Decided to reclaim management over my feelings, I spend the remainder of the week specializing in self-care and introspection. I drink good wine, eat simply the correct quantity of cheese, and work out within the pool like a demon possessed.

Whether or not Lycus chooses to resurface or not, I refuse to let his actions derail me. And when Monday rolls round, I’ll march into the workplace with my head held excessive, able to confront no matter challenges lie forward between us.

Lycus might have ghosted me, however I received’t let him hang-out my ideas any longer. It’s time to take again management of my very own narrative.

* * *

As I tread the acquainted path to the workplace, the azure sky above provides no solace for the tempest raging inside me. Regardless of the light caress of the morning breeze, my thoughts churns with apprehension, every step a heavy burden weighted by uncertainty and dread.

The surprising respite of this week off ought to have been a reprieve, an opportunity to flee the suffocating stress that has come to outline my interactions with Lycus. As an alternative, his absence solely serves to amplify his presence, his identify a relentless echo within the corridors of my thoughts.

Lycus – my adversary, my competitors, and dare I admit it, the one who pushes me to do higher – isn’t removed from my ideas and as a substitute of coming into work at present refreshed, rested and prepared for the shopper assembly, my insides are in turmoil.

The strains between animosity and affection between us blur with each passing second, a tangled net of feelings I battle to untangle.

As I method the workplace constructing, a knot varieties within the pit of my abdomen, tightening with every passing second. The receptionist’s phrases – that Mr Mortimer is within the convention room – ship a ripple of apprehension coursing by way of me, setting my nerves ablaze with anticipation.

I’m early. I’m at all times early for work. So why do I really feel wrong-footed and on edge?

Coronary heart pounding, I make my strategy to the convention room, every step a silent prayer for power and readability. What awaits me behind these closed doorways? Solutions, maybe, or solely extra questions so as to add to the rising pile of uncertainties that weigh closely on my shoulders.

Once I lastly attain the convention room door and tentatively knock, the muffled voices inside ship a shiver down my backbone, anticipation coiling tight in my chest.

Mr Mortimer’s invitation to enter is met with a hesitant nod from me, despite the fact that nobody can see it, my hand trembling as I push open the door and step inside.

The tableau earlier than me steals the breath from my lungs, a scene straight out of a nightmare. Mr Alpine, our esteemed shopper, sits on the head of the desk, his options etched with concern as he gazes upon the spectacle earlier than him.

Beside him stands Mr Mortimer, a stoic determine of authority, his eyes betraying a touch of apprehension beneath the facade of professionalism. And there, seated amidst the chaos, is Lycus—my enigmatic counterpart, his common air of confidence changed by a masks of ache and vulnerability.

My coronary heart lurches in my chest on the sight of him, concern warring with trepidation as I take within the sight of his battered kind. His leg, encased in a forged, bears the load of his accidents, whereas cuts and bruises mar the as soon as pristine canvas of his options.

“Lycus! What occurred?” I breathe, the phrases escaping my lips in a hushed whisper as I battle to understand the gravity of the scenario earlier than me.

However earlier than Lycus can reply, the room is plunged into darkness, the whirring hum of the projector signalling the beginning of a revelation I’m ill-prepared to face. My blood runs chilly as I watch in horror, my breath catching in my throat, because the projector display screen involves life, casting a ghostly glow over the room.

A second later, the audio system crackle and sound floods the room. The faint echo of acquainted music fills the air, accompanied by the murmur of voices. It’s the audio from CCTV footage—the identical footage that now performs on the projector display screen earlier than us.

My coronary heart plummets to the pit of my abdomen as I watch in horror, my eyes widening in disbelief on the scene unfolding earlier than me. There I’m, illuminated by the dim lights of the Depraved Temptation celebration, a imaginative and prescient of reckless abandon and unbridled need.

The blood drains from my face as I hear my very own voice—husky with need, laced with intoxication—calling out to the mysterious stranger who now stands earlier than me. Each phrase, each contact, each sound of enjoyment laid naked for all to see.

I shrink again towards the door, the load of humiliation bearing down on me like a leaden cloak. How might I’ve been so silly, so reckless? And now, with the reality laid naked for all to see, there’s nowhere to cover from the disgrace that threatens to eat me entire.

However because the footage continues to play, a brand new revelation emerges…one which sends a shockwave of betrayal coursing by way of my veins. Lycus – the very man I’ve spent numerous hours sparring with, the person I’ve come to detest and begrudgingly admire and even take care of – is none aside from the stranger I spent the evening with.

Sir.

The realisation hits me like a sucker punch to the intestine, leaving me reeling with a mix of disbelief and anger. How might he? How might he deceive me like this, manipulate me into revealing my most intimate needs solely to toss me apart like yesterday’s information? How might he present this to our boss? To a shopper? Why would he do this?

“Cease this! Flip it off!”

Lycus jumps to his ft, wincing in ache as he calls for they flip off the footage, his voice laced with desperation and frustration. Nevertheless it’s too late—the harm has been finished, the reality laid naked for all to see.

There’s no denying that I’m the lady within the footage, or that Lycus is the person. And as if that weren’t dangerous sufficient, when Lycus swiftly turns off the projector, he should by chance catch one of many different buttons as a result of the quantity instantly will increase and the sounds of us fucking fill the room. Loud sufficient to fill the entire workplace I concern.

I flip to face him, my eyes blazing with fury and betrayal.

As the reality of Lycus’s deception sinks in, a torrent of feelings threatens to overwhelm me. Betrayal, anger, and heartache swirl collectively in a tempest of confusion, leaving me gasping for air within the suffocating confines of the convention room.

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