Chapter 7
1137 Words
I barely slept that night. It wasn’t the usual tossing and turning over tuition fees or my mother’s medications. It was him. Jason Brown.
The memory replayed like a broken record—the way he leaned back in his chair, calm but sharp, and said, “No perfume tomorrow.” Then the weight of my own voice, soft and obedient, betraying me when I whispered, “Yes, Mr. Brown.”
It shouldn’t have gotten under my skin. He was my boss. His instruction shouldn’t mean more than following the dress code or answering an email on time. But the command lingered like it was etched into me, twisting my stomach in a way that was equal parts fear and heat.
Lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, I kept asking myself why it mattered to him. Why he noticed my scent at all. Why he wanted it gone. And worse, why a part of me wanted to know what it meant—that maybe he wanted only me, stripped bare of everything else. The thought made my thighs press together under the blanket.
By morning, I was a mess of nerves.
I stood in front of my mirror, brushing powder lightly across my face, smoothing my blouse until it sat neat against me. I reached for the small perfume bottle that had always given me confidence—a safety net—but froze. His voice sliced through me again. No perfume tomorrow.
My hand trembled. Then I set the bottle back down.
It wasn’t just compliance. It was surrender. I hated how it thrilled me.
The subway ride felt longer than usual, each jolt making my stomach twist tighter. By the time I reached the building, my palms were clammy. I swiped them against my skirt before pulling open the glass doors, pretending I didn’t notice the way my pulse raced like I was about to face an exam I hadn’t studied for.
Inside the office, the air-conditioning hit me, crisp and almost biting. I crossed the lobby, heels clicking, my eyes darting toward the frosted glass doors of his office upstairs.
He wasn’t at the entrance waiting, of course. That was just my paranoia whispering. Still, I felt watched, as if invisible eyes were measuring me.
I sat at my desk, breathing carefully, setting down my bag like it might break the silence. Every tick of the clock was a countdown to when he’d walk in.
And then he did.
The atmosphere shifted without warning, the way it always did when Jason Brown entered a room. His presence carried weight, authority so natural it felt like gravity. He didn’t glance around like other executives did. He didn’t need to. Everyone noticed him anyway.
His steps were measured as he moved past the desks, his expression unreadable, eyes forward. My breath caught when those eyes finally slid to me. Just a second, no more. But it was enough to make my chest tighten.
He disappeared into his office.
Seconds later, my phone lit up with an internal message.
“My office. Now.”
My heart thudded against my ribs. I stood quickly, trying not to look flustered as I smoothed down my skirt and walked toward his door. My legs felt too heavy and too light at the same time, betraying me with every step.
I knocked softly.
“Come in.”
His voice. Low, firm. It curled around me like smoke.
I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me.
Jason sat behind his desk, posture perfect, suit sharp against the faint morning light pouring in from the tall windows. His eyes lifted to me slowly, deliberate, dragging over me as if taking inventory.
“Good,” he said after a long moment. “You listened.”
Heat spread across my cheeks. I knew exactly what he meant. My throat felt tight, but I managed, “Yes, Mr. Brown.”
A flicker crossed his mouth—something between approval and satisfaction. He leaned back slightly in his chair, fingertips steepled.
“Sit.”
I obeyed, lowering myself into the chair across from him, my knees pressed together, my back too straight.
He studied me without speaking, letting the silence press down until I wanted to squirm. But I didn’t. I couldn’t look away from him either.
“No perfume,” he murmured finally, almost to himself. “Much better.”
My lips parted, unsure if I should respond. Instead, I sat still, pulse racing.
His gaze lingered on me before he returned to his computer screen, typing something with quick, precise movements. He didn’t explain, didn’t dismiss me either. It felt intentional—keeping me there, suspended in his orbit.
The seconds stretched, my body tense, aware of every breath.
“Clara,” he said suddenly, eyes flicking back to me.
“Yes, Mr. Brown?”
“Do you always follow instructions this well?”
The question wasn’t casual. His tone made it feel loaded, like it meant more than workplace obedience. My stomach knotted, and I forced myself to hold his gaze.
“I… try to,” I said carefully.
He hummed, tilting his head slightly, as though weighing the truth of my words. His eyes softened for half a second, then hardened again.
“Good. You’ll do well here.”
Relief tangled with frustration inside me. Part of me wanted to challenge him, to ask what this was, why he singled me out. But another part—the louder part—wanted to keep pleasing him.
“Thank you, Mr. Brown,” I whispered.
His lips curved faintly, then he dismissed me with a nod. “Get back to work.”
I stood, my legs shaky, and left the office with my chest still burning.
The rest of the day blurred, though my body remained on edge. Every time Jason walked by, every time I caught the edge of his cologne—clean, understated, expensive—I felt the command of his earlier words coil tighter around me.
At lunch, I sat with coworkers, pretending to laugh at small jokes, but my mind kept drifting back to him. The way his eyes had looked at me when he said Much better. Like he owned the air between us.
By the time evening came, exhaustion hit me, but it wasn’t physical. It was the strain of being pulled in two directions—sense screaming to keep distance, instinct dragging me closer.
When I got home, I dropped onto my bed, still in my work clothes, staring at the ceiling again. Just like last night.
Jason Brown had said three words to me that morning. Good. Much better. And yet, those three words felt like shackles I couldn’t break, holding me exactly where he wanted me.
And the worst part?
I didn’t want to break them.
- Writer
