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𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 3:- 𝓒𝓪𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓑𝓮𝓽𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓖𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓖𝓪𝔃𝓮

✩░▒▓▆▅▃▂▁"𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐮𝐥𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞."▁▂▃▅▆▓▒░✩

Misti's pov:
~~~~~~~~~~~

I step into the lift, trying to calm my erratic breathing. "What the hell just happened?" I mutter to myself, shaking my head as the lift descends.

Ivan Foster is... impossible. Unbearable. But that stupid part of me is still curious. Why? I push the thought aside, frustrated at myself for even caring.

When the doors open on the first floor, I head straight to the receptionist to retrieve my things. "Hi, I need to sign out and collect the stuff I left earlier."

She hands me the sign-out sheet with a warm, professional smile, and I scribble my name down, glancing at the items on her desk. Bag-check. Notebook-check. Phone-wait.

I look around frantically, but my phone isn't there. "Where's my phone?" I mutter, more to myself than anyone else.

The receptionist must hear the concern in my voice because she pulls out a drawer and shows me a few phones. "Ma'am, is your phone here, one of these?" she asks, clearly trying to be helpful.

I scan the phones quickly and spot one that looks like mine. With a rush of relief, I pick it up and press the power button-only to see some unfamiliar wallpaper. Nope, not mine.

I sigh. "It's not mine," I admit, the dread building in my chest. I glance nervously at the elevator, and in a low voice, I confess, "I think I left it in Mr. Foster's office..."

I'm hoping, praying, that she'll take pity on me and go fetch it herself. But instead, she gives me a stern but apologetic look, like she's seen this scenario play out too many times. "I'm sorry, miss, but Mr. Foster doesn't allow anyone in his office unless he explicitly gives permission. You'll have to get it yourself."

Great. Just perfect,* I think, rolling my eyes internally. "Why does this stuff always happen to me?" I mutter under my breath, knowing full well that *of course* I'd be the one stuck in this ridiculous situation.

With a reluctant sigh, I drag my feet back to his office. My footsteps echo loudly in the hallway, each one a reminder of how much I really don't want to do this. When I reach the door, I knock softly, dreading his reaction.

For a moment, there's only silence. I can almost imagine him sitting there, glaring at the door like it personally offended him. Then, after a muffled curse that I can't quite make out, he barks, "Come in."

I open the door cautiously, and of course, his eyes are already on me. His icy gaze sharpens as soon as he sees me, and he raises one brow in clear annoyance. Yep. I'm still his least favorite person.

"You again. What do you want now?" His voice is flat, as if he couldn't possibly care less about my existence.

I clear my throat, trying not to sound like a nervous mess. "I forgot my phone here," I say, hoping this interaction will be quick and painless.

But before I can even finish explaining, something catches my eye-a shattered glass bottle on the floor, shards glittering under the office lights, and a puddle of liquid spreading across the floor. Oh, fantastic.