chapter five_Annabelle first day at work
1035 Words
Annabelle returned home earlier than usual. She moved through her routine—cooking, cleaning, putting everything in order.
Luckily, Richard didn’t come home that night.
The house was unusually quiet.
For once, there was no chaos, no tension hanging in the air.
It gave her an excuse to go to bed early, to rest without waiting for something to go wrong.
Unluckily for her, she woke up late the next morning.
All her alarms had gone off at their usual time—she had simply slept through them.
Her eyes widened as she shot up from the bed.
“Oh my God… my first day at his office—and I’m late.”
She rushed out of bed, her thoughts racing.
I was supposed to be there before him. I wish I still had my old job… I wouldn’t have to deal with this.
She hurried downstairs, threw together a quick breakfast, barely tasting it, then ran back up for a fast shower.
Within minutes, she was dressed in the clothes she had ironed the night before.
She booked a car immediately.
Richard hated when she drove the family car—even though she had paid for it with her own savings.
And today wasn’t a day to test his temper.
By the time she reached the hospital, a bead of sweat had formed on her forehead from all the rushing.
She moved quickly through the lower floors, but as she made her way upstairs toward his office, everything began to change.
The walls shifted from dull cream to polished marble—smooth and cold under the soft glow of recessed lighting.
The floors reflected her image back at her, sharp and almost too perfect.
Even the air felt different.
Filtered. Controlled. Expensive.
Her footsteps echoed softly, louder than they should have been.
There were fewer people here.
Fewer voices.
Less life.
It felt… distant.
Like this place existed above everything else.
—
She slowed as she approached the office door.
It wasn’t just a door.
It was large, made of dark polished wood, with a sleek metal handle that gleamed under the light.
Minimal—but deliberate.
Everything here was deliberate.
Annabelle caught her reflection faintly on its surface.
Still.
Composed.
Uncertain.
She raised her hand and knocked.
“Come in.”
—
The office was overwhelming.
Glass dominated the space, reflecting power in every direction.
Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across one wall, revealing the city far below.
From up here, everything looked smaller.
The furniture present here was minimal, clean, and expensive.
A large desk sat at the center with neatly arranged files and a piece of resin artwork that quietly displayed wealth.
A smaller desk stood off to the side—likely meant for her.
Then she noticed him.
A tall figure stood by the window, his back to her, as if he were observing something—or nothing at all.
His sleeves were slightly rolled up, revealing veined hands.
“You’re late,” he said, his voice low, without turning.
“I’m not,” she replied.
That made him turn. Slowly.
His gaze lifted to hers—sharp, focused.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
“Close the door,” he said.
Annabelle realized then that she was still standing near it, slightly ajar. She shut it carefully.
“My shift starts now,” she said, forcing confidence into her voice.
His hazel eyes remained fixed on her—measuring, studying.
Then he began to walk toward her.
Slow. Controlled.
Annabelle stayed where she was, even as instinct told her to step back.
He circled her, his presence cold and heavy, like something you couldn’t quite escape.
He stopped close. Too close.
“You ask questions,” he said quietly.
“Only when something doesn’t make sense.”
“And does this make sense?”
“No.”
The answer came quickly—before she could soften it.
Honest.
He watched her for a moment. Longer than necessary.
Then—
“That’s why you’re here.
Annabelle frowned. “That doesn’t answer anything.”
“It does,” he said. “You just don’t like the answer.”
—
Silence settled between them.
Thick. Heavy.
Annabelle folded her arms slightly, holding her ground.
“If this is about work,” she said, “then tell me what I’m supposed to do.”
His gaze dropped briefly—to her posture, her stance—before returning to her eyes.
“You’re not just here to work.”
Her chest tightened.
“Then what am I here for?”
A pause.
Longer this time.
Intentional.
Then—
“To see how long you can hold that tone.”
Her brows pulled together. “What tone?”
“That one,” he said softly. “The one where you pretend you’re not affected.”
Her breath hitched—just slightly.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
—
“I’m not pretending,” she said.
“Everyone pretends,” he replied calmly.
He stepped back then, breaking the closeness—as if he had already taken enough.
“For now,” he added, moving toward his desk, “you’ll assist me.”
Annabelle blinked. “That’s it?”
“For now.”
There it was again.
That unfinished feeling.
—
He slid a file toward her.
“Start with this.”
She stepped forward and took it, her fingers steady despite everything.
She turned to leave—
“Anna.”
She stopped.
“I told you,” she said quietly, “it’s Annabelle.”
“I heard you.”
A pause.
“Then use it.”
“I’m choosing not to.”
Her grip tightened slightly around the file.
Not enough to show.
Just enough to feel.
—
she didn’t argue again as she slowly walked toward the door.
“Be careful,” he said.
She stopped—but didn’t face him.
“Of what?”
His answer came slowly.
“Of thinking you’re in control.”
—
The words settled into the room.
Into her.
—
Annabelle walked out without another word.
But her heartbeat didn’t steady.
Not even when the door closed behind her.
Because deep down…
She knew this was far from over.
- Writer
