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.
But my feet stay rooted in place, my mind a battlefield of conflicting emotions. Do I give her space? Do I chase her? Dammit, Misti, why do you make me feel so out of control?
"Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?" I mutter to myself, my voice strained, the words dripping with bitterness. "You’re leaving? Just like that?"
And with ‘him’, of all people?
The whole day passes in anticipation. Knowing how much I’ve messed up is killing me. I can’t even call her or message her. The guilt of not handling the situation with more understanding is eating me alive. Every time I pick up my phone, my thumb hovers over her name in my contacts, but I can’t bring myself to press it. What would I even say? Hey, sorry for being an over-possessive bastard? Please forgive me and don’t leave me for Conrad?
It’s almost 7 o’clock, and everyone is leaving the office. I can see them through my glass wall, chatting, laughing, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me.
Must be nice to have a normal, drama-free day.
Only a few employees remain to finish their work, but after some time, they all leave too. I’m left in silence, the ticking of the clock on the wall only amplifying my restless thoughts.
Goddammit, Ivan. You’ve handled multi-billion-dollar deals with ease, and yet, one 19-year-old girl has you unraveling like this.
I stand in front of the glass wall overlooking the street. The city lights blink into life, cars honking below. Then I see Misti and Conrad coming out of the café opposite our building. My blood heats up instantly.
She was with ‘him’ this whole time.
They’re talking, standing too damn close for my liking. Then, they shake hands. My jaw clenches. Of course, he’d make a move, the smug bastard. I can feel my fingers twitch at my sides, my body screaming for action. Calm down, Ivan. Don’t punch a guy for shaking her hand. That’s… unreasonable. But is it?
My eyes stay rooted on them as I watch Conrad leave. He walks away, thankfully alone, his figure disappearing into the crowd. Misti takes a deep breath and stands still for a moment. And then—to my utter relief—she turns and starts walking toward the building. My breath catches in my throat. She’s coming. She’s coming to me.
I stand there, turning to face the closed door, waiting for her to come inside. My heart pounds like a war drum, equal parts anticipation and fear. What will she say? Is she angry? Hurt? Done with me?
After some time, I hear the lift approaching. The sound is almost deafening in the silence of the office. With a swift ding, it opens. I can hear her hurried footsteps coming toward the closed door of my cabin. Each step feels like it’s crushing my chest.
She opens the door—more like bursts it open—and shouts, "What the fuck is wrong with your head!"
The words hit me like a physical blow. I’m taken completely by surprise as she barges into the office, her voice raised and intense. Her hair’s slightly messy, and her cheeks are flushed, probably from rushing back here. God, even furious, she’s breathtaking.
I stand frozen in place for a moment, my heart racing with shock and confusion. "W-what?" I stutter, my voice hoarse with surprise. "Sweetheart, what—"
"No! Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me!" she snaps, her voice rising. "What the hell was that, Ivan? You’re acting like a goddamn psycho!"
I blink, genuinely taken aback by her outburst. What the hell is happening?
"I-I—" I try to get a word in, but she’s not having it.
Her hands fly up in frustration as she paces the room, muttering to herself. "Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable."
"Misti, I—"
"No!" she cuts me off, spinning around to face me. "Do you even realize how insane you’ve been acting? Demanding my phone like I’m some child? Following me with your damn eyes like some possessive lunatic?"
Her words cut deep, but there’s a small part of me that’s almost amused by her fury. She’s standing there, fiery and defiant, and God help me, she’s never looked more stunning.
"What the fuck is wrong with your head, Ivan? Do you hear yourself when you talk?"
I’m stunned into silence, frozen like a deer in headlights. I can barely form a coherent response. "I-I—" I try to speak, but my voice trails off, my mind flooded with thoughts and emotions I can’t seem to put into words. She’s here. She’s yelling at me, but she’s here. That has to count for something, right?
"What is happening in your damn mind?" she shouts, tears pricking her eyes.
