Chapter 238/Under the Devil’s Watchful Eye

Chapter 238: 238/Under the Devil’s Watchful Eye

Chapter 238

Stephanie’s POV

I backed the car out and hit the main boulevard, my knuckles white against the leather of the steering wheel. My eyes flicked constantly to the rearview mirror, tracking the stretch of tarmac behind us while a heavy, watchful silence took over the car’s interior.

Before long, the towering glass facade of the corporate headquarters glinted under the morning sun. I pulled into the reserved spot and cut the engine, stepping out immediately to open the passenger door. Vincetti stepped into the open air with an effortless, imposing presence.

He offered me nothing more than a sharp, unreadable glance before cutting across the main lobby with wide, sweeping strides. I stayed a step behind, keeping my posture rigid and my chin high a calculated front to mask the chaotic rhythm in my chest.

Inside his expansive office, Vincetti didn’t waste a second.

He rounded his massive mahogany desk and sank into the deep leather executive chair. His dark eyes scanned the neat stacks of documents lined up before him. Then, his head snapped up, locking onto me with a sternness completely devoid of the subtle playfulness from the car ride.

"Miss Miller..." His voice was dry, heavy with absolute authority as his thumb tapped against a sleek black folder. "...the Autumn Collection is right around the corner. Where are the ten dress designs you were supposed to hand in this morning? Or have you completely forgotten your core responsibilities as a designer here?"

My eyes widened slightly. The missing assignment hit me all at once completely erased from my mind amid the living hell of recent events. I swallowed hard, drawing in a quiet breath to steady my voice.

"I haven’t forgotten, Mr. Vincetti..." I kept my tone level, fighting for control. "...but the sheer volume of recent events hasn’t exactly left me much room to sketch."

A dark, subtle curve flexed at the corner of his mouth. He planted both palms flat against the polished wood, leaning forward until his raspy growl filled the quiet space between us:

"Circumstances are not an excuse in my world, Stephanie. Gather your pads, pencils, and drafting tools immediately... You will sit right here, in this room, directly under my gaze. And you will not set foot outside this door until all ten dresses are fully drawn."

I froze, the command striking like a splash of ice water. My fingers twitched over the strap of my handbag as I stared at him, unable to hide the sheer shock of his demand.

"Ten entire dresses today?!" The words burst out before I could stop them. I took a sharp step back, my voice tight with suppressed anger. "That’s impossible, Mr. Vincetti! Design takes time concepts, details, revisions... You can’t just command a full line with the press of a button!"

He didn’t even blink. He leaned back slightly, locking his unyielding gaze onto mine like cold steel. Slowly, deliberately, he set his gold pen down onto the desk, its metallic click echoing in the room.

"The word ’impossible’ was thrown out of my vocabulary a long time ago, Miss Miller..." He rested his hands over the armrests. "...Now, you have two choices: execute the work as commanded, or face the exact consequences of failing to obey my orders."

I clamped my teeth together so hard my jaw throbbed. I gave him a single, stiff nod of wounded pride, then spun on my heel and swept out into the corridor.

My heels clicked sharply against the marble floor as I stormed down the hallway, cursing him under my breath cursing the suffocating authority he held over me. *Screw you and your sick vocabulary... You really think you own people with a flick of your wrist, you lunatic!*

I burst into my office, sweeping drawing pads, charcoal pencils, and shading tools into my arms with trembling fingers. Clutched tightly against my chest, I dragged my feet back toward his personal domain.

I pushed the heavy door open and walked in without a word. Marching straight to the deep leather sofa in the corner, I let myself fall onto the cushions, spreading my blank papers across the low glass table in front of me.

I hunched over the pad, tapping the tip of the pencil against the paper before dragging the initial, firm lines of the first gown. I tried to summon the rich textures of autumn, forcing my mind to focus through the smothering tension in the room.

Minutes dragged on, and a strange prickle of heat began to pin itself against the back of my neck. I paused my pencil, slowly lifting my eyes from the pad.

Vincetti had rested his elbows on the desk, his chin propped over his interlaced fingers. He was staring directly at me, his shadowy, unblinking gaze devouring every small movement I made on that sofa.

My eyes locked with his for a lingering second. A cold shiver ran straight down my spine. He was watching me the way an art collector inspects a dynamic piece or the way a predator watches a trapped animal squirm in a cage.

