CHAPTER 7: FIRST DAY TORTURE
1906 Words
Monday came too fast.
Ava stood in front of the elevator on the 47th floor at 8:47 AM, clutching her coffee like a shield and her portfolio like a weapon. Navy blazer. Hair in a low bun. Lipstick she didn’t need but wore anyway. Red. Like armor. Like _don’t mess with me_.
Her reflection in the glass doors looked confident. She didn’t feel confident. She felt like she was walking into a lion’s den wearing meat perfume.
_You can do this. It’s just a job. He’s just your boss. He’s just your mate who rejected you in front of 300 people and broke your heart and now wants to pretend it never happened._
The elevator dinged.
Kade was already inside.
Of course he was.
He was in a charcoal suit today. No tie. Top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled to the elbows. He looked like he’d been running his hands through his hair all morning. There were shadows under his eyes.
His eyes flicked to her, then to the coffee in her hand, then back to her face. And stayed there.
The bond hit her immediately. Like a punch to the chest. _Mate. Nervous. Awake for hours. She smells like vanilla and stress._
That last part wasn’t hers.
“Morning,” he said. His voice was carefully neutral. Too careful.
“Morning, Mr. Blackwood.”
His jaw ticked. The muscle jumping was the only sign she got that the name bothered him. “Don’t call me that.”
“What should I call you then? Kade?” The name felt dangerous on her tongue. Like saying it would break the fragile truce they had.
“Kade is fine.” He stepped aside so she could enter. The doors closed with a soft whoosh.
Three floors. That was all. Three floors alone with him in a metal box that smelled like cedar, leather, and _him_.
Silence stretched. Awkward. Heavy. The bond buzzed between them, filling the quiet with everything they weren’t saying.
_I’m sorry._
_I missed you._
_You look good._
_You look tired._
_Don’t cry. Don’t touch me. Don’t look at me like that._
Ava stared at the floor numbers. 45... 46... Her knuckles were white around her coffee cup.
“You didn’t have to come in early,” she said finally. Her voice came out steadier than she felt.
“I didn’t sleep.”
The honesty knocked the air out of her. She risked a glance at him. He wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the doors too.
“Because of me?” she whispered.
“Because you’re working for me now.” The elevator stopped. The doors opened to a floor full of people who immediately pretended not to stare. Whispers followed them. _That’s her. That’s the one._
Kade’s expression didn’t change, but his shoulders went rigid. “Come on. I’ll show you to your office.”
The walk to her office felt like a mile. Past desks. Past conference rooms. Past people who stopped typing the second they saw them.
Her office.
It was right across from his. Glass walls on two sides. Big mahogany desk. Leather chair. A window view of Lagos that would have made her cry six months ago. Now it just made her feel trapped. Like she was in a fishbowl and everyone could see her breaking.
“HR put you here,” Kade said, leaning against her doorframe. He hadn’t come in. Like he was afraid to. “I didn’t.”
“Then where were you going to put me?” Ava set her bag down. Her hands were shaking.
“In the basement.” He said it flat, then smirked when she glared at him. “Kidding. Mostly. I was going to put you on a different floor. But then I thought... if you’re here, I can keep an eye on you.”
“That’s not creepy at all.”
“It is. I know.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m bad at this. The professional thing.”
Ava walked to the window. Put distance between them. “What’s my first assignment, _Mr. Blackwood_?”
“Kade.”
“Kade.”
He pushed off the doorframe. “Marketing pitch for the new Blackwood Tech line. Wearables. Due Friday. Team meeting in 10. Conference Room A.”
“Got it.”
He didn’t leave. He just stood there, watching her. Like he was waiting for her to say something else. To yell. To cry. To forgive him. To throw the coffee at him.
“I’m fine,” Ava said, because he clearly needed to hear it. “We can be professional.”
“Professional,” Kade repeated. Like the word tasted bad. Like it was a lie they were both telling. “Right.”
He walked away.
The team meeting was worse.
Twelve people around a long black table. All of them knew. She could see it in their eyes. _That’s the girl from the ball. That’s the one he rejected. That’s the one he’s been looking for six months._
Because he was. The entire time.
While the creative director talked about branding and target markets, Kade’s gaze kept dragging back to her. To her hands taking notes. To the way she tucked her hair behind her ear. To her mouth when she asked a question. To the faint scar on her collarbone that he knew was from when she was 14.
Ava’s skin was on fire by the end. The bond wasn’t helping. It kept whispering _he’s looking. he wants you. he regrets it. touch him._
“Thoughts, Miss Carter?” the creative director asked, snapping her out of it.
