Before he could react, she smashed the mug against his head.
He wailed, his hands patting frantically on the desk, trying to reach for something, anything. Alice was too late to notice he had pressed a button that sounded an alarm.
Alice released him, stepping back, chest heaving, her entire body vibrating with fury. Her blouse was rumpled and blood-streaked. There was blood on her, too. She didn’t care.
He stumbled back like a broken puppet, crashing to the floor. He landed hard on his spine, gasping like a fish on dry land.
He looked up at her. Not with rage.
His hands clutched his face, his nose a bloody, deformed mess. Coffee and blood dripped from his mouth and temple. He stared like she wasn’t human. Like she was something unnatural. A beast he thought he had tamed, and now couldn’t recognize.
Then, bang. Bang. Bang.
Knuckles on the door. Security, pounding. Trying to get in.
Locked. Just as he’d wanted.
She stood tall amid the wreckage. Breathing heavily. Blood on her face. Fire in her eyes. She looked at him.
"I thought you were talking. Go... on." Her voice broke. She couldn’t even speak. It was hard. So hard.
What kind of life has she led?
What kind of people had she met?
Nicholas recoiled like she was poisonous.
"You... animal..." he rasped, crawling back as far as the wall would let him.
More pounding at the door. Muffled shouting.
Of course they had a master key.
Two secretaries, the same women just outside the office, stood frozen in the doorway. Behind them, four security personnel. And last, an older man in a grey suit. All of them halted in stunned silence at the carnage inside.
The sight was not pleasant. At all.
One of the secretaries screamed in horror when her eyes fell on their Director of the month.
"That... that is her... call the police!" Nicholas rasped, pointing at Alice.
"Police?" Alice asks calmly. "Are you sure about that?"
He looked conflicted and his hand dropped instantly, eyes looking everywhere but at her.
The ’intruders’ looked shocked and confused. Like they were not sure what happened and if she... had done that to him. She looked small compared to him. They also looked like they could not understand why anyone would hurt their precious angel . Their Director. The only delightful man in this entire block.
One of the guards started toward her, but she turned sharply, eyes blazing, and snapped, "Fuck off!"
The man hesitated. Everyone did. Especially because Nicholas looked indecisive and not barking orders on what to do to her.
The room hung in shocked, indecisive silence.
Alice walked over, calmly, and picked up her bag from the floor where it had fallen at the beginning when he first attacked her and shoved her against the wall.
She dusted it off with casual grace. Her hands trembled just a little, but her face was steel.
As she head for the door, they parted to give her chance. Although one of the security men tried to stop her but when Nicholas shook his head, he stepped aside.
At the door, Alice turned once more, staring down at him.
Her voice was low, but it cut through the room like a blade.
"This isn’t over. I’m going to ruin you."
And then she was gone.
When she stepped out of the building, her knees buckled. The world tilted.
Her legs didn’t feel like hers. Her skin prickled, hypersensitive to the afternoon sun.
Her vision blurred. She couldn’t tell if it was from the tears, the leftover rage still storming through her veins, or both.
Her breath hitched. Her stomach twisted violently.
She stumbled to her car and barely managed to brace herself against it, fingers clawing at the door for balance. She leaned forward, trembling, her face pressed against the cold metal.
Her stomach heaved, but nothing came. No relief. Just dry, violent retching. Not even bile. Only the acidic burn of fury and shame coiling in the hollow under her ribs.
She hadn’t even realized she was crying until the tears blurred everything again.
A hand touched her back. Slow, soothing strokes.
The touch wasn’t rough. It wasn’t threatening. But it made every hair on her skin stand on end.
Her survival instincts flared and she reacted on muscle memory, twisting around with the key in her hand like a blade, only to have her wrist caught mid-air.
The grip wasn’t harsh, but firm. Strong. In ontrol.
Her wild, unfocused eyes locked onto a face.
And her breath stilled.
"D-Dawin?" Her voice broke, hoarse and frayed from everything she couldn’t yet name.
He stood there, unbothered. Watching her. That same stillness. That disturbing calm. Like a serpent watching from under the leaves.
"You’re shaking," he said softly. Like he wasn’t sure if it intrigued or bothered him.
She yanked her wrist free and backed up an inch, wiping her tears quickly, furiously.
"What... are you doing here?" she asked, voice sharp with panic, suspicion, and exhaustion. "Did you... follow me?" she asked with uncertainty but dread.
He didn’t answer. Not really. He just said, "You smell like blood."
Then, he took off his jacket in a swift motion and gently placed it around her shoulders like it was the most obvious thing to do.
She took it off immediately, shoving it back at him.
"I said... did you follow me?" Her voice cracked louder this time, urgent. Fear layered under the fury.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.
The word landed like a thunderclap.
She stared at him. Horrified.
His honesty... calm, deliberate... was worse than any excuse. Worse than a lie.
It felt like standing beside a sleeping predator that had just opened its eyes.
She took a step back.
He didn’t move at all. Instead, he asked, "Did you find her?"