I snapped my gaze back to the paper, my fingers trembling around the wood of the pencil. I forced another sharp line across the page, my heart pounding as the air in the room grew noticeably heavier.

"Don’t look away, Stephanie..."

His deep voice sliced through the silence. He stood up slowly from behind his desk, rounding the mahogany edge to take slow, deliberate steps across the rug toward me.

He came to a stop right over me. He reached down, his cold fingertips catching a stray lock of hair on my shoulder and brushing it back with a slow, agonizing stroke.

"Because every line you draw right now..." he whispered, his breath warm against my ear, "...and every minute you sit in this room is just another reminder that you belong under my complete control... Keep drawing. Don’t stop."

The pencil froze mid-stroke. A sudden wave of heat surged through my veins like an alarm bell.

*My plan.* I suddenly remembered. The goal was never true submission it was making this devil believe I had fallen right into his trap, that I was so pathetically obsessed with him that the thrill of his chase would die out.

I needed to play the desperate fool chasing his power, so he would tire of his sick game, throw away that cursed video tape, and walk out of my marriage and my life for good.

I set the pencil down on the glass table with calculated ease. I looked up, filling my eyes with a manufactured glaze of sudden boldness and false desire.

I rose from the sofa slowly, stepping into his space with a measured, deliberate sway until my front almost brushed his chest.

I lifted a slightly trembling hand, resting my fingertips against the sharp line of his jaw. I traced his skin lightly, my voice dropping into a soft, raspy murmur:

"And do you really expect me to focus on these dresses... when you’re standing over me looking like this?"

I closed the remaining inch between us, tilting my head back, angling my lips toward his to offer him a kiss that would make him swallow the bait whole.

Before my lips could touch his, Vincetti’s head snapped back. His hand clamped around my wrist like a cuff of solid iron, shoving me backward to put a firm, unyielding distance between us. His features instantly hardened into solid ice.

He looked down at me, his eyes dead and freezing.

"This is a place of business, Miss Miller..." His tone cut like a razor. "...and you will not cross your boundaries with me here."

I froze. It felt like a physical slap across the face, leaving my cheeks burning with intense, scorching humiliation. My eyes widened in stunned silence. I yanked my wrist back out of his grip, taking a fast step away as if his skin had burned mine.

The heat of embarrassment flooded my veins like venom. How could he reject me with such icy mockery after forcing all this pressure and terror on me? Bitterness coated the back of my throat. My royal blue dress suddenly felt like a shell of glass that had just shattered across his office floor.

I squeezed my eyes shut, holding my breath to gather the broken pieces of my dignity and choke back the sheer hatred threatening to spill out. When I opened them, his cold gaze was still pinned on my flushed face unmoved, unbothered, and entirely without regret.

I turned back to the sofa, my steps heavy and bitter.

I sat down, picking up the pencil with fingers stiff from tension. Bending over the papers, I channeled every ounce of my rage into the harsh, violent strokes of the sketch, my lower lip trembling in silence as my mind raced to find a way out of this humiliating trap.

The office door swung open suddenly without warning, slicing straight through the suffocating tension in the room.

The PR Manager stepped inside, her confident strides echoing quietly against the polished floor. She carried a sleek, leather-bound folder tucked under her arm. Wearing a tailored black suit that framed her figure perfectly, she wore a polished professional smile one that quickly shifted into a sharp, probing glance as her eyes swept across the room.

She paused near the entrance, her calculating gaze flicking between Vincetti, who stood in the center of the room with his usual cold composure, and me, sitting on the sofa. Heat still burned in my cheeks from the fresh sting of humiliation, my sketches scattered across the low glass table.

"Good morning, Mr. Vincetti..."

She smoothed the front of her jacket, taking a slow step toward his desk. She cast a sideways glance toward me, her eyes lingering with a subtle, condescending appraisal she didn’t bother to hide.

"...I apologize for the intrusion," she continued, resting the folder gently onto the mahogany surface. "But the foreign partnership file requires your immediate signature before the afternoon meeting."

Vincetti turned toward her slowly, his expression snapping back into its usual unreadable mask. He gave her a single, tight nod.

Reaching across the desk, his long fingers wrapped around his gold pen though his dark eyes flicked toward the corner of the room, catching every bit of my quiet defeat before he brought the nib down to the paper.