All eyes on her. Including Kade’s. Especially Kade’s.
Ava cleared her throat. “I think,” she said, keeping her voice steady, “that we’re targeting the wrong demographic. Gen Z doesn’t care about luxury branding. They care about story. About authenticity. If we frame Blackwood Tech as the brand that built itself from nothing, from a garage to global, we’ll get more engagement. t****k campaigns. Influencer unboxings. Make it feel attainable, not untouchable.”
Silence. Then nods. Someone typed it down.
“Good,” Kade said. One word. But his eyes said _that’s my girl. That’s why I hired you._
Ava ignored it. Ignored the warmth spreading in her chest.
The rest of the day was a blur of emails, files, and trying not to look across the hall at him. Every time she did, he was already looking back. On calls, in meetings, typing at his desk. His eyes found hers like they were magnets.
At 1 PM, her assistant dropped lunch on her desk. Salad. Her favorite. From the place down the street she used to go to with...
With Kade.
There was no note.
At 3 PM, her computer crashed. Within 2 minutes, IT was there. Within 5, Kade was standing in her doorway.
“Problem?”
“It’s fine,” Ava said. “Just a glitch.”
He looked at the IT guy. “Fix it. Now.”
“Yes sir.”
The second the door closed, Ava snapped. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Hover. Send me lunch. Stare at me.”
Kade leaned against the doorframe again. “I’m your boss. It’s my job to make sure my employees are okay.”
“I’m not your employee. I’m your—” She cut herself off.
“Your what?” he asked softly.
“Nothing.”
The bond ached.
At 5:02 PM, her phone buzzed.
*Unknown Number:* _Don’t take the elevator. Meet me in the stairwell. Floor 45._
Ava’s heart did something stupid and hopeful.
She grabbed her bag and went.
The stairwell was empty. Echoing. Cold. And at the landing on 45, Kade was waiting.
No suit jacket. Sleeves rolled up. Tie gone. He looked wrecked. Like he’d been fighting himself all day and lost.
“You wanted to see me?” Ava asked. Her voice echoed.
“I wanted to breathe without 50 people watching me watch you,” he said honestly. He ran a hand through his hair. “How was your first day?”
“Professional.”
Kade laughed, but it was tired. Broken. “Right. Professional. The way you ignored me for 9 hours was very professional.”
“The way you stared at me for 9 hours was very professional too.”
He winced. “Fair.”
They stood there. The bond between them was a live thing, pulling, tugging, begging.
“I’m trying,” Kade said quietly. “To give you space. To not mess this up again. To let you work without me being... like this.”
Ava swallowed. “Then stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re still in love with me.”
The words hung in the air between them.
Kade stepped closer. One step. Then another. Until there was barely a foot between them. Close enough that she could smell him. Close enough that she could see the gold flecks in his gray eyes.
“I am still in love with you,” he said. Simple. Devastating. Honest. “I never stopped. Even when I was an i***t. Even when I hurt you. Even when I thought pushing you away would keep you safe. The bond doesn’t let me stop. It just gets louder.”
Ava’s chest ached. “Kade—”
“I know. You need time.” He held up his hands, showing her he wasn’t going to touch her. “I’m not asking for anything. Not today. Not tomorrow. I just... I needed to see you. Away from the office. Away from everyone. To make sure you’re okay.”
The sincerity in his voice cracked something in her. Something she’d cemented over six months.
“Why did you give me the job then?” she whispered. “If it’s this hard? If seeing me hurts?”
“Because I’d rather have you angry and in the building next to me than gone.” He smiled, sad. “Because I’m selfish. Because I thought maybe, if we worked together, I could prove to you that I’m not that boy anymore.”
Ava looked at him. Really looked. The shadows under his eyes. The tension in his shoulders. The way he was holding himself back from reaching for her with every muscle in his body.
“Friday,” she said. The word came out before she could stop it.
Kade frowned. “What about Friday?”
“Dinner. To talk. Like adults. Professional.”
His whole face lit up. Like she’d handed him the moon. “Professional dinner.”
“Professional.”
“Got it.” He was trying not to smile too big and failing miserably. “I’ll book somewhere quiet. No press. No people.”
Ava nodded and turned to leave before she did something stupid like hug him. Or kiss him. Or tell him she’d missed him too.
“Ava.”
She stopped, hand on the stairwell door.
“Thank you,” Kade said. “For coming back. For giving me this chance. For not hating me.”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Not yet.
She just walked down the stairs.
But her hands were shaking. And the bond was humming.
_Hope._
Maybe this could work.
Maybe he could be forgiven.
Maybe she wanted him to be.
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