Chapter 240/continuous torment

Chapter 240: 240/continuous torment

Chapter 240

Stephanie’s point of view

I pressed the red button to end the call abruptly before he could push the argument any further. For a brief second, I held the silent phone to my chest only for it to vibrate violently against my palm once more.

This time, Alexander’s name lit up the screen.

Pressing the answer button, I raised the phone back to my ear.

His deep, resonant voice washed over me immediately, heavy with absolute authority and sharp, unyielding demand:

"Stephanie, I just spoke with Cedric."

A heavy beat of silence passed over the line before he demanded, "What on earth is going on over there? Why are you still stuck late at the office?"

Taking a deep, calculated breath, I smoothed out my expression, keeping my tone completely neutral.

"I have urgent autumn designs that I need to finalize tonight, Alexander."

He let out a low, dangerous growl through the receiver.

"This is madness! Dominic has no legal right to force you to stay locked in his office until this hour."

I could hear the rustle of papers on his end as he added coldly, "I’m calling his direct line right now to cancel this foolish assignment myself."

My heart plummeted into my stomach. The sudden fear of the black-and-white video tape being exposed drove a spike of adrenaline through my blood.

"Do not interfere, Alexander! Please..." I blurted out, my voice laced with desperate, unshakeable resolve.

I paused, leaning forward as I squeezed my eyes shut.

"...I was the one who insisted on staying late to finish the work tonight so I could have tomorrow off. I’ve already had dinner, and I’m completely fine.

There’s no need for any of this worry."

A suffocating silence hung over the line for a long, grueling moment while he weighed my words against his instincts. Finally, he let out a heavy, frustrated exhale that crackled over the speaker.

"Fine, Stephanie..." he replied, his voice dropping an octave into a cold warning. "...But if you aren’t back through the front gates within two hours, I won’t be settling this over the phone."

I cut the call instantly and thrust the phone deep back into my purse. Pressing both hands against my cheeks, I tried desperately to wipe the lingering terror off my face.

The heavy office door clicked open.

Vincetti stepped back into the room, carrying a sleek black paper bag. The rich, mouth-watering aroma of hot gourmet food drifted through the air instantly, mingling with the heavy, dark notes of his woody cologne. The overwhelming scent flooded my senses, rattling my already exhausted defenses.

Walking with quiet, deliberate strides, he crossed the room and placed the bag onto the low coffee table directly in front of me. Then, with smooth, imposing posture, he sank into the opposite end of the leather sofa.

Unzipping the bag, he pulled out a polished glass container filled with a hot, perfectly seasoned meal of tender grilled steak and fresh vegetables, setting a bottle of freshly squeezed juice beside it. He didn’t touch the cutlery or take a single bite himself he simply popped the glass lid wide open, allowing the rich, tempting steam to drift straight into my face.

I stared down at the food, a wave of helpless hunger washing over me while my fierce pride fought a losing battle against my body’s desperate physical demands.

Slowly lifting my eyes, I found him leaning back against the leather cushions, watching me with cool, unblinking dark eyes, his long fingers folded loosely over his lap.

"Your pencil has stopped moving, Miss Miller..."

His low voice drifted across the small gap between us, heavy with effortless control. He flicked his eyes down toward the steaming dish with a subtle, dismissive glance.

"...I don’t care for scents that distract me while I review my financial files."

He leaned in slightly, his sharp jawline cutting through the dim light of the room.

"Eat this so we can put an end to the embarrassing noise coming from your stomach, and get your mind back onto your sketches."

Every instinct inside me screamed to refuse. I wanted to grab the glass container, slam it straight back into his arrogant face, and tell him I’d rather starve to death on this floor than take a single crumb from his hand...

But right then, another sharp, painful twist coiled inside my gut. The silent, urgent reminder of my unborn twins who needed every drop of nourishment I could give them crushed my pride into dust.

Extending a hand with trembling fingers, I reached out and picked up the heavy silver fork without uttering a single word.

I began to eat slowly, swallowing a bitter lump of humiliation with every carefully chewed bite. All the while, Vincetti remained seated beside me in absolute, ominous quiet, watching me with cold satisfaction as though thoroughly enjoying the sight of my fierce stubbornness crumbling beneath the undeniable needs of my body.

I finished eating in absolute silence, swallowing the bitter lumps of pride that choked my throat with every single bite.

All the while, Vincetti sat across from me. His unyielding eyes remained fixed on my every move, watching me like a calculated predator.

The moment I pushed the empty container away, I reached straight for the pencil and drawing pads, resuming the remaining sketches. My eyes burned, blurred by a mixture of deep exhaustion and silent rage.

The heavy hours dragged by with agonizing slowness. With every gown I brought to life, it felt as though a crushing weight was lifted off my chest, until I finally completed all ten designs at midnight.

Dropping the pencil onto the table with a faint, trembling sigh, I snapped the sketchbook shut, closing out the final dress with a hot exhale as I gathered the scattered remains of my energy.

I pushed myself up from the leather sofa, my legs heavy and stiff. Taking slow, deliberate steps toward his massive wooden desk, I tossed the bound portfolio directly onto the polished surface in front of him.

It hit the wood with a sharp, resonant thud that shattered the quiet of the office.

"The ten gowns are ready, Mr. Vincetti..." I stated, my voice dry and laced with deep fatigue.

I held my chin up in a quiet display of defiance. "You may take them and review them now, as you requested."

Vincetti leaned slowly back into the contours of his leather chair, extending a hand to pull the papers toward him with steady fingers. He began flipping through the pages one by one, his dark eyes scanning the lines and intricate cuts with meticulous precision.

An eerie stillness settled over his sharp features, giving away no reaction whatsoever.

The silence hung in the room for a few agonizing minutes that felt like an eternity on my frayed nerves. Finally, he closed the sketchbook with quiet care, lifting his dark gaze to meet mine.

A cold, faint curl touched the corner of his lips.

"Not bad..." he murmured in a low, drawling tone that dripped with calculated authority. "At least you’ve proven you can deliver under pressure when forced to."

He gestured toward the door with a subtle flick of his hand. "You may leave now, Miss Miller."

I didn’t wait for another word. Grabbing my purse from the sofa, I turned on my heel and paced toward the door.

Just as my fingers wrapped around the brass handle to push it open, his deep, resonant voice cut through the air behind me, pinning me in my tracks:

"Have you forgotten that you are supposed to drive me home, Miss Miller?"

I froze, squeezing my eyes shut to force down the remaining shreds of my failing patience. Turning back toward him, I forced a faint, practiced smile onto my face, keeping my tone smooth to hide the malice burning inside:

"Of course, Mr. Vincetti... After you."

He locked his desk with a quiet click, standing up to his full imposing height. He strode past me into the empty corridor, leading the way to the elevator and down into the subterranean parking garage.

We climbed into the car. As I reached out to turn the key in the ignition, my phone vibrated repeatedly in my hand.

Flicking the screen open, I saw a new message from Alexander. My fingers flew across the keyboard: ’I’m on my way home right now, don’t worry.’

Beside his message sat a long string of unread texts from Kyra, filled with tearful apologies for her harsh words from the day before.

I scanned the first few lines with cold eyes, then locked the screen and shoved the phone back into my purse without typing a single character.

Shifting into gear, I pulled out of the garage and hit the main avenue, a stifling quiet settling once more over the tight space between Vincetti and me.

The car came to a stop before the massive gates of his estate, the quiet hum of the engine the only sound filling the darkness inside.

Taking a deep breath to reclaim a sense of control, I turned to him with a dry, neutral voice:

"We’re here... Mr. Vincetti."