Natalie Pov
The bastard.
The freaking cold-blooded, Machiavellian bastard with a villain complex.
I'm really starting to think that Alex's sole purpose in life is to turn mine into a 3D nightmare.
It's been two weeks since I became his assistant, and he's made every single day a rollercoaster ride—the kind where you come out of it puking your guts out and swearing like a sailor on crack.
If I'm a minute late, he makes me work an extra hour. If one single thing isn't done according to his snobbish requirements, he makes me redo it a thousand times and then throws it away like it's garbage.
I tried taking the high road. Tried to ignore his cold barks and harsh words. But it keeps getting worse.
Almost as if he wants me to snap.
As if he's waiting for me to call him names and get myself fired.
But no.
I can do this.
Or more like, I have to.
Laura has made this company barely bearable. We meet during lunch hour and gossip with David hovering around her, throwing snide remarks like confetti. Honestly, I think Laura's either blind to the fact David's in love with her… or she's pretending not to notice.
And I really miss the kids.
I had to appoint a nanny for them—Mrs. Pan—who cooks and stays with them until I come back from work. She comes early in the morning to prepare them for the day. I'm the one who's supposed to be doing all that. But with the ridiculous schedule Alex keeps shoving my way, I had no choice. And the worst part? They understand. They shouldn't have to.
They're always asleep when I get home.
This job pays well, but it's slowly stealing time from the only people who matter to me.
The last thing I need is Alex—or anyone from my past—getting involved in my life.
I left home for a reason. And I intend to keep it that way.
That is… if I don't end up killing my boss and being charged with second-degree murder.
I inhale a deep breath and carry the documents he demanded to his office. Knock, enter, deliver, escape.
He's on his laptop, typing rapidly, completely focused.
I try not to get ensnared by the view. The way his lean fingers glide over the keyboard, the dip of his brows, the quiet power of his body in that damn shirt with sleeves rolled up, showing off those veiny forearms.
I try not to ogle him.
I failed.
Most days, I fail spectacularly.
"Are you going to spit out what you're here for, or do you plan to stand there like a second-rate statue?"
His voice snaps me out of it. Thank God he's still focused on the screen—or he would've caught me drooling.
He finally looks up, eyes icy, like he wants to strangle me or throw me off the building. I don't know which.
"Are you sick, Ms. Brooks, or do you look like a dreadfully undercooked squid for sport?"
Breathe. Just breathe.
"I finished the draft," I say, setting the files on his desk with forced calm. "Proofread it, sent it to the paralegal, and scheduled a ten-minute meeting tomorrow before lunch. Your dry cleaning's been sent home, and I emailed you the HR summaries."
He flips through the pages while I talk, eyes scanning for something—probably a mistake to rip me apart over.
But he won't find any this time. Laura and I triple-checked the hell out of this.
"It's seven," I add quietly. "May I—"
"Are you waiting for an award, Ms. Brooks?"
I blink. "What?"
"You're either slower than a vintage train or you enjoy playing daft. Which is it? Do you want a pat on the back or a biscuit for doing your job?"
I bite down the snarky reply. "No, sir."
"Then what are you waiting here for?"
"C-can I go home?"
"Get the fuck out of my face."
I jolt at the sharpness. What the hell is wrong with him lately? He acts like my very existence is an offense.
I glare at him but leave, biting my tongue so I don't say something that'll get me fired. I have kids waiting.
On my way out, I call Aaron and tell him to get the ingredients for pasta out of the fridge.
He tries to sound cool, but I can hear the excitement in his little voice.
When I walk through the door, Mrs. Pan hugs me, tells me they've been angels, and leaves.
And then I hear it.
"Mum!"
Hayley and Zade come flying off the couch, arms wide, crashing into me with the force of tiny meteors. Aaron hugs my thighs, burying his face into me.
Their warmth. Their little hands were clutching me tight. This—this is the part that keeps me going.
"Miss you, Mum," Zade mumbles into my chest.
"Missed you too, baby," I whisper, hugging them tighter.
Aaron tilts his head up, his big eyes way too wise for his age. "You were late again."
"I know," I whisper. "I'm sorry."
He frowns. "Does that mean boss makes you stay again?"
I almost laughed. "Yeah. He's evil."
"He needs a spanking," Hayley says solemnly.
I actually choke out a laugh at that. "Oh, sweetheart. If only it were that easy."
They cling to me for a little longer. I swear I can feel their tiny heartbeats syncing with mine.
"I'm not a baby," Zade mutters into my dress.
"Yeah, whatever, tough guy." I ruffle his hair. "Did you guys take your medicine?"
They nod proudly.
"That's my babies. Want to help me cook?"
Their eyes light up instantly. "YES!"
I pull out the little minions and barbie doll I bought on my way home. "Look what I got you."
Aaron gasps dramatically. "Kevin!"
Hayley clutches her Barbie like it's treasure. "Mum… you got me a Barbie. I love her so much." Her voice trembles.
"Hey, hey," I cup her cheek gently. "No crying. We don't cry over Barbies… unless she breaks an arm."
She giggles through the tears. "Thank you, Mum."
They hold the toys like they're priceless gems.
Later, after changing, we pile into the kitchen. They're more chaos than help, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. Zade chops the salad—by basically massacring it—and Aaron narrates like it's a cooking show. Hayley spins around, pretending to be my little sous-chef.
They light a cheap Walmart candle for dinner—"a special occasion," Zade says proudly.
"What's the occasion?" I ask.
"You getting a job, duh," he deadpans.
