Chapter 81 - 0081: Help You Unwind

Chapter 81: Chapter 0081: Help You Unwind

Elena’s Point Of View

With that, I yanked the door open so hard it slammed against the heavy wall behind it, the deafening bang echoing through the grand, silent house like a gunshot.

I wasn’t sure if he’d stop me. If he’d rise, grab my arm, and shove me against the wall the way he sometimes did when he was drunk and losing his grip. The air in the foyer was razor-sharp, so suffocatingly tense it cut straight into my lungs with every ragged breath.

My whole body braced for it, every muscle coiled tight, waiting for the sound of his chair scraping back, for his footsteps closing the distance between us. But he didn’t move. He just sat there at the head of the table, his eyes bloodshot, his fury like a dark, volatile storm barely leashed behind his teeth.

His silence was louder than any scream he could have thrown at me, and somehow that terrified me more than his rage ever had. I had learned long ago that his quiet moments were the ones to fear most, the calm that came before he decided exactly how much damage he wanted to inflict.

I didn’t look back. I refused to give him that satisfaction, refused to let him see whatever was written on my face in that moment. Years of practice had taught me how to keep my expression locked down, but I didn’t trust it, not with my hands shaking and my heart threatening to crack straight through my ribs.

But as I crossed the threshold into the morning air, I heard it. Lilian’s sharp, panicked intake of breath. The clatter of a crystal glass hitting the mahogany table. And Graham’s ragged, animalistic exhale, the sound of a man standing right on the precipice of completely snapping. Each noise chased me down the steps like a hand reaching for my ankle, and I forced myself not to run, though every instinct screamed at me to do exactly that.

My heels struck the smooth stone floor as I walked down the grand steps, every single step a ruthless declaration, every stride screaming ’you don’t own me.’

I could feel my pulse hammering in my throat, adrenaline and grief tangled together so tightly I couldn’t tell which one was driving my legs forward.

The cool morning air hit my face like a slap, a strange relief after the suffocating heat of that house, and for one brief moment I let myself breathe.

Behind me, I knew Lilian’s mouth was still hanging open in shock, her eyes wide, her carefully painted red lips trembling at the utter disaster that had just unfolded. She’d always been good at looking shocked, better at looking innocent, though we both knew there was nothing innocent left in her.

And Graham, Graham was seething in his own golden cage, trapped between impotent fury and dark, obsessive possessiveness. I almost pitied him. Almost. Pity, I reminded myself, was a luxury I could no longer afford where he was concerned.

The heavy leather steering wheel creaked violently under my white-knuckled grip as I pulled my convertible out of the grand gates, the echo of Graham’s words still bouncing mercilessly inside my skull.

Stop your job.

As if it were that easy. As if my entire life’s work, my blood, my sweat, and my late-night tears were nothing more than a disposable hobby I could throw away just because my husband’s fragile ego demanded it.

The audacity of it still made my hands shake against the wheel. He’d built his entire identity on being the one in control, and my success had become an unforgivable insult, a threat he could neither silence nor understand.

I pressed my foot down harder on the accelerator, the engine roaring as anger sizzled in my veins like hot wildfire. "The day hasn’t even fully begun and it’s already completely ruined," I muttered bitterly to the empty car, shaking my head as the glass skyscrapers of the city blurred past my windows.

Somewhere beneath the anger sat something quieter and heavier, a tired ache that had been building for years, but I didn’t have room to feel it yet. Maybe later, alone in my office with the door locked, I would let it catch up to me. Maybe.

By the time I pulled into the private underground parking lot of my firm, I closed my eyes and forced myself to take three deep, slow breaths. This building was my sanctuary. It was my empire, the one place on earth where I was in complete control, the one thing no one could ever strip away from me. Not Graham. Not his plastic mistress. No one. I repeated that last word to myself until I almost believed it, until the tremor in my hands finally began to still.

I stepped out into the cool subterranean air, my heels clicking with sharp authority against the concrete, my designer handbag tucked firmly in the crook of my arm. The low morning sun filtering through the glass atrium caught the shimmering texture of my cream silk blouse.

I squared my shoulders, lifting my chin high as I plastered on that flawless, untouchable mask of executive control that I had spent years perfecting. By the time I reached the doors, no one would have guessed I’d left a war zone an hour earlier.

That mask, I thought grimly, was the only inheritance my mother had ever truly given me, the ability to smile while bleeding.

The massive glass double doors slid open automatically, and instantly, a familiar wave of bustling warmth surrounded me.

"Good morning, Miss Elena!"

"You look absolutely stunning today, ma’am."

"Wow, that cream color really brings out your eyes!"

"Your husband is seriously the luckiest man alive, boss."

