Painted

Chapter 19

Monday morning arrived with a sharp clarity, the kind that only came after a weekend so consuming it left no room for the outside world. The city’s pulse was slower in the early hours, but the same couldn’t be said for Rebecca and Sarocha. As the elevator ascended to their floor, their dynamic was no less electric than it had been over the weekend—smoldering beneath the surface, simmering in stolen glances and the occasional brush of their hands as they walked side by side. Yet, it was balanced now, underlined with an unspoken determination to face the day together.

Sarocha adjusted her blazer, catching Rebecca’s eye with a knowing look. “So,” she began, her voice low but playful, “are you ready for today? I’m sure Torfan’s going to be… persistent.”

Rebecca smirked, leaning casually against the mirrored elevator wall, her hands in her pockets. “Persistent is putting it nicely. But, I’m ready. Are you?”

Sarocha arched a brow, stepping closer so that their reflections seemed to merge in the glass. “I’ve dealt with worse,” she murmured, her tone calm but charged. “I just hope you don’t let her get under your skin.”

The elevator dinged, and Rebecca gave a small, dry laugh. “Not a chance.” But her eyes betrayed a flicker of something—anticipation, maybe even a hint of unease. Whatever it was, it vanished the moment they stepped into the office, their usual masks slipping into place.

The morning was quiet at first, the hum of computers and occasional murmurs filling the air. Rebecca’s focus was sharp as she worked through a stack of documents, while Sarocha moved between meetings, her stride confident and deliberate. They exchanged fleeting looks across the room, their connection threaded into the air like an unspoken secret.

Then, Torfan arrived.

Her heels clicked loudly against the polished floor, her presence as sharp as ever. Torfan had always carried herself with a kind of practiced charm, but today there was an edge to it—like she was still piecing together the puzzle of Saturday afternoon. Her eyes landed on Rebecca first, softening into dangerous familiarity. “Good morning, Rebecca,” she greeted, her tone light but pointed.

Rebecca looked up, her expression unreadable. “Morning, Torfan.”

Torfan’s gaze flickered past her, landing on Sarocha as she exited a nearby office. For a brief moment, the air seemed to still, a charged silence hanging between the three of them. Sarocha, to her credit, didn’t falter. She met Torfan’s gaze with a polite smile, her confidence radiating like armor. “Good morning, Torfan,” she said, her tone steady, almost pleasant.

Torfan’s eyes narrowed slightly, though her smile remained intact. “Sarocha. I didn’t expect to see you here so early.”

Sarocha tilted her head, her smile unwavering. “I could say the same about you.”

The subtle tension in the exchange wasn’t lost on Rebecca. She cleared her throat, cutting through the moment. “Torfan, did you need something? I’m in the middle of reviewing the reports from last week.”

Torfan’s attention snapped back to Rebecca, her lips curving into a soft pout. “I thought I’d check in—make sure you’re not overworking yourself.” Her tone was sweet, but there was an undercurrent of something sharper, almost daring.

Rebecca leaned back in her chair, her expression calm but cool. “I’m fine, but thanks for the concern.”

Sarocha, observing the exchange, stepped closer, her presence subtly aligning with Rebecca’s. She didn’t say a word, but the gesture was clear: whatever game Torfan thought she was playing, it wasn’t going to work.

Torfan’s smile faltered briefly, but she recovered quickly, brushing a strand of hair over her shoulder. “Well, don’t let me interrupt,” she said lightly, though her eyes lingered on Rebecca for a moment too long. “I’ll catch up with you later.”