Bound By Fate

ChapterTwo

Alexander Voss was the kind of man who made perfection look effortless. Every paper he touched, every word he spoke, even the way he walked—polished, sharp, intimidating. That’s why whenever I worked on anything for him, I double-checked it at least three times. And yet, it never felt like enough.

I stared at the files on my desk, flipping through the pages quickly, adjusting their alignment and smoothing out any slight wrinkles. I had less time than usual today, which made me panic a little.

“Not like he’s ever praised my work anyway,” I muttered under my breath, gathering the documents in my arms.

Still, I didn’t want to give him any reason to frown.

I walked over to his office, pausing just outside the tall glass doors. It had become a strange habit—to stand there for a few moments, silently collecting myself. Maybe it was nerves, maybe it was the air of authority that clung to that room like invisible fog. Whatever it was, I always hesitated.

I inhaled deeply, adjusted my grip on the files, and knocked lightly before pushing the door open.

He was seated behind his desk, focused, pen in hand. Without looking up, he gestured slightly—his silent signal for me to proceed.

Clearing my throat, I stepped forward. “I’m done with the work, sir,” I said, placing the files neatly on his desk.

He nodded once and picked up the top file. His eyes scanned through it, calm and unreadable as ever.

I stood there, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. My fingers fidgeted unconsciously, tugging at the corner of my sleeve, then my lower lip, then my nails. He never criticized my work, not really. But he never complimented it either. I was always left guessing, balancing somewhere between "good enough" and "barely tolerable."

The silence stretched.

Then, he closed the file and placed it carefully on the desk before looking up at me.

“Good,” he said simply.

Just one word. But to me, it felt like an entire speech. I released the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

“Thank you, sir,” I said quickly, almost tripping over my own words in relief. I gave a polite nod and turned to leave as quietly as I had entered.

Back at my desk, I still had a pile of tasks waiting for me—even though I had completed the files he requested. Reports, emails, updates to compile. My eyes were already beginning to ache from staring at the screen.

I had been working for nearly two hours straight when Henry, my colleague from the next department, walked over to my desk with something in his hands.

“Here,” he said, holding out a wrapped burger and a cold drink.

I blinked in surprise. “Oh, thank you! I was just thinking about heading to the cafeteria. I didn’t bring anything from home today.”

“You should take a break,” he said gently. “You’ve been glued to that screen all afternoon.”

“I will,” I said with a small smile. “Just want to finish this first.”

He nodded and walked back to his seat. I opened the wrapper and took a bite. It wasn’t the best burger in the world, but it was warm, and it tasted like kindness.

After eating, I stepped out of the office for a few minutes and made my way to the balcony on the 8th floor. The air was cooler than I expected. A soft breeze swept across my face, carrying with it the faint scent of city rain and the evening rush.

I leaned on the railing and looked up at the open sky—blue, wide, free.

“How I wish I was a bird,” I whispered, letting the wind brush against my face. “No deadlines. No pressure. Just wings and the sky.”

For a moment, everything felt still.

But reality doesn’t let you stay in moments like that for long.

I stood there a little longer before walking back inside, returning to my desk and picking up where I left off. Time passed quietly. The office slowly emptied around me.

At exactly five in the evening, I packed up my things, shut down my laptop, and headed for home—another day behind me, another waiting tomorrow.

I got home around 6:40 p.m., and the moment I stepped inside, I was hit with the chaos.

The living room looked like a storm had passed through—shoes scattered, bags on the couch, clothes draped over chairs. And then came the voices, heated and rising from the direction of the bedroom.

At first, I considered ignoring it. I was tired, and this kind of drama was far too familiar. But something in me sighed, and I walked toward the noise.

“Mum, he just wants us to split the bill—but he’s going to cover most of it anyway,” Kate said, her tone firm but defensive.

“You don’t understand,” Mum replied, her voice tight with frustration. “If he’s rich, why can’t he pay for all of it? And if he won’t, then have a smaller wedding. What’s wrong with that?”

Wedding?

I blinked, standing just outside the doorway. She’s twenty-two. I don’t know where she’s rushing off to, but it’s like she thinks a grand wedding is some kind of crown.