The comments came with genuine, warm smiles, light laughter, and respectful nods from the lobby staff, not stiff, not forced, but easy and real. My employees adored me, and I adored them back. To me, they weren’t just staff members; they were a family I had built from the ground up, a stark contrast to the cold, toxic war zone I called home.

Their voices, bright and unguarded, felt like sunlight after the darkness I’d just walked through, and for a fleeting second, I almost forgot the taste of Graham’s contempt still lingering on my tongue.

But that one offhand comment, ’your husband is really lucky’, struck me like a poisonous needle straight to the heart. I kept my poised smile locked in place, but internally, I let out a hollow, silent sigh.

If only they knew. If only they could see the ugly, rotting truth behind the glossy magazine covers. Lucky? Graham didn’t consider himself lucky, not when he preferred to spend his mornings eating breakfast with Lilian draped all over him like a cheap accessory.

The gap between what my staff believed and what actually waited for me at home felt, some mornings, like its own kind of violence.

"Thank you, everyone," I replied smoothly, my voice steady and warm even as a turbulent storm brewed beneath my ribs.

I walked toward the private executive elevators, each step measured, answering every morning greeting with a graceful nod. My senior assistant, Clara, scurried up beside me, already clutching her tablet, her pen flying as she rattled off the day’s schedule.

"After you left the gala last night, the rest of the event went exceptionally smoothly, ma’am," she said, her voice crisp and efficient, though her heels were moving twice as fast to keep pace with my long, furious strides.

"The primary investors were beyond impressed, especially with the dark-mode aesthetic and the new campaign proposals you approved. Oh, and Mr. Harris called at eight to ask if you could personally review..."

I listened, nodding at precise intervals, desperately trying to anchor my brain to her words instead of replaying Graham’s smug, controlling face across the breakfast table. Clara had no idea how grateful I was for her endless chatter; it gave me something to hold onto besides the wreckage of my morning.

She had worked for me for three years now, and in that time she had become something between an assistant and a lifeline, though neither of us had ever said so out loud.

By the time the elevator doors dinged and opened onto the top floor, Clara paused right outside my corner office. "I’ll email you the finalized quarterly reports within the hour, Miss Elena. Everything for the morning briefing is completely under control."

"Thank you, Clara. Excellent work," I said, offering her a faint, appreciative smile.

She nodded sharply and turned back toward the bullpen.

The long executive hallway fell into an immediate, dead silence. I took a deep breath, placed my palm on the sleek brass handle of my office door, and pushed it open, exhaling a long sigh of relief as I stepped across the threshold. Finally. Peace. Sanctuary.

For the first time all morning, I let my shoulders drop, just slightly, just for a second, allowing myself to imagine, however briefly, that the door behind me had sealed away everything ugly from the last hour.

I had barely tossed my leather bag onto the corner of my massive glass desk when a subtle, electric charge in the atmosphere made the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand directly on end.

A scent filled the room.

It wasn’t my room diffuser. It was sharp. Clean. Sinful. Dark tobacco, expensive leather, and a heavy, cedarwood cologne. A scent that didn’t belong in a corporate building. A scent that belonged to a predator.

My heart stuttered violently, tripping over itself as a wave of cold dread and hot electricity prickled down my spine. Slowly, like prey sensing a tiger in the high grass, I lifted my gaze toward the leather seating area.

And there he was.

Jaxx.

He was sprawled out in my high-backed executive leather chair behind my desk like a dark king who had been casually waiting for his court to clear. His long, muscular legs were parted wide, his arms lazily draped over the wooden armrests, his thick fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic beat against the polished leather as if he owned the entire building.

His black fitted shirt hugged the broad frame of his chest, every sculpted muscle outlined beneath the fabric, dark veins running like rivers down his sun-kissed forearms. Intricate, dark ink peeked out from beneath his rolled sleeves, dangerous and raw.

And that smirk. God help me, that devastating, crooked smirk hit me straight in the sternum like a physical punch. Cocky. Unapologetic. Infuriatingly handsome. It was the kind of smirk that belonged to a man who had never once in his life doubted he would get exactly what he wanted.

My throat went instantly bone-dry, my pulse hammering against my ribs as sheer panic and a filthy, traitorous wave of heat collided inside my stomach. I swallowed hard, forcing my voice out, sharp, low, and laced with as much authority as I could muster, though the slight tremor in my breath betrayed me.

"What the hell are you doing in my office?" I snapped, slamming the heavy wooden door behind me with far more force than necessary, the lock clicking shut.

"Missed you," Jaxx said, his voice a low, slow drawl that dragged over my nerves like raw silk, his dark eyes lazily tracking me from the tips of my heels, up the fit of my black trousers, to the open collar of my cream blouse. "You look fucking stressed, Bambina. Thought I’d drop by and help you unwind."

"You tracked me?" I gasped, taking a sharp step backward until my lower back hit the locked door. "Are you out of your mind? How did you even bypass security downstairs?"