The office building stood ten floors above the quiet street, only a few blocks from the café where her nightmare had begun again.
Kwan Khao rushed through the glass doors, swiped her employee card, and stepped into the lobby, breathing hard.
She glanced behind her—no sign of him.
Her heart pounded anyway.
Damn him!
How dare he speak to her like that? How dare he touch her—like he had any right?
His voice, his eyes, his mocking smile—they all made her skin crawl.
And worse, the way he'd looked at her hand... like he already knew she wasn't married.
Her pulse faltered.
Could he know?
Could Pennueng know about Tonkla?
The thought alone made her stomach twist.
By the time she reached the office on the tenth floor, her mind was spinning so fast she barely heard her own footsteps.
His face—arrogant, unbothered, cruelly charming—kept flashing before her eyes.
"Where's the boss's coffee?" Sinee's voice jolted her back to the present.
Kwan Khao blinked, staring at her empty hands.
"Oh my God—I forgot. I already paid for it, but I left it there."
Sinee frowned. "You look pale. You're not feeling sick, are you? You can still smell and taste things?"
"I'm fine," she said quickly. "Just a bit dizzy, that's all."
"Then take a minute to rest, dear. I'll grab the boss's coffee myself. But don't forget—he asked for you earlier. You should stop by his office before the meeting."
The words he asked for you hit her like a warning.
She swallowed hard, nodded, and forced herself down the hall.
Her boss's office was just past the conference room, a quiet space with glass walls and too much light.
She placed her bag down in her own cubicle, straightened her blouse, and knocked.
"Come in," came his voice—calm, expectant, as if he'd been waiting just for her.
Kwan Khao stepped inside.
"Sit down, Kwan Khao," he said. "I wanted to speak with you before the meeting."
She obeyed, perching on the chair across from him. He looked more tired than usual—lines of fatigue carved around his mouth, tension etched across his forehead.
Her throat went dry.
Is he going to fire me?
Her company had already let so many people go. Three months ago, she'd watched friends pack their desks with tears in their eyes. If she lost her job now, there would be no second chance—no new company hiring in this economy.
She clasped her hands tightly. "Is something wrong, sir?"
He smiled slightly, surprising her.
"Not at all. In fact, it's quite the opposite. I just wanted to say that I'm very grateful for your work."
She blinked. "Sir?"
"You've been dedicated, meticulous. I believe you have a bright future ahead of you."
Her confusion deepened. "I… thank you?"
"The company is lucky to have you," he continued. "And that's why I'd like you to sign this."
He slid a folder across the table.
Kwan Khao stared at it, speechless.
A contract?
"But, sir… I'm already a full-time employee."
"I know," he said, his tone strangely gentle. "But I want this in writing. Think of it as an additional security measure—a personal guarantee. You can read it before the meeting. It may sound unusual, but I assure you, it comes from good intentions."
Her eyes flickered up to his, uncertain.
"We don't know how long this crisis will last," he said softly. "If the world gets worse before it gets better, I want you to know that at least one thing will remain certain. For the next two years, the company won't be able to terminate your employment. You have my word—this contract protects you."
She stared at the document, the neat lines of text blurring before her eyes.
It sounded too kind.
Too generous.
And somehow… too deliberate.
What she didn't know—what she couldn't know—was that this contract had been signed by someone else before it reached her boss's desk.
Someone who had just returned to her world.
And his name was Pennueng.