Natalie Pov
You're fired."
For a moment, the words don't even make sense.
They just hang there, heavy and cruel, before they start to sink in — slow, cold, and final.
My mouth falls open in an O.
If I hadn't spent the entire night awake, if I hadn't hugged a small box I should've thrown away, maybe I'd have the strength to react.
But right now, I'm just… empty.
Zade had a fever yesterday.
When I found him curled beside the sofa, shaking while Mrs. Pan and his siblings hovered in panic, I felt something inside me collapse.
I'd taken him to the emergency room at midnight, holding his hand the whole time, crying quietly so the kids wouldn't see.
I cried because I didn't notice sooner.
Because my little boy — my brave, stubborn, too-wise-for-his-age boy — had been suffering and didn't tell me.
When I asked him why, he said, "Didn't want to distract you from your twat of a boss."
The doctor said it was just a mild fever, that he'd be fine. Still, I stayed by his bedside all night, counting his breaths, brushing the damp hair off his forehead, and praying.
By morning, when his temperature finally went down, he smiled — that small, fragile smile that always undoes me — and told me to go to work.
"I'll be fine, Mama," he'd said. "Promise."
I made breakfast, gave him his medicine, kissed all three of their heads, and swore I'd come home early.
And now… this.
"Fired."
I blink at Alex, standing like a sculpture behind his desk — sharp suit, colder eyes, immaculate composure.
If I didn't already know he had a soul, I'd think he was carved from stone.
"Excuse me?" My voice barely makes it past my throat.
"You're excused," he says without looking up. "Take your things when you leave. Anything you forget, I'll throw away."
I just stand there, staring, like maybe he's joking.
But Alex Pierce doesn't joke. Not anymore. Not with me.
Ever since that night in his flat a week ago, he's been… different.
Colder.
More detached.
The kind of cruel that hides behind politeness.
I took it all — the sarcasm, the clipped tone, the arrogance. I told myself it didn't matter, because I needed this job. Because the kids needed this job.
I even got used to it — to him.
To the dark humor, the impossible standards, the way he never says thank you but eats every meal I make, cleans his plate as if it's a secret confession.
It became a routine, one that I stupidly started to find comfort in.
I shouldn't have felt pride when he didn't throw my food away.
I shouldn't have cared that he started eating what I cooked.
But I did.
And maybe that's my problem — caring about a man who looks at me like I'm nothing.
"What's the reason?" I finally ask.
"I don't need one," he says smoothly, still typing. "You failed the trial period."
"But I want to know why." My voice steadies. "Tell me what I did wrong."
He sighs, slow and dismissive. "I don't explain myself to employees. Don't forget to stop by HR for your final paycheck — for your average work these past three weeks."
Average.
The word lands like a slap.
Something in me snaps.
Before I can stop myself, my palms hit his desk with a loud crack, and his eyes finally lift to mine — calm, icy, unbothered.
"My work isn't average," I say, breathless.
His lips twitch, but there's no smile. "You've been late more than once. My coffee isn't always right. You talk back, you overstep, and you think your opinions matter. Calling your work average was generous. If you want honesty, it's been a disaster."
He checks his watch. "Also, you're five minutes late."
"That's because I had an emergency!" The words rush out. "Zade had a fever — I was at the hospital all night! He wouldn't even be sick if you didn't keep me here until past midnight every day!"
"You won't have to anymore," he says flatly. "You're fired. And spare me the details of your love life."
My heart stops. "That's not—"
"Out. We're done here."
The sharpness of his tone slices through me.
Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Not in front of him.
"Tell me the truth, Alex. You never meant to hire me long-term, did you? This was all some game to you. You wanted to play, to push, to break me — and when I didn't shatter, you decided to throw me away anyway."
His gaze doesn't even flicker. "Congratulations. You've finally figured it out."
Something inside me dies a little at that.
The room feels too quiet, too still. I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
"I hate you," I whisper. "I hate you."
He doesn't even blink. "Your feelings mean nothing to me, Natalie."
And somehow, that hurts worse than any scream could.
I take a shaky breath. "You were always a jerk wrapped in good-boy looks. You fooled everyone, but I saw you. I saw the broken little boy who hated himself so much, he needed the world to love him. Daddy issues, right? You saw him with another woman, came out of that restaurant, and threw up your food. You told me once — that night I came to your apartment nine years ago when you were drunk. You told me why you can't eat like a normal person, why you despise pesto and parmesan. You hated him, so you became him. And now you're worse."
For the first time, his expression cracks — a shadow of rage flashes across his face. Then he's moving.
He grabs my arm and slams me against the wall. The impact steals my breath. His body is too close, his chest rising and falling fast, his control slipping.
"How dare you pity me?" he hisses. "You're the pitiful one. You came crawling here, begging for a job. You wanted to stand on your high horse, but you're just another desperate woman willing to sell her time, her pride, for a paycheck."
He leans closer, voice sharp and venomous.
"You're no longer untouchable, Nat. No longer your father's pampered princess. You're just another face in the crowd — one I can crush without consequence."
I swallow hard, my throat burning. "Maybe you should stop pretending the world revolves around you."
"Never pretended." His lips curl. "In my world, it does. And you? You're a nuisance I'll erase before you become a stain."
The tears finally slip. I try to hide them with a broken laugh. "I should've never given cooked for you"
He freezes. For a second, the air shifts — then hardens again.
"I hated them," he says, voice low, lethal. "Just like I hate you."
I stare at him, the memories choking me. "No, you didn't. You ate them. Every single one."
His eyes flash. "You should've stayed gone. But don't worry, we'll fix that now. Get out — and if we ever cross paths again, pretend you don't know me. I'll do the same."
Something inside me shatters completely.
I bite down on a sob, nod once, and push past him.
Out of his office.
Out of his life.
Out of the illusion that I ever meant anything.
And when the elevator doors close, I let it all fall apart.
The tears. The breath. The years of pretending I didn't still love the guy who learned how to destroy me perfectly.
Just like he did nine years ago.