That sight—those unshed tears glimmering in her eyes—rips through me. The guilt that had been simmering all day comes crashing down like a tidal wave. I want to pull her into my arms, kiss her until she forgets why she’s mad, promise her I’ll do better. But I know she’d just push me away right now. And she’d be right to.
Instead, I stand there, my throat dry, my fists clenched at my sides. "Misti, I…"
But I can’t finish the sentence. Because the truth is, I don’t even know what to say. I’ve never felt this way before—this raw, desperate need to hold onto someone, even when I know I’m the one driving them away. How the hell did I get here?
I swallow hard, trying to pull myself together, trying to form a coherent sentence that doesn’t make me sound like the utter mess I am right now.
"I-I'm sorry," I finally mutter, my voice hoarse, each word dragged out of me like I’m confessing a crime. "Sweetheart, I don't know what came over me. I just... I can't stand the thought of you with another man. I-"
"Shut the fuck up," she snaps, her voice slicing through me like a whip.
My heart sinks, plummeting straight to hell. I stand there, stunned, my mouth opening and closing like a goddamn fish out of water. I try to say something—anything—but the words choke me, clawing at my throat. I take a step towards her.
She takes a step back, her eyes blazing with fury, and it feels like she’s physically yanked herself out of my reach.
"Don't you fucking dare to touch me," she spits, her tone venomous, making me freeze mid-step.
I let my hand fall uselessly to my side, the weight of her words crushing me. Don’t touch her? Don’t fucking touch her? Touching her is literally my favorite thing to do.
"Sweetheart, please," I plead, my voice cracking, barely audible. God, I sound pathetic. And why does that make me want to beg her even more?
She doesn’t relent. Her words hit me like rapid-fire bullets, every syllable carving deeper into the gaping wound in my chest.
"Fuck your jealousy and your possessiveness. I am done with that," she hurls at me, her voice a mix of rage and finality. "You try to check my phone. You distrust me and my loyalty."
Distrust her? My head spins. I’d trust her to hold my life in her hands—but clearly not her phone. Great job, Ivan. You’ve officially ruined the one good thing in your miserable life.
I try again, my voice a broken whisper. "Sweetheart, please. I know I messed up. I know I should have trusted you. But I-"
"What?" she cuts me off, her words dripping with venom. "What could you possibly say to cover your shit, the mess you’ve made? You’re mentally messed up, and I am done. This is over. You and me? This is over."
Her words slam into me like a sledgehammer, knocking the air out of my lungs. My chest tightens, my heart splintering into a thousand jagged pieces. I stare at her, wide-eyed, her declaration ringing in my ears like a death knell.
"No," I croak, barely able to form the word.
My legs move on instinct, taking a step closer, as if closing the physical gap could fix the cavernous void opening between us.
"Please, sweetheart," I beg, my voice thick with desperation. "You can't- don't do this. Don't say this is over. I can change. I can be better. Just give me another chance, please. I-"
My throat closes, my chest heaving as I fight the tears burning behind my eyes. Goddammit, Ivan, don’t you fucking dare cry. Not now. Not in front of her.
I step closer again, her rejection hitting me like an invisible barrier I can’t break through. She’s so close, yet she’s slipping further away.
"Please, sweetheart," I whisper again, the words barely audible. My voice is trembling, and I don’t even care how pathetic I sound anymore. "I can't lose you. I can't lose you. I'll do anything, sweetheart. Just please, don't leave me. Don’t-"
My hands clench into fists at my sides, my entire body trembling with the effort to hold back, to not grab her and pull her into me. Because deep down, I know—I know if I push too hard now, she’ll be gone for good.
And that thought?
That thought is the scariest fucking thing I’ve ever faced in my life.
"You messed up," her voice cracks in pain.
Her words slice through me like a knife, but it’s the crack in her voice that tears me apart. My chest feels like it’s being squeezed in a vice.
She steps closer, her eyes pleading despite her harsh words. Her eyes are telling a different story from her mouth—one of pain, one of hope.
I feel so helpless. I want nothing more than for her to stop feeling this bitterness, this heartbreak