Painted

Chapter 9

The sunlight streamed through the curtains, dragging Rebecca out of the last vestiges of restless sleep. She groaned, rolling onto her back and blinking at the ceiling. Today was the day. A mixture of excitement and dread swirled in her chest as she replayed the events of the weekend—particularly Sarocha's voice in her ear and the texts that had kept her up far too late.

She pushed herself out of bed, padding over to the bathroom. Splashing cold water on her face, she stared at her reflection, searching for any sign of composure. 'Keep it together,' she told herself. 'This is work. Just work.'

But the memory of Sarocha’s smirk, the way her voice dropped into that low, teasing tone—it was impossible to forget. Rebecca clenched her jaw, banishing the thoughts as she turned to her closet. She needed something professional yet confident. Something that said, I’m in control, even if she didn’t entirely feel it.

After some deliberation, she chose a tailored navy pantsuit with a crisp white blouse. She slipped it on, smoothing the fabric over her frame. The power suit felt like armor, a necessary shield for what promised to be a charged meeting.

As she adjusted her cufflinks, her phone buzzed on the dresser. Her heart skipped, and she crossed the room, half-expecting another teasing text from Sarocha. But it was a reminder from her assistant:

'9:30 AM: Meeting prep. Don’t be late.'

She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Grabbing her laptop and bag, Rebecca straightened her shoulders. She would walk into that meeting with her head high, her resolve intact.

Still, as she closed the door behind her, she couldn’t ignore the spark of nervous excitement humming just beneath the surface.

Across town, Sarocha woke before her alarm, as was her habit, but this morning felt different. The usual calm that came with her early routine was nowhere to be found. Instead, she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Rebecca’s teasing texts from the night before playing on a loop in her mind.

She ran a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply. 'Focus,' she told herself. She’d handled countless high-stakes meetings before—this was no different. Except it was different. Rebecca wasn’t just another colleague or partner. She was...

Sarocha stopped herself. Dwelling on that now would only make things harder.

Throwing back the covers, she moved to the shower, letting the hot water wash over her. By the time she stepped out, the sharp edge of her nerves had dulled slightly. She toweled off quickly, pulling her dark hair into a sleek bun.

Her wardrobe was meticulously curated, as always. She selected a tailored charcoal gray suit with a black silk blouse. The ensemble was sharp, authoritative—exactly what she needed to maintain control. As she fastened her watch, she caught her reflection in the mirror.

The face looking back at her was composed, cool, and completely unflappable. Or at least that was the image she intended to project. Beneath the polished surface, her mind churned with thoughts of Rebecca—the sharp wit, the lingering glances, the way she always seemed to push just hard enough to make Sarocha falter.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She picked it up and glanced at the notification. A message from Looknam, her friend and confidant.

Looknam: 'Ready to play nice with your new favorite distraction?'

Sarocha huffed a laugh, shaking her head. Leave it to Looknam to cut straight to the point.

She typed back quickly: 'Always.'

Pocketing her phone, she grabbed her bag and headed for the door. Whatever happened in that meeting, she’d be ready. She always was.

But as she stepped into the car, the same thought lingered in the back of her mind. Rebecca wasn’t just a distraction. She was something much more dangerous—and infinitely more thrilling.