“Mum, I want a grand wedding,” Kate insisted, arms folded. “How else will people know I married someone rich?”

I stepped into the room, unable to hold my tongue anymore. “Then why don’t you work and help pay for it?”

They both turned toward me, silent for a second, as if I’d walked in uninvited—which, technically, I had.

Kate scoffed. “No one asked for your opinion. And I’m not working. I have a rich fiancé, if you haven’t noticed.”

“That’s funny,” I said, folding my arms. “He’s so rich, yet he’s splitting bills with you. No one said you can’t have a grand wedding, but don’t expect people to break their backs for your fantasy.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t care. Both of you will contribute. I’m having a grand wedding—end of discussion.”

And with that, she turned and slammed the door shut.

I stared at the closed door for a moment, then looked at Mum. Her face looked tired—drained in that quiet way mothers get when they’re too worn out to argue anymore.

I shook my head and walked to my room.

After changing into something more comfortable, I came back out and started cleaning. The mess didn’t fix itself, and someone had to do it.

Once everything looked a little more like home again, I returned to my room. I lay down on my bed and stared at the ceiling for a moment before slowly drifting off to sleep—mentally exhausted in a house that never seemed to rest.

The next morning came with a sting.

Literally.

A sharp pain bloomed on the side of my face and my eyes snapped open. Disoriented, I stared up at my mother who stood over me, anger blazing in her eyes.

“Mum, why did you hit me like that?” I mumbled, my fingers instinctively rubbing the sore spot on my cheek.

“I can’t find my jewelry box,” she snapped. “And you were the one who cleaned my room yesterday.”

My brain, still half-asleep, struggled to keep up. “What jewelry box?”

She narrowed her eyes at me, her voice turning ice-cold. “Are you playing dumb with me right now?”

“Mum, I didn’t take your jewelry box,” I said calmly, trying not to provoke her any further. “Maybe you should ask Kate.”

At the mention of my sister’s name, Mum’s face twisted with disbelief. “Why would she take it? She’s not like you. She asks before taking anything.”

Before I could defend myself, she yanked me up from the bed, dragging me out of the room and into the living room.

“Mum, what’s going on?” Kate asked, confused as she walked in from the kitchen, her satin robe tied loosely around her waist.

“I’m looking for my jewelry box,” Mum said bitterly, “and your sister here is denying she took it even though she was the one who cleaned my room!”

“I cleaned your room, yes. But I didn’t take anything!” I said again, this time louder, hoping someone—anyone—would believe me.

Kate folded her arms, her tone accusatory. “Well, if Mum didn’t take it, and I didn’t take it… who else could it be, Sophia?”

My hands clenched at my sides. I was so tired. Tired of being the scapegoat. Tired of the constant blame.

“Maybe it was you,” I shot back. “Since you and your broke fiancé are still trying to figure out how to pay for your stupid wedding.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Kate’s expression darkened.

“What did you just say to me?” she asked slowly.

“I said your stupid wedding,” I repeated, my voice trembling with rage.

And then it happened. Her hand flew across my face, the slap echoing through the room. I staggered slightly but didn’t fall. My cheek burned.

Mum didn't stop her. She didn’t scold Kate. Instead, she said, “You deserved that. How dare you call your sister’s wedding stupid?”

Kate wasn’t finished. She stepped forward, her face twisted in disgust.

“You’re just a miserable little parasite,” she spat. “Living in this house like a leech. You don’t contribute anything. You’re just a good-for-nothing freeloader.”

Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not in front of them.

Kate’s phone started ringing. She glanced at the screen and quickly silenced it.

“Why aren’t you picking that?” Mum asked.

“It’s nothing,” Kate said flatly and turned to leave.

Before I could move, Mum turned back to me with finality. “Find my jewelry box, Sophia. If you still want to live under this roof, you’ll return it.”

Then she stormed off after Kate.

I stood frozen for a second before sinking onto the couch, finally letting the tears fall. I buried my face in my hands and cried. I was so fed up. I was sure Kate took the jewelry box. She just didn’t want to admit it.

Not long after, Mum returned, yelling from the doorway.

“Why are you sitting there crying? Do the dishes before you leave for work!”

She didn’t wait for a response.

With a heavy heart, I did the chores, washed my face, and left for work.