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Ivan's pov:
But the gnawing thought of her keeping secrets from me—secrets involving another man—twists in my chest like a knife. I feel the sharp sting of insecurity, something I rarely let myself feel.
"No?" I mutter, my voice rough, laced with disbelief. "Why not? What are you hiding, sweetheart? Let me see your phone, now."
"This is too much," she speaks, her voice carrying a mix of frustration and disbelief.
Too much? She thinks ‘this’ is too much? She hasn’t even seen what I’m capable of when it comes to her. Sweetheart, you have no idea.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but my heart races with frustration and jealousy. Each beat feels like a countdown to an inevitable explosion.
I know I’m pushing her too far, that my possessive instincts are taking the reins. But damn it, I can't stop. The thought of another man having even a sliver of her attention feels unbearable.
"This is too much, huh?" I mutter, my voice strained, practically daring her to push me further. "I just want to see your phone, sweetheart. Is that so much to ask?"
"You’re being too over-possessive, Ivan," she says, her tone now edged with frustration.
Her words hit me like a cold slap, yet they ignite a fire all the same. My jaw clenches as her accusation lingers in the air. Over-possessive? Maybe I am. But wouldn’t anyone in my position be? She’s mine. Doesn’t she see that yet?
"Too possessive, huh?" I mutter, my voice low and rough, a storm barely contained. "Maybe I am. But can you blame me? I can't stand the idea of another man having your attention, sweetheart."
She takes a step back, her frustration spilling over. "And I can't stand you right now," she snaps, her words like shards of glass. She storms out of the room.
The door closes behind her with a sharp click, and I’m left standing there, my frustration simmering. My fists clench, and for a moment, I debate running after her. Dragging her back. Forcing her to listen.
Instead, I stare at the empty space where she stood, a hollow ache settling in my chest. One day. One damn day into our relationship, and I’ve already driven her away. What the hell is wrong with me?
But then I catch sight of her through the glass walls. She’s at her desk, gathering her things. Before I can process what’s happening, Conrad appears, stepping into her orbit like he has a damn right to be there. They talk—too casually for my liking—and then he walks with her toward the lift.
My jaw tightens as I watch them, my chest burning with a mix of jealousy and helplessness. Every instinct screams at me to intervene, to pull her back to me, to claim what’s mine.
