air, raining down all over my shoes.

"Go and fix your mess before it starts affecting my business!" he roared. He turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the heavy door behind him.

I stood completely frozen, my hands still pinned at my sides.

My cheek stung, a dull ache pulsing beneath the skin. I looked down at the white pages scattered all over the floor. My mind was blank. How could I have made such a mistake? How did I miss it?

Liam sat back down in his chair, lacing his fingers together as he stared at me. His face wasn't angry, it was completely cold and empty, which felt even worse.

"You're slipping, Leonard," Liam said softly, his voice cutting through the sudden ringing in my ears. "Father needs you to be perfect, but look at you. You let a simple contract break your focus. You’re becoming unreliable, Leonard. That’s the only thing Father notices." He pointed his chin toward the floor. "Go fix your mistake just like he said, and get yourself together."

I didn't say a word. I knelt down, my movements mechanical as I picked up the scattered sheets from the floor, stacking them back into a neat pile.

I stood up, held the files tightly against my side, and walked out.

The elevator ride down to my own office felt like it took hours. The air inside felt thin and suffocating.

The moment I stepped into my private office, I locked the door behind me.

I dropped the files onto the desk and leaned my back straight against the wall.

The silence of the room was suddenly deafening.

A loud, high-pitched ringing started in my ears, drowning out everything else. My father's shouting and Liam’s cold words just kept looping over and over in my head.

My breath came in short, jagged gasps. I reached up with trembling fingers, tearing at my tie and pulling the knot loose until I could breathe.

I unbuttoned the top of my shirt, my chest heaving as I tried to force air into my lungs, but the room felt like it had no oxygen left.

I ran both hands through my hair, gripping the dark strands tightly, trying to stop my mind from racing.

I leaned my head back against the cold wall and closed my eyes, desperately trying to find my calm mask again.

I dragged myself away from the wall and walked over to my desk.

I pulled out my chair and sat down, staring at the scattered white pages. I needed to focus. I couldn't let my father or Liam see me fail again.

I reached out and took a deep breath, trying to force my mind to stay blank.

My cheek was still throbbing, a dull ache spreading beneath the skin where the folder had struck me.

I used the dull pain to anchor myself, keeping my eyes fixed on the fine print as I began to read through the numbers.

My left hand moved slowly, tracing the lines of the contract, searching for the exact spot where the tariff adjustment had been missed.

I picked up my pen, pressing the tip against the paper to write down the corrected figures.

But before the ink could even touch the page, a sudden, heavy numbness crept down my forearm.

My fingers completely lost their grip, turning entirely weak and useless. The pen slipped right through my hand, clattering loudly against the polished wood of the desk.

I closed my eyes and let out a long, heavy sigh. I rested my palms flat against the desk, waiting for the strength to return, trying to draw in a deep, steadying breath. My body was still in shock from the shouting, my chest feeling tight and restricted.

After a moment, I picked the pen up again. I tried to squeeze it tighter this time, forcing my fingers to lock around the plastic. "You have to fix it." I told myself.

I managed to scratch out a single digit before that same emptiness washed over my wrist, leaving my hand completely powerless.

The pen slipped right out of my weak fingers again. It bounced off the edge of the desk, hit the hardwood floor, and rolled underneath a small side table.

I let out another breath, frustration building in my throat. I pushed my chair back and stood up, intending to walk over and retrieve it.

But the moment I put my full weight on my feet, a familiar numbness shot through my thighs. My legs completely gave out, turning weak and useless, exactly the way they had in my bedroom a few days ago.

The floor seemed to tilt beneath me. I stumbled forward blindly, my hands slapping hard against the edge of the desk to catch myself.

The heavy wood groaned under my weight as I hung there, my head bowed, my breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

The lock clicked, and the heavy office door burst open. Marcus rushed inside, his boots thudding against the floor as he took in the sight of me gripping the desk for support.

"Young master!" Marcus called out, his voice sharp with worry as he moved toward me. "Are you okay?"

I stared down at the dark wood of the desk, my heart hammering against my ribs. My skin felt cold, and my mind was spinning so fast I couldn't even form a sentence. I didn't know how to answer him.

What the hell was wrong with me?