BLACKMAILED BY THE BILLIONAIRE

Chapter 24: The Morning After-Slut

The next morning, a Monday, found me wrestling with a knot of apprehension. It had been since Saturday night that I last saw or spoke to Harry, and today, he was supposed to pick me up for our usual carpool to work. As I got ready, the nervous energy was palpable, leaving me to wonder about the impending awkwardness of our encounter.

Once dressed for work, I received a text from Harry stating he was outside. Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I walked out of my apartment building to find him leaning against his car. The moment he saw me, he pushed off from the car and opened the passenger door, offering a "Good morning" that carried a mix of nervousness, discomfort, and a shadow of guilt across his face.

I greeted him back and slid into the car, the atmosphere immediately thick with unspoken words and tension. Throughout the ride, silence enveloped us, save for the low hum of the engine and the occasional shift of gears. I couldn't help but notice Harry's hands gripping the steering wheel with undue force, his glances fleeting to me through the rearview mirror, yet he seemed unable to face me directly, as if fearing the confrontation of my gaze.

The elevator ride to our floor was engulfed in silence, a thick veil that neither Harry nor I dared to lift. The air was heavy, charged with the weight of unspoken thoughts and lingering tension from Saturday night. As the numbers on the elevator panel ascended, so did the palpable discomfort between us.

Finally, as the doors slid open, Harry was the first to break the silence, albeit awkwardly. "Uh, I've got to... check on that report first thing," he muttered, not quite meeting my eyes.

I nodded, seizing the opportunity to escape the stifling atmosphere. "Yeah, and I need to, um, respond to some emails that came in over the weekend," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

We stepped out of the elevator, our movements hurried yet hesitant, as if both of us were reluctant to leave yet eager to find refuge in the familiarity of our offices.

The moment the doors closed behind us, I couldn't help but reflect on the stark contrast to our usual easy banter. The comfortable rhythm we once shared had been disrupted, leaving in its wake a careful dance of avoidance.

As I settled behind my desk, the silence of my office felt like a sanctuary from the awkwardness, yet it also served as a stark reminder of the complexities now weaving through my relationship with Harry. The events of that night had cast long shadows, and as I stared at the screen of my computer, I found myself lost in thoughts about where we stood and the uncertain road that lay ahead.

The day unfolded with an unusual quiet between Harry and me, our interactions limited to the bare minimum and conducted entirely through text messages. I forwarded documents to him via email, and for anything that needed his immediate attention, I'd send a message; he'd promptly reply. This digital barrier, for the most part, felt like a relief, sparing me the challenge of facing him directly.

However, relief turned to apprehension when a document requiring his original signature landed on my desk. Emailing wasn't an option this time; I needed that signature in ink. Steeling myself with a pep talk, I planned to make the encounter as swift and impersonal as possible: walk in, request a signature, and exit without any unnecessary interaction. "Easy peasy," I whispered to myself, though my racing heart betrayed my anxiety.

As I approached his office, my steps felt heavier with each stride, dread mingling with anticipation. The aftermath of Saturday night loomed over us like a specter, casting doubt on how we could—or should—interact moving forward. My situation was complicated; resigning wasn't an option, not with the threat Harry held over me regarding my dad. Yet, how I chose to engage with him was still within my control.

Knocking on his door, I heard the familiar command, "Come in," but my heart skipped erratically. He seemed unnervingly out of character, a stark contrast to the Harry I was accustomed to. His gaze held mine with an intensity that sent tremors through me, his vulnerability almost palpable. It was as if he was seeing me for the first time, or perhaps the last, his eyes conveying a depth of resignation and despair I hadn't witnessed before.

As I placed the document on his desk, my request barely audible, he took it mechanically, his signature swift. But instead of ending the interaction there, his eyes found mine again, locking me in a moment that felt suspended in time. His gaze was haunting, a silent plea or perhaps a surrender, his usual confidence replaced by an unmistakable look of defeat.

The silence stretched between us until he broke it, reaching for another document. As he handed it to me, our fingers brushed momentarily, sending a jolt through me. Glancing down at the papers he handed over, I was taken aback by what I saw. It was the contract binding me to work for him, now null and void. "Bella...I've been doing a lot of thinking," he began, his voice strained. "I want you to be happy, and it's clear you're anything but happy here. Ending this contract...I thought it might be a step towards that happiness."

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "Believe it or not, I've always wanted your happiness. I just... I guess I thought your happiness had to involve me, and I see now how wrong I was. I'm sorry for that."

Standing there, a whirlwind of emotions churned inside me. Harry's apology and the cancellation of our contract was more than I had dared to hope for, yet the sight of his defeated demeanor stirred an unexpected sadness within me. He looked utterly defeated, as if he had surrendered to a battle I wasn't fully aware we were fighting.

Despite my inner relief at being freed from the contract, the sting of his words from the previous night lingered. The label 'slut' he had so carelessly thrown at me was a wound still fresh, its pain overshadowing the freedom his current gesture offered.

"Harry, I... I'm grateful you've done this. But staying in this job...it's just not right for me anymore," I managed to say, my voice tinged with a mix of gratitude and unresolved hurt.

He looked at me, his eyes filled with sorrow. "I know, and I truly appreciate everything you've endured working for me," he replied, his voice low. Then, gently cupping my cheeks in his hands, he continued, "And about last night... I didn't mean any of it. You're the furthest thing from what I called you. I'm just...I was an idiot, and I'm sorry. I wish there was a way to take it all back. I can only hope you'll find it in you to forgive me " As his thumb softly caressed my cheek, a flood of sensations rushed through me, reawakening a tumult of feelings I thought I had managed to suppress.

In that moment, the complexity of our relationship was laid bare, the lines between professional and personal blurred beyond recognition. Harry's earnest plea for forgiveness, coupled with the physical reminder of our connection, left me navigating a sea of emotions, each wave crashing against the resolve I had built up over the past days.