My chest tightens.
"Even if it means I don't get to see you as much?"
Zade's smile falters just a little. "It's okay. We get it, Mum. You're doing this for us. We can handle it. We're not babies anymore."
That breaks me. I reach across and cup his cheek. "I wish I could be here more."
Hayley grabs my hand. "Don't cry, Mum. We're happy."
"I love you guys so much."
"We love you too!" They chorus.
My phone dings. I shouldn't check it. I know I shouldn't. But I do.
**Bloody Fool:** *Come to my flat. I need you to review a last-minute contract.*
No.
**Bloody Fool:** *And bring me something to eat from Caterina's.*
Me: *Excuse me, sir, but I'm off duty and spending personal time with my family.*
**Bloody Fool:** *I don't give a fuck about your personal time or your family. And you're not off duty unless I say so. Be here in thirty minutes or don't bother showing up tomorrow.*
I release a groan loud enough to make Aaron pause mid-bite.
"Your typing sounded like you were about to murder someone," he says.
"Not someone. Him."
Their smiles falter, and my heart cracks just a little more.
"Sorry, loves. Rain check on the movie?"
They fake their smiles so hard I want to scream.
I call Caterina's. No luck. The smug bastard will have to eat my pasta. He'll probably toss it, like he does with everything else that isn't perfect. But at least I get ten more minutes with them.
Ten precious minutes.
I hate leaving them like this.
I hate that he has this kind of power over me.
And I hate that part of me is terrified of what happens if I lose this job.
"Don't stay up late, okay?" I whisper.
"Yes mum". They replied
"Bring us something tomorrow," Aaron pipes up, already climbing onto the couch. "Like donuts. Or a puppy. But donuts first."
I laugh softly, brushing his hair. "A donut puppy. Got it."
Hayley grabs the hem of my dress. "Mummy?"
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
"Can we… eat breakfast together one day? Like before you go?" Her voice is so small, so soft, like she's trying not to hope too much.
The words punch the air right out of me.
I crouch down and cup her cheeks gently. "Of course, baby. I'll make pancakes. Strawberry ones."
Her eyes light up, and she throws her arms around my neck.
I force myself to smile as I straighten up, i
kiss each of their foreheads before heading out with the pasta I made. My chest aches as I close the door behind me.
But as soon as the door closes behind me, the smile cracks.
They deserve more than this.
I take a cab to Alex's building, hugging the warm pasta container to my chest like a shield.
This isn't the first time I've been to his penthouse. He gave me access on my first day so I could deliver his dry cleaning personally—because apparently a normal assistant just isn't enough for him.
But tonight feels… different.
The streets are quieter, the city humming like a tired heartbeat. And for some reason, the moment the cab pulls up in front of the sleek, glass building, my stomach twists into knots.
The concierge greets me warmly, pressing the elevator button like she always does. I try to return the smile, but it feels like my lips have forgotten how.
When the elevator doors open directly into his living area, I'm hit with the usual cold, sterile luxury. Black. Blue. Polished. Impersonal. The kind of place that looks expensive but doesn't feel like home.
It feels like him. Sharp edges and ice.
And then…
Giggling.
I pause mid-step, frowning.
Giggling?
For a brief, ridiculous second, my brain flashes to some nightmare scenario involving him hiding a child up here. Or a clown. But when I turn the corner, reality slaps me right across the face.
It's a woman.
No—two women.
Hanging on his arms like he's some prize to be won, both laughing too loud, too sweet, like they're auditioning for a part in his perfect little world.
And there he is.
Alex.
Leaning back against his marble counter like the devil in a suit, half-smirk on his face, sleeves rolled up.
The sight of him with them shouldn't sting this much. But it does. It burns.
Something ugly and hot coils low in my stomach. Not because I want to—God, no. But because I left my kids, my babies, to run across the city for this.
For a man who couldn't care less about anything except himself.
You know what? That's it.
I've had enough.
I step fully into the room, the sound of my heels echoing through the silence like gunshots. One of the women's laughter falters.
Alex looks up, his smirk shifting into that infuriatingly calm expression he always wears, like I'm the one who's interrupting him.*
"Ms. Brooks," he drawls, voice smooth like smoke. "You're late."
I clutch the container of pasta so tightly my knuckles turn white.
The green-eyed monster I've spent years burying claws its way out of my chest.
This. This is what he pulled me away from my kids for.
This is what I traded bedtime cuddles and warm pasta for.
My hands shake, but not from surprise.
From fury.
I think I've finally had enough.
"You said thirty minutes," I bite out. "It's been twenty-five."
"Twenty-five isn't thirty," he replies coolly.
I force a breath through my nose, willing my voice not to shake. "Next time, set a timer. Or better yet, call one of your—" I gesture vaguely at the women draped over him. "—fan club members. I'm sure they'd love to deliver food and contracts."
One of them stiffens. He just raises a brow.
And for a heartbeat, I almost lost it.
Because behind my anger and exhaustion, behind the walls I've built, there's this tiny, pathetic ache. The kind that whispers things like "You matter less to him than a stranger in heels."
I shove it down. Hard.
"You said you needed me for work," I say flatly. "Not for… whatever this is."
His lips twitch slightly—like I amuse him. Like my fury is a show.
I want to throw the pasta in his face.
But then I remember Zade's tiny crossed arms. Hayley's soft voice asking for pancakes. Aaron asking for donuts.
I can't lose this job.
So I don't throw the pasta.
I just handed it to him with a smile so sharp it could cut glass. "Here. Hope it chokes you."