Chapter 8: The Velvet Room.
1647 Words
“Miss Ama? Miss Ama!”
I flickered.
“Miss Ama, are you okay? I've been calling your name but no response. Your intercom has been ringing nonstop. Mr Marcus even asked me to come get you myself. Is everything alright?” The senior secretary said.
The world around me was revolving, but inside my head was a plain white place with no walls, no buildings, and no existence.
“s**t! I'm good. Just…lost in my head.” I muttered, brushing my hair backwards. “I'll go see him now.”
I pushed my chair back and stood. My body felt heavier than usual—a weight pressing down on my chest. I barely got any rest last night. My mind wouldn't stop spinning.
Who was the unknown messenger? Who wrote those words in my diary?
And Emilia—she still hadn't returned home. I called and texted…no reply. I stole a glance at my phone again and still no reply.
As I walked towards Marcus's office, another thought crawled back into my head—the thing that had truly kept me up all night and made my eyes heavy.
What happened to Marcus years ago? Why is he so cold and arrogant? That half–burnt picture on his desk haunted me—him smiling between his parents, he looked happy. Then there was the whisper from the senior secretary. Seven secretaries in three months? Why?
And the most haunting—” Curiosity has consequences.” What did he mean by that?
The door creaked open before I could knock.
And I was met with Marcus' vicious eyes locked onto mine like I had just committed a crime.
“Miss Wellington, if I have to call you myself, what is the point of the intercom?” His tone was sharp, controlling, and dangerous.
I swallowed hard. “I—”
“I'm sorry, right? That's what you're about to say? Your favourite saying.”
I kept my head bowed down, fumbling with my nails. Every time I looked at him, I saw the same, cold, arrogant Marcus—yet somewhere in my mind, that soft smile from the old photo kept haunting me.
“Miss Wellington!”
His voice cracked through my thoughts. I jolted back, the world snapping into focus—the hum of printers and low chatters outside.
“Into my office.”
That sharp tone was enough to slice bones.
I followed him in, the air in his office was heavier, like returning to a crime scene. The door clicked shut.
Bam!
A stack of files hit the desk between us.
“Miss Wellington,” he said. “I have very important clients arriving at one. They are very influential and they hold great stock in this company. These are the files for the presentation. You'll organise them and bring them when it's time for the meeting.”
My pulse spiked. My first client meeting and under Marcus—the man who could shatter confidence with a single glare.
“Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes sir, I will get to work right away,” I replied and stormed out of his office.
***
Soon enough, the time hit one o’clock, and my palms were slick. The conference room was filled with polished laughter and designed suites.
Marcus sat at the head of the table, looking confident with his head held high and his hand placed on the table while the other on the seat handle.
The meeting was about to start. I took my seat beside Marcus and he glared at me for a second and looked away.
I understood his stare. They read death—Don't mess up.
My stomach twisted.
Everything went fine—until my hands betrayed me.
“Miss Wellington, the budget forecast file,” he said.
I passed him the file.
He flipped it open and scanned it. “This is last quarter's report.”
My blood turned ice.
He didn't shout. He glared at me once again, and with a cold smile, he said to the clients. “My secretary seems… distracted today.”
A few chuckled.
I remained calm, but within me, I knew if I didn’t act fast, it would be the end for me.
Luckily, I found the file and handed it over to Marcus.
After the presentation, instead of applause, murmurs filled the room. “Mr Voss, this is unacceptable. The numbers, dates, names, analysis…everything is messed up.” One of the clients spoke.
Marcus went through the files in haste. My heart hammered and sweat dripped down my back.
I prayed for a miracle but luck wasn't on my side. My face turned pale when I stared at Marcus—those dreadful eyes.
“Please, I'm so sorr—”
“We will reschedule this meeting because we have known you for years, and you have never failed us.” Another client said as they all stood up and left.
I was left with Marcus in the room. His hands were on the table, and his face bowed down. I could see his veins appearing. “Sir, I—”
“I what? You had one job!” he snapped, slamming his hand onto the table and finally his face rose to me. His jaw tightened, teeth grinding in restraining fury.
“I'm sorry, sir. It was a mix-up—”
“Don't you dare speak! You are incompetent.” He hit his hand on the table even louder this time.
I flinched and I didn't know when a drop of tears fell from my eyes.
“Why do you always do this?” The words escaped before I could stop them.
He froze. “Do what?”
“Treat everyone like they’re beneath you!” I answered with a trembling voice. “You act perfect but meanwhile you are broken yourself!”
Something twitched in his eyes—real, like I had broken a wall that had been guarded. But then it quickly vanished, replaced with the familiar icy look.
“Get out of my office.”
But I stood firm. “I saw that picture,” I said softly. “You looked happy. Wha—what happened to you?”
“Get out!!!”
My chest lurched together. I left before all my tears poured down.
***
Hours passed. Night came quickly, the office emptied, the city outside glowing with streetlights.
I stayed behind, pretending to finish work, but really…I was trying not to feel.
My hatred for him grew. The way he made me feel—small, stupid, powerless.
Yet I couldn't stop thinking about the pain behind that mask. What happened to him?
His lights were still on. “ It's none of my business, I hate him,” I muttered under my breath. I grabbed my bag and made my way to the exit.
But as I left, something in me wanted me to go back, something in me wanted me to hate me. “Urgh!”
Ding!
I glanced at my phone. It was Emilia.
(Hey, I'm sorry. Just seeing your text and calls. I stayed an extra day but I'm home now… love you.)
I didn't want to go home. I was unsettled. I walked aimlessly until I found myself in front of a small, dimly lit bar.
The Velvet Room.
Music drifted out—low jazz, warm and sad.
I hesitated, but after a long day of torture, one or two drinks wouldn't hurt. I slipped inside.
Whiskey and vodka filled the air. I sank into a bar counter.
“Something light,” I said to the bar attendant.
“Rough day, huh?”
The voice was calm, smooth, and confident.
I looked up. The man before me was dressed all black—a fitted dress shirt, a trench coat and slimlined pants. Blonde hair with warm brown eyes that shimmer like crystals. He had a smirk that could undo composure itself.
“Something like that,” I replied.
“Then you are taking the wrong drink,” he called the attention of the bar attendant. “The regular. Two.”
He moved a seat closer, and the air was replaced with the scent of his cologne.
Soon enough, the bar attendant brought the drink. We talked. He listened—really listened, about things that really didn't concern him. He spoke with ease that made the dark cloud in my head fade away.
I hadn't even realised it was almost midnight. I stood up to leave, and he caught my hand lightly. “ Don't say goodbye. This bar doesn't like farewells. Only returns.”
I tilted my head in amusement. “So you live here or what?”
“Maybe.”
I scoffed.
“Hand me your phone. I want to show you a trick.”
I handed him my phone and in a minute he gave it back. “ Your number? What do I need your number for?”
“You will call me within three days.” He replied with a grin.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Is this some kind of skit or something?” But he replied with a smile.
He stood up and went out before I could.
“Wait!” I called out. “ You never told me your name.”
He looked back with the same teasing smirk still in place and somehow my heart skipped.
“Alexander.”
“I'm Ama.”
“I know you.” He left without looking back.
I was supposed to be bothered about how he knew my name even before he told me, but I was less concerned. A smile grew on my face.
And for the first time in weeks, I felt seen. Truly seen. Yet something in me whispered danger.
I ran out of the bar but he was far gone.
Alexander. The charming danger.
- Writer
