Married To My High School Bully

Chapter 8

The high-powered attorney, who had clearly been thoroughly briefed on the delicate nature of our arrangement, observed us with a look that suggested he considered us completely unhinged. We were undoubtedly the most chaotic, infuriating high-society clients to ever step foot inside his pristine office.

Damien made a sharp gesture toward the door. “Come with me.”

We followed him into a spacious, wood-paneled office and took our seats across from his massive glass desk. The attorney slid a thick leather bound document across the polished surface, instructing me to read through it carefully, noting that Mr. Kingsley had already signed off on the core provisions.

I pulled the document toward me and scrutinised every single clause, line by line. As I reached the final sections, I realized this was my only opportunity to secure my personal freedom and protect myself from his total control.

“I want a specific clause inserted right here,” I stated firmly, tapping my finger against the paper. “It must clearly guarantee my absolute right to maintain independent employment throughout the duration of the marriage.”

Damien didn't even flinch. He simply gestured to the lawyer. “Add it.”

I narrowed my eyes. That had been far too easy. If he was handing out concessions without an argument, I was going to push my luck as far as it would stretch.

“Furthermore,” I added, looking straight at the attorney, “I require four full days every single month completely to myself. I reserve the right to travel anywhere I choose during those days, without interference or surveillance.”

Damien leaned back in his chair, a faint, mocking smile touching his lips. “Anything else you require, Princess? Perhaps a private tropical island to add to the terms?”

I completely ignored his sarcasm, keeping my eyes fixed on the lawyer. “And finally, the moment this twelve-month agreement officially expires, I want the absolute right to sever all ties and walk away with zero legal, financial, or personal obligations remaining between us.”

The attorney’s pen paused over his notepad, his spectacles sliding slightly down his nose as he looked up.

Damien raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes locking onto mine with intense curiosity. “Are you actively drafting your escape route already, Avery?”

“I am simply exercising proper foresight,” I replied with a sweet, lethal smile. “You know… exactly like a qualified accountant should.”

After two grueling hours of drafting, revising, and inserting strict legal boundaries, the final contract was printed and placed on the desk. Damien picked up a sleek fountain pen, signed his name with a bold, sweeping flourish, and handed the pen across to me.

“Your turn,” he murmured softly.

I grasped the pen, pressed the nib to the parchment, and signed Avery Williams across the dotted line. I slammed the leather folder shut with a crisp sound.

“Done. Now, if you will excuse me, I have actual professional reports to finalize,” I said, standing up and grabbing my clutch.

Damien escorted me down to the waiting SUV, his jaw tightly set and an unreadable expression in his eyes. “You genuinely believe you secured a victory today, don't you?”

I paused beside the open car door, looking him dead in the eye. “I don't simply believe it, Damien. I know I did.”

As I slid into the leather interior, he suddenly leaned down, placing one hand on the door frame, bringing his face dangerously close to mine. “I will see you tomorrow evening, Avery. Make sure you dress in something acceptable, accountant.”

There was a dark, wicked glint in his eyes that sent a sudden shiver down my spine—a look that silently communicated that while I might have won this minor skirmish, he was playing an entirely different game.

Before the driver could close the door, I raised my middle finger straight at his face. It was deeply immature, wildly unprofessional, but oh, it felt astonishingly satisfying.

The following morning, I walked into my office building holding my head high, still riding the absolute high of my small legal victory from the day before. The feeling of taking back a fraction of my autonomy had gifted me an extra surge of energy. I offered the receptionist a bright smile as I headed straight toward my desk, fully prepared to dominate my workload.

But the moment I sat down, my eyes landed on a stark white envelope resting directly on top of my keyboard. It bore the official company letterhead and had my name typed across the front.

A formal letter from Mr. Jenkins? Why wouldn't he simply send a basic email?

I picked up the envelope, tore open the seal, and pulled out the folded paper inside. As my eyes scanned the words, the blood instantly drained from my face.

What the absolute f**k is happening?!

I surged out of my chair, clutching the letter in a white-knuckled grip, and marched straight toward Mr. Jenkins’s corner office. I pushed the door open without knocking and slammed the paper onto his desk.

Mr. Jenkins jumped slightly, quickly putting on his reading glasses as he looked down at the paper as if he had never encountered it before.

“Miss Williams…” he began, his voice raspy as he cleared his throat nervously. “I… uh… I am deeply sorry. This is simply the way things must be handled.”

I stared at him, my mind spinning between utter confusion and rising panic. “Are you seriously firing me? Right now?”

“Well, it is certainly not a reflection of your personal performance,” he stammered, completely avoiding my eyes. “You are an extraordinarily hard worker, and your qualifications are impeccable. But the firm is currently undergoing sudden, severe budget cutbacks. As much as I would love to retain you on our payroll, we simply can no longer afford to keep someone with your advanced salary requirements.”

“Budget cutbacks?” I repeated, my voice rising in disbelief. “Are you completely out of your mind? You literally gave the front desk receptionist a fifteen percent raise just last week!”

“I am truly, deeply sorry, Avery,” he whispered softly. This time, his eyes met mine, filled with genuine regret—and in that single, devastating second, the terrifying truth hit me like a physical blow.

He was genuinely sorry, but he wasn't the person pulling the trigger.

That arrogant, power-hungry bastard just sabotaged my entire career.

“Fine,” I spat out, my chest heaving with intense rage.

I turned around, marched back to my cubicle, shoved my personal belongings into my bag, and stormed out of the building. Damien Kingsley had no right to do this. Absolutely no right. Not everyone was handed a multi-billion-dollar empire on a silver platter by their wealthy father! Some of us had to bleed, sweat, and fight for every single accomplishment in our lives!

Outside on the sidewalk, the bright morning sunlight felt blinding. I bought a hot cup of black coffee from a street vendor across the street, my hands shaking with pure anger. I pulled out my phone and dialed Mrs. Kingsley’s private number—knowing with absolute certainty that she was always eager to involve herself in her son's personal affairs.

“Avery, my darling! What an absolute lovely surprise!” her voice bubbled through the speaker, radiating aristocratic warmth.

“Good morning, Mrs. Kingsley,” I began, forcing my voice to sound smooth and composed despite the rage burning in my chest. “I was just sitting here thinking…” I hesitated for a fraction of a second, a small pang of guilt hitting me as I prepared to manipulate her, but a quick glance back at my former office building obliterated my hesitation completely.

“…I was thinking that perhaps Damien and I really ought to spend far more quality time together. You know… to properly bond as a couple before the wedding.”

“Oh, that is a magnificent, wonderful idea, my dear!” she squealed with delight. “I am so exceptionally thrilled to hear you taking such a proactive approach to your relationship!”

“Yes,” I murmured dryly. “Could you perhaps provide me with the exact address of his primary corporate headquarters?”

“Of course, sweetheart!” She immediately rattled off the prestigious building address, adding several unsolicited tips on how to appear more alluring to her son. I hurriedly ended the call before she could offer to send a styling crew to my location.

Twenty minutes later, as I stepped into the towering, glass-and-steel skyscraper that served as the global headquarters for Kingsley Enterprises, two undeniable facts became brutally clear.

First, the Kingsley family weren't merely wealthy multi-millionaires—they were multi-billionaires whose assets spanned the globe. Second, their corporate security detail possessed appalling customer service manners.

The senior receptionist behind the marble desk fixed me with a cold glare that suggested she believed I had wandered into the wrong universe.

“May I assist you?” she asked, her voice dripping with artificial politeness, her face heavily covered in layers of makeup.

“Yes. I am here to see Mr. Kingsley,” I replied, giving her my most professional, unbothered smile.

“Do you possess a formal appointment?”

“Oh, I don't require an appointment. I am his fiancée,” I said sweetly. “Kindly pick up your phone and inform him that Avery is waiting.”

She gave me an incredibly unimpressed once-over, clearly doubting every word coming out of my mouth, but she reluctantly lifted the receiver and made the call.

When I finally pushed open the heavy double doors into Damien’s top-floor executive suite, I found him sitting behind a massive, dark wood desk, looking every bit the ruthless corporate monarch. A victorious, smug smile was already playing on his lips. He had been expecting me, and he knew precisely why I was there.

“Ah, Miss Williams,” he drawled smoothly, leaning back in his leather executive chair. “To what do I possibly owe the immense pleasure of this surprise visit?”

“Cut the absolute bullshit, Damien!” I snapped, slamming the door shut behind me and marching across the expansive office. “You got me fired.”

His dark eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. “Sweetheart, please. I am currently in the delicate process of assuming absolute control over a global conglomerate. I oversee hundreds of thousands of employees, manage thousands of complex investments, and direct dozens of subsidiary corporations. Do you genuinely believe I possess the spare time to micro-manage your tiny accounting job?”

“It was not tiny!” I yelled, my voice echoing off the glass walls as tears of pure frustration pricked the corners of my eyes. “I poured my blood, sweat, and soul into building my career! I worked my ass off to earn that position! Not all of us were handed hand-me-down empires by our fathers!”

I took another sharp step toward his desk, pointing an accusing finger at him. “If you claim to be so powerful and formidable, be man enough to admit that you pulled strings behind my back because you pathologically insist on controlling everything! What’s the matter, Damien? Could your massive ego simply not tolerate the thought of me having a shred of financial independence?”

Damien slowly stood up from his chair, lacing his fingers together over his stomach, his towering frame casting a long shadow across the room.

“Why on earth would I wish to strip away your independence?” he asked smoothly, his voice dangerously calm. “You are completely free to pursue whatever activities you desire—provided they align respectfully with the Kingsley family name. Do you honestly expect my future wife to be ordered around by some low-level manager who isn't even qualified to clean my shoes?”

“The Kingsley name?!” I threw my hands up into the air, laughing bitterly. “Have you completely forgotten that I am only bound to you for twelve months?! Answer me this—what happens after a year when this contract expires and we go our separate ways? What on earth am I supposed to fall back on when my career has been completely destroyed?!”

“You are being utterly dramatic,” Damien replied dismissively, stepping around the desk. “Naturally, you will be exceptionally well compensated when the term ends. You will never have to work a single day for the rest of your life. I foolishly assumed accountants were supposed to be financially intelligent.”

The sheer arrogance in his voice pushed me past my breaking point. “You were an utterly insufferable bully as a teenager, and you are still the exact same insufferable monster today, Junior!”

The absolute instant that word left my lips, Damien’s face darkened completely. The suave, polished executive vanished, replaced by something terrifying and wild.

Before I could even process his movement, he crossed the room with terrifying speed. I scrambled backward in sheer panic until my spine slammed hard against the cold wall.

Damien trapped me, planting his large hands flat against the drywall on either side of my head, leaning down until his dark, furious eyes were inches from mine.

“What did I explicitly tell you about using that name?” he growled out, his deep voice carrying a lethal, terrifying edge that vibrated through my chest. “Do. Not. Call. Me. Junior.”

In that horrifying second, the present vanished entirely. I was sixteen years old all over again—trapped in a dark hallway, trembling with sheer terror while he towered over me, crying helpless tears as he systematically shattered my world.

The terrifying bully I had feared for years was standing right in front of me. Over the past few days, I had foolishly allowed myself to forget the sheer extent of his cruelty. I had allowed a tiny, pathetic part of my heart to wonder if he had somehow changed into a better man.

My throat constricted tightly, heavy tears spilling over my lashes and trailing down my hot cheeks.

“Get off me,” I whispered, my voice shaking so violently I barely recognized it as my own. “Please… just get away from me.”

Damien’s fierce expression instantly froze. As he registered the raw terror in my eyes and the tears falling down my face, the anger drained from his features, replaced by a sudden flick of horror and regret. He recoiled slightly, taking a step back and lowering his hands.

But it was far too late. The damage was thoroughly done.

I had nothing left to say to him. I shoved past his broad frame, threw open the heavy office doors, and sprinted down the hallway toward the elevators, completely ignoring his deep voice calling out my name behind me.

The elevator ride down to the lobby felt like an agonizing eternity, and by the time I burst through the front entrance into the bustling afternoon street, I was gasping for air, clutching my chest as panic threatened to consume me.

I hailed a taxi, hurried home, and verified that the house was completely empty. I rushed up to my bedroom, collapsed onto the bed, pulled the blankets over my head, and allowed the heavy, sobbing tears to flow freely.

I had spent years believing I was healed. I had convinced myself that I was strong, independent, and capable of standing up to anyone. But ten seconds in a room with him had proved that I was still that same terrified, broken girl.

If I was ever going to truly heal from the trauma he had inflicted on my life, I couldn't allow him to break me again. I couldn't let him win this war.

First thing tomorrow morning, I am going job hunting.

Our legally binding contract explicitly stated that I possessed the absolute right to maintain employment. I would secure a new job if I had to scrub floors as a night janitor to do it.