Page 13

It’s been a long day. Nothing has gone right—decor pieces breaking, equipment failing, people getting injured. I even sliced my finger open earlier.

Zayn showing up only adds another layer of pressure I don’t need.

“Then we make a schedule so you can move between them,” he says calmly. Almost casually.

As though I’m traveling between floors instead of cities, countries… different continents.

“Zayn…”

“No, Selene.” This time, he cuts me off. “We’re not delaying anything. I’ll get you more people. Fifty? A hundred? Whatever you need,” he says, pulling his phone from his pocket. “And I’ll build the schedule with you.”

Doamne. (EN: God.)

The man refuses to understand.

“Even if you give me more competent people, I still can’t supervise all of them at once,” I point out.

“Don’t you have an assistant? Someone to help?”

“An assistant? I’m not the head of… whatever you are,” I reply, gesturing vaguely with one hand.

He groans, tipping his head back.

The sound ripples through me before I can make sense of it. Heat coils low in my stomach, my muscles tightening around a sensation I’ve never experienced before.

What the actual fuck?

“Is that how you run your business meetings?” I ask, trying to hide my wildly inappropriate reaction. “Do you throw a tantrum whenever something doesn’t go your way?”

“Me?” He shoots back, his voice rising. “You’re the one who rejects everything I suggest.”

“Because you don’t suggest anything,” I shoot back immediately. “You change the deadlines and tell me how I should do things. That’s it.”

“Jesus,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. “This is pointless.”

“Maybe you should’ve realized how absurd this was before you came here and wasted my entire break on it,” I shoot back.

I rest both hands on the windowsill and stare out over London.

Since I arrived, I’ve barely had time to leave the building—only once, on the first night, for a few quick errands. Other than that, I’ve been here from morning until night, sometimes even all night.

I’m the first to arrive and the last to leave. After everyone else is gone, I stay behind, checking every corner, every angle, every detail, searching for what still needs to change and what isn’t working.

I hear him move behind me, and at the same instant my phone vibrates beside my hand on the windowsill.

Lowering my head, I glance at the notification. Face ID unlocks the screen instantly, and the message opens.

Axel: I fucking miss you. But if you want this relationship to work, you need to stop sabotaging it. It was a stupid mistake, I was drunk.

“Seems like you have more important things to deal with right now,” Zayn says, his voice close to my ear.

He’s standing directly behind me. Close enough to see the message.

“I’ll have my assistant send you the new schedule by email,” he adds, already heading for the door. “Good luck.”

Then he’s gone.

And I’m left staring at my phone, the words still glowing on the screen, their edges blurring until they stop meaning anything.