YOU AND I

Obsessed with me

Genevieve's face flushed crimson, her perfectly manicured nails digging into her palms. The public humiliation stung worse than the breakup itself. Her chest tightened as she struggled to maintain her composure under the weight of dozen stares.

Seething with anger that threatened to spill over into tears, she stormed out, knocking over a stack of papers in her haste.

Mark, seemingly unmoved by her dramatic exit, turned to Susanna with an air of righteous conviction. He grasped her wrist firmly but not unkindly, leading her toward his office where the glass walls offered little privacy from the spectacle they had just created.

"I need you to join me for a conference," he explained. "You're the only reasonable person here—and your clearly obsessed with me."

Susanna laughed heartily. "Because I wrote something on my computer doesn't mean I'm obsessed with you, sir." And also your cologne was choking me she said in her mind.

Mark smiled—the first genuine smile she'd ever seen from him. Usually, he displayed only anger or coldness. "Will you join me? I'll compensate you."

Susanna agreed instantly, she needed money at the moment because she had a lot of things and people to take care of , wondering why a wealthy, famous man wouldn't have countless women eager to accompany him. "I'll escort you," she said. She reflected on how millions of fans were dying for a glimpse of Mark, with some willing to spend their entire savings just for a chance to see him .They thought both impressed and troubled her.

devotees who would sacrifice financial security for a fleeting moment in his aura. She wondered what it must feel like to command such power over strangers, to be the object of such desperate admiration. Perhaps beneath his confident exterior, he too found this unsettling.

"Wait at the company entrance tomorrow," he replied, still smiling.

Later that day, Susanna headed to her second job, shoulders heavy with responsibility. Coming from an impoverished family, she served as the breadwinner for her aging parents and five siblings, a burden she carried with quiet dignity.

Throughout high school, she'd always worked—taking any position available, from early morning newspaper routes to late-night convenience store shifts.

The journey had hardened her in ways invisible to casual observers. Those who glimpsed her confident stride and immaculate appearance might assume she enjoyed a luxurious life, but beneath her carefully maintained exterior lay exhaustion and worry.

If people truly knew her struggles—the unpaid bills piling up, the sacrifices made for her siblings' education, the dreams she'd postponed indefinitely—they would offer not envy but prayers for divine intervention in her challenging circumstances.

The aroma of freshly baked pastries enveloped her senses as she entered the bakery, offering a warm smile and wave to Josh, who had been her confidant since high school.

With practiced movements, she tied her pink and white striped apron around her waist, feeling the familiar comfort of the daily work.

Her fingers worked deftly with the dough, kneading and shaping with a passion that had sustained her through even her darkest days. The repetitive motion always calmed her anxious mind, allowing her thoughts to drift pleasantly until her phone buzzed at ten o'clock, jolting her back to reality with its insistent vibration against the wooden countertop.

A message from Mark read: "Why are you late?" Noticing twelve missed calls, she laughed. Was this man crazy? Surely two calls would suffice. She quickly replied, "I'm sorry, sir. I lost track of time."

He responded immediately: "Where are you?"

Imagining his cold expression, she answered, "At the bakery."

Mark video-called her, but she didn't answer. "Pick up my call," he texted.

"Why are you video calling me?" she replied.

"I want to ensure you're not with someone."

"How can I not be with someone at a bakery?" she texted back.

"So you decided to socialize with someone else and chill while I wait for you," he wrote.

Susanna sent a laughing emoji, realizing the misunderstanding. "I'm sorry, sir. I work at the bakery."

Surprised, Mark replied, "You should have mentioned that initially."

Before she could respond, she heard a calm, cold voice. Looking up, she saw Mark standing there. His stern expression softened when he noticed flour on her cheek and the exhaustion in her eyes.