OLIVER
The office was unusually quiet when I stormed in the next morning, the kind of silence that whispered behind your back. I could feel it-the tension, the stares from my employees. They knew something was brewing. And they were right.
I marched down the hall, fists clenched, my blood boiling. Samantha. She was the one who sent those pictures to Isla. Who else could it be? No one else had access to those private moments, no one else dared to go behind my back.
When I reached her office, I didn't bother knocking. I threw the door open, the sound echoing through the hall. Samantha, sitting at her desk, jumped in her chair, her eyes wide with shock
“Oliver…” she started, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“It’s Mr Blackwood to you.” I sternly told her, my glare cold as ice.
