Deviant Love

19 - HER

[Chapter 19]

"We need to talk, Mr. Russo," my voice clipped, dripping with mock respect, my eyes glaring at him fiercely. Today, I wasn't going to back down.

The tenderness in his gaze, the way he regarded me as if I were the epicenter of his universe, sent waves of anger crashing through my veins. Each softened look felt like a betrayal, a reminder of a time when I allowed him into the core of my world.

With unwavering confidence, I walked towards him.

"Take my cabin back," I declared.

"And why is that?" he mused.

"Because someone else deserves it. I wish to move back to my cubicle, Mr. Russo," I saw his jaw tick when I addressed him.

"No," he refused, yet his voice was unexpectedly mellow. He could see it on my face—I was here to pick a fight, yet he treated me with an unusual gentleness.

The tension hung thick in the air as I maintained my steely gaze, refusing to let the façade of cordiality fool me. The seconds ticked by, the room seemingly shrinking with the weight of our unspoken words.

I could sense his reluctance, a silent acknowledgment of the turmoil brewing beneath the surface. A flicker of something, perhaps guilt or remorse, danced in his eyes. It fueled my determination to push him, to challenge the equilibrium he had established.

"Is this some newfound concern for my well-being, Mr. Russo?" I scoffed, a bitter edge to my words.

He sighed, and the sound resonated in the room—a mix of frustration and resignation. "You're making this unnecessarily difficult."

A wry smile played on my lips. "Difficult? Oh, I'm just getting started."

I could see the struggle within him, torn between the lingering affection and the apparent desire to maintain his authoritative front. It amused me, this internal conflict that threatened to unravel the carefully crafted image he projected.

It pleased me to see his face contort with guilt.

"You're not going back to the cubicle," he asserted, the gentleness in his tone now replaced with a hint of sternness.

I tilted my head. A rude challenge gleamed in my eyes. "And who gets to decide that?"

"You know I'm not heartless," he replied with a trace of exasperation in his voice.

I crossed my arms, unyielding. "Funny, Mr. Russo. Because heartless is exactly how I would describe this entire situation."

The room crackled with the palpable tension, the clash of wills reverberating like a distant storm on the horizon. It was a battle of egos, each refusing to concede ground.

He ran a hand through his hair, "I wish I could undo everything."

"Undo everything?" I scoffed again, the bitterness escalating. "Do you even comprehend the magnitude of 'everything,' Mr. Russo? Undoing seems to be your forte, after all."

His gaze hardened, a fleeting glimpse of the man who once held my heart—a man I now confronted with the shards of my shattered illusions.

"I don't need your charity just because I am your ex," I spat, a venomous retort lacing my words.

"Charity has nothing to do with it," he shot back, the sparks of our verbal duel igniting into a blazing exchange.

"Oh really? Then how are you going to explain when I go to HR and file a complaint against you, accusing you of promoting a woman for your selfish, perverted pleasures?" I sneered, my words laced with contempt.