My lover is my boss (LingOrm)

1 - Cold boss

Orm's POV.

The office was quiet except for the faint hum of air conditioning and the steady ticking of the clock on the wall. I sat at my desk, surrounded by papers and a flickering computer screen. Numbers danced in front of me—expenses, invoices, payments due—all blending together in a blur. My fingers absentmindedly tapped the keys as I calculated the last quarter's budget, trying to make sense of the numbers that never seemed to line up perfectly. My mind was occupied, but a sense of dread lingered in the background, as it always did on busy days like these.

Suddenly, the shrill ring of my office phone snapped me out of my concentration. I glanced at the caller ID. It was Chanya, Ms. Kwong's assistant. My stomach twisted a little—being called by Chanya almost always meant something important, and usually something unpleasant.

"What's the matter?" I asked as soon as I picked up the call, trying to mask my nervousness.

"Ms. Kwong requires you in her office immediately," Chanya's voice came through, formal and distant as usual. There was no warmth or pleasantries, just business. She was efficient like that, and I couldn't tell if she was simply a reflection of the boss or if she was genuinely just that detached.

"On my way," I replied, hanging up the phone and letting out a slow breath. It wasn't unusual for Ms. Kwong to call me unexpectedly, but there was always a sense of unpredictability with her. Even after years of working under her leadership, I never quite knew what to expect.

Rising from my desk, I straightened my shirt, brushed a hand through my hair, and made my way toward her office. The hallway seemed longer than usual today, each step I took echoing softly off the polished floors. My mind raced with thoughts—what could it be this time? Had I made an error in the reports? Or maybe it was just another one of her famous complaints about productivity. Whatever it was, it didn't feel right.

I knocked on the door gently, a small tap that seemed to disappear into the thick wood. After a moment, I heard her voice faintly from the other side.

"Come in," she said, her tone slightly strained, as if she were fighting off a headache. I hesitated for a second before turning the knob and stepping inside.

Ms. Kwong sat behind her large mahogany desk, massaging her temples with her slender fingers. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight, elegant bun, but a few loose strands had escaped, hanging limply around her pale face. She looked as she always did—intimidating yet undeniably beautiful, with sharp, angular features that commanded attention. But today, there was a visible tension in her posture, and her eyes seemed to hold a weariness that wasn't often there.

Of course she's got a headache, I thought to myself. With the weight of this company on her shoulders, anyone would. Still, even in pain, she had a certain aura of control, a presence that made it impossible to forget who held the power in the room.

"Yes, Miss?" I said politely, taking a step forward. I couldn't quite read her expression, but something about her body language told me she wasn't in the best of moods.

"Come here," she said, gesturing for me to stand beside her. Her voice was calm but firm, as if she were trying to maintain control despite the obvious discomfort she was feeling. I approached her cautiously, my heart beating just a little faster than before.

As I moved behind her desk, I noticed she was staring at a spreadsheet on her computer screen, her brow furrowed in frustration.

"Is this mine?" I asked, my eyes quickly scanning the data.

"Yes," she said, her voice carrying a hint of exasperation. "I wanted to ask you what's going on with the values here at the bottom. They're not adding up."

"You're asking if I calculated this right?" I clarified, feeling a mixture of relief and concern. If it was just an error in the numbers, I could fix that. But Ms. Kwong was not someone who tolerated mistakes easily.

She nodded, her fingers still pressing against her temples. "Yes."

I leaned in closer, examining the spreadsheet carefully. After a moment, I pointed at a section near the bottom of the page.

"See this?" I said, glancing at her to make sure she was following. "It fell for no reason. It's because somehow 200,000 baht were taken from the company's account. Here," I continued, typing a few quick commands into her computer. The numbers adjusted slightly, but the discrepancy remained. "This is what was supposed to happen—the balance should have gone up. But because of the withdrawal, now you're seeing this lower total."

She frowned, her lips tightening into a thin line. "So someone took money from the account?" she asked, her tone sharp despite the obvious pain behind her eyes.

"Yes, but calm down," I said, my voice softening. "It's not as bad as it looks. This isn't even one percent of what the company makes in a month. We'll find out what happened and fix it."

Ms. Kwong didn't seem reassured. Her hand moved to her forehead, and I could see the tension in her shoulders worsening. She wasn't just frustrated—she was in pain.

"I understand that," she muttered, her voice quieter now. "But... never mind." She waved her hand dismissively, closing the spreadsheet with a click and turning her attention to a stack of papers on her desk. It was as if she was trying to push past the pain, to maintain control even when her body was clearly begging for rest.

I hesitated for a moment, watching her struggle. Then, something in me shifted, and I decided to speak up.

"Ms. Kwong, look at me," I said, my voice firmer than before. She looked up, startled by my sudden tone.

"You need to rest," I said, my eyes meeting hers. "You can't keep working like this. I know it hurts."

She blinked, her surprise quickly turning into annoyance. "If I don't work, no one will," she said coldly, turning back to her papers.

"That's not true," I replied, stepping forward slightly. "The company will run, even if you take a break. You need to take care of yourself."

Her eyes narrowed as she looked back at me. "You don't have any power over me to make me do something I don't want to do," she said, her voice icy.

I sighed. "That's not the point. Did you take any medicine for your headache?"

"No, and I'm fine," she said curtly, her tone making it clear that the conversation was over. "Now leave."

"But—" I began, only to be cut off by her sharp glare.

"If you don't leave in one minute," she said, her voice low and dangerous, "I will fire you."

I stood there for a moment, my mind racing. I wanted to help her, to convince her to take a break, but I knew better than to push her any further. Ms. Kwong wasn't the type to be told what to do, especially not by someone like me.

I turned slowly, walking toward the door. My hand hovered over the doorknob, and just before I opened it, I couldn't help but say one last thing.

"Then die alone from a headache," I muttered under my breath, knowing she could hear me. I didn't wait for a response. I opened the door and walked out, leaving her to her papers and her pain.

As the door clicked shut behind me, I felt a strange mix of emotions—frustration, guilt, and something else I couldn't quite place. I knew I had crossed a line, but part of me didn't regret it. Ms. Kwong was powerful, yes, but even she couldn't ignore her own limits forever.

I walked back to my desk, my mind still reeling from the interaction. The numbers on my computer screen blurred again, but this time, it wasn't from concentration—it was from the lingering tension that refused to leave me.

....

Welcome to my first story!  

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