Hate
1186 Words
(Thala’s Point of View)
I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the inevitable. The crowd's cheers and the pounding music drowned out my voice, but I didn’t care. I yelled again, louder this time, glaring at my boss, my contempt clear. His arrogance was infuriating, and the way he carried himself—it was all too much.
I couldn’t deny his skills. The crowd was on his side, cheering and betting on him. If only his attitude matched his talent, maybe, just maybe, I could find some respect for him. But after everything he had shown me... No, I hated him. I hated his very presence.
"Oh, Thala, what’s this?" Hanni giggled beside me, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Who gave you that?"
I blinked, confused, before following her gaze. She was pointing to my neck. I gasped.
"Who gave you that hickey? Damn, you’re a newbie, and you’ve already caught a VIP!" she teased, her voice laced with surprise and amusement.
My heart stopped. That... that arrogant billionaire gave me a hickey?
A wave of cold dread washed over me. He had reached new heights of wickedness, and I was done with it. This was no longer funny. My blood boiled, and I was on the verge of screaming, but I forced the words down. My annoyance was too much. I didn’t care anymore if it angered him; he started it!
"Alaric, you're so weak!" I yelled into the chaos of the arena. "You're a loser! Booo!" The words felt almost liberating, even if my throat was starting to burn.
"Myrthala, stop it," Hanni pleaded, her voice tinged with worry. "That's our boss you're shouting at!"
I ignored her, my eyes fixed on him. I shot him a thumbs down, just for him to see. His eyes met mine, sharp and challenging. I stuck out my tongue in defiance, mouthing the words, "You're so weak," rolling my eyes for good measure.
But then, my words faltered. His eyebrow arched, and his intense gaze pierced me. I froze. The fight no longer mattered. He was watching me, and something about it unnerved me.
I couldn't look away. His movements, fluid and precise, were awe-inspiring. The roundhouse kick that took down his opponent... it was like watching a seasoned fighter at his peak. Despite myself, I was impressed.
But why was he so good? He won the boxing match just yesterday, too. How could he excel at both?
The crowd erupted in celebration, their shouts deafening, but I couldn’t pull my eyes from him. He was drenched in sweat, his hair disheveled, but there was a raw magnetism to him that I couldn’t escape. He glanced at me again, and just like before, he smirked. Then, he winked.
I felt a strange flutter in my chest—one I quickly shoved away.
"Let's go, Thala. Mr. Atkinson will fire you if we stay any longer," Hanni said, pulling me from the scene. I followed her, barely acknowledging her words.
Three days passed in a haze of exhaustion and peace. My boss was out of the picture, busy with his own affairs, and for once, I relished the quiet. I didn’t have to face him or his maddening attitude. It felt like freedom.
"How’s everything, mom?" I asked, trying to ignore the lingering thoughts of my boss.
Her voice crackled over the phone. "Penelope is still poisoning your dad’s mind. Things are a mess here, Thala. Your cousin convinced him not to invite you to their wedding..." She sighed, frustration clear in her tone. "Thala, I need you here. Please come back. I'll handle your dad."
I felt a pang of guilt. I hated that she was dealing with Penelope’s manipulation alone. But I couldn’t go back, not with her in the house. Not with that woman pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.
"Mom, I’m fine here," I reassured her, though I could feel the lump in my throat. "I’ll find a way to clear my name, I promise."
Just as I was about to hang up, Hanni appeared at the door.
"What’s up? Do I need to cover up for you?" I asked, unsure of her sudden appearance.
Hanni gave me one of her sweetest smiles, holding up a folder with a hopeful gleam in her eyes. "Mr. Atkinson left some important documents here. Could you please deliver them?" She batted her eyelashes, a pleading look in her eyes.
I narrowed my gaze. "Why me? Doesn’t he have a secretary or assistant?"
"Please, Thala! I’ve got a date tonight!" she begged, pulling out the puppy dog eyes. "Please?"
I sighed, resigned. "Fine. I’ll just drop it off. But I’m not talking to him."
"Thank you, thank you!" Hanni hugged me before rushing to get ready.
As I made my way to the Emerald Tower, I couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at me. The idea of seeing Alaric again was the last thing I wanted. But I had no choice. I arrived at the tower, feeling the weight of the documents and the heavy air of discomfort in my chest. My mind kept drifting back to what had happened three days ago, the bizarre tension between us.
The receptionist smiled politely, but I could feel her assessing me as I stammered my name. "Myrthala Laurenco."
She made a quick call and then told me, "Mr. Atkinson is expecting you, Miss Laurenco. 50th floor, the Penthouse."
My stomach lurched at the thought of going up there. My legs felt like jelly, but I forced myself to press the elevator button.
When I reached the penthouse, I rang the doorbell with trembling fingers. I waited, heart racing, but no one answered. After what felt like an eternity, the door finally opened—and I was face to face with a sophisticated elderly woman. She glared at me, clearly displeased.
"You must be in the wrong place," she said, eyeing me sharply. "This is my penthouse. My grandson’s office is in his tower." She gave me a scathing look before muttering, "Don’t be so stubborn next time, young lady." And before I could apologize, she slammed the door in my face.
I stood there in stunned silence. I had just scolded the chairman of Atkinson Industries—Alaric’s grandmother! Mortified, I hurried out, hoping to avoid any more embarrassment.
When I finally reached the correct tower, my nerves were shot. My hands shook as I rang the bell again. This time, Alaric answered, looking freshly showered. His gaze caught mine, but I barely registered it.
"Here are the documents, Mr. Atkinson," I said, my voice strained, my body yearning for rest.
He eyed me, his expression unreadable. "Have you eaten?"
I didn’t look at him. "Good night," I muttered, my heart pounding as I turned away.
"Wait, are you alright?" His voice stopped me. "Why do you look so pale?"
I didn’t respond, the weight of the day pressing down on me. As I walked away, my mind drifted again... and I found myself trapped in a small, tight box, suffocated by everything I couldn’t escape.
And I hated it.
- Writer
