My Psychotic Boss

Corporate Gala

The sleek hum of the engine echoed down the quiet street as a jet-black Maserati rolled to a stop in front of Seren's apartment. Its polished chrome gleamed like liquid mercury under the city lights. Seren stepped out of the building's lobby, heels clicking against the pavement, her black dress swaying just above her ankles. She clutched her coat tighter around her shoulders, partly from the chill in the spring air, and partly from the nerves twisting in her stomach.

The passenger-side door opened with a whisper. Malrick leaned over from the driver's seat, his tailored navy suit cutting a sharp silhouette in the leather interior. "You look perfect," he said, not smiling, but with a flicker of appreciation in his eyes. The words were almost obligatory, yet something in the way he looked at her, too long, too carefully, made her heart ache with questions she wouldn't dare ask.

"Thanks," she replied, sliding into the seat. The door shut behind her with a quiet finality. The ride was smooth and quiet, the car gliding through the city like it owned the road. They didn't speak much, save for Malrick's occasional glance at her, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. Seren stared out the window, watching buildings blur by, the glint of streetlights mirrored on her carefully done makeup. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't warm either.

The Gala

The gala was held at the Orsay Grand, a building of glass and gold in the heart of the city. As they pulled up to the entrance, photographers flashed their cameras, capturing executives and their dates as they swept up the marble steps. Malrick handed his keys to the valet and moved around the car to open her door. Ever the gentleman, at least in public.

Inside, the air shimmered with opulence. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, and the room buzzed with the refined laughter of the elite. Velvet drapes, champagne towers, and a live string quartet offered a kind of theatrical luxury that only corporations with obscene amounts of money could afford. Seren clutched Malrick's arm as they entered, trying to steel herself. She wasn't here just to support him. She was here to be seen. And then, as if on cue, she saw them.

Across the ballroom, Delaney stood beside Rowan, her perfectly coiffed hair falling over one shoulder as she laughed at something he said. She had her hand looped through his arm like she belonged there, like she always had. Rowan looked relaxed, at ease, as if nothing in the world could bother him. They were surrounded by a small cluster of people, all smiling, all nodding, their laughter too easy. Too seamless.

Seren's breath caught. She tried to tell herself she didn't care. But it was like watching an echo of everything that had been stolen from her, reinvented without her. Malrick noticed. Without saying a word, he gently guided her away from the sight, his hand pressing lightly at the small of her back. "They're not worth the air," he murmured, almost too low for her to hear. She didn't answer. She didn't have to. He knew.

They moved through the ballroom, past flutes of champagne and clinking cutlery, into a quieter corner of the hall where the shadows softened the bright smiles and performances. Here, a different sort of crowd mingled, less laughter, more hushed congratulations.

People stopped Malrick frequently. Older men in tuxedos, women with sharp eyes and sharper heels, board members, investors, clients. Each one had some variation of the same phrase:

"Malrick, brilliant numbers this quarter."

"Your presentation last week, flawless."

"You're the future of this company."

Malrick nodded graciously to each of them, his responses clipped but polite. Seren stood by his side, invisible and yet not. Everyone saw her, but no one spoke to her. Not really. They looked past her, acknowledging only the man she stood beside. She began to feel like an accessory. An ornament meant to soften his sharp edges. After a while, Malrick leaned in. "You doing okay?"

She nodded. "This is your world."

"And it's a hollow one," he muttered. His eyes, for just a moment, looked tired, almost young. But the mask slid back into place quickly.

Then the energy shifted. A low hush spread across the nearby crowd, followed by a quiet ripple of recognition. People began to straighten, fix their postures. Seren turned in the direction of the disturbance and saw him. The CEO. He moved through the room with the quiet gravity of a man who didn't need to demand attention, he simply received it. Harold Velvore, the CEO of Velvore Foods and Malrick's father, was an imposing figure. His silver hair was neatly combed back, his dark suit immaculate, a subtle pocket square adding just enough flair. He looked like the kind of man who could make or break your entire life with a single phone call, and had, many times over.

"Malrick," he said, stopping before them. His voice was calm, measured, too even to be warm.

"Father," Malrick responded, nodding stiffly.

Seren stood slightly behind Malrick, unsure of what to do with her hands. The energy between the two men was taut, restrained. No hugs. No back slaps. Just two alphas sizing each other up under layers of civility. "You've done well," Harold said, eyes flicking to his son and then to Seren. "Congratulations on Q1. I saw the projections. Impressive."

"Just doing my job," Malrick replied, voice neutral.

"Not everyone does it with such... precision."

There was a pause. Neither man broke eye contact. Seren couldn't explain it, but the moment reminded her of a chess match. Not a game of affection, but one of measured control. And yet, beneath it all, beneath the posture and cold acknowledgment, there was something else. Something tender, if strangled. She saw it in the flicker of Harold's expression when Malrick glanced away. And in the way Malrick's jaw tightened, like he was biting back something unsaid. Seren found herself speaking before she could stop. "It's obvious where Malrick gets it from," she said.

Both men turned toward her. Harold raised an eyebrow, amused. "Is that so?" Malrick's eyes flicked to hers, unreadable.

"You both command a room," she said, feeling exposed but unwilling to retreat. "Even if you don't say much."

Harold chuckled, just once, a soft, deep sound. "That's rare," he said, nodding approvingly. "Most people just try too hard." Malrick didn't smile, but something in his shoulders eased. Just a fraction. "Well, enjoy the evening," Harold said finally. "We'll speak soon."

As he turned and walked away, the crowd subtly parted for him. The king among pawns. They stood in silence for a while after Harold left. Seren could feel the weight of it in Malrick, like he was holding something down just to keep moving. "He's proud of you," she said gently.

Malrick laughed without humor. "He's proud of numbers. I'm just the one delivering them."

"Maybe," she said, "but he looked at you like someone who knows what it cost." He didn't answer. But he didn't disagree either.

A waiter passed by, and Seren grabbed a flute of champagne, more for something to hold than to drink. She turned toward him, leaning slightly against the wall. "Do you love him?" she asked quietly.

Malrick looked down at his shoes. "In my way. Which is probably the wrong way."

Seren thought of her own family. Of strained phone calls and empty holidays. "Maybe that's just the only way some people can."

He looked at her, and for the first time that evening, really saw her. "You didn't belong in that corner earlier," he said. "They should've seen you."

"I wasn't invisible," she replied with a sad smile. "Just inconvenient."

"Never to me," he said, and the words landed heavier than she expected. Not romantic. Not wistful. Just honest. The Echo of the Night Later, as the gala wound down, Seren watched Delaney and Rowan from a distance once more. They were still laughing. Still perfect. But now, it didn't sting quite as sharply.

She glanced at Malrick beside her, his face unreadable as ever. But his hand brushed hers briefly, just enough to remind her he was there. That she wasn't alone. That maybe they were both navigating a world that hadn't been designed for them to fit neatly into.

And maybe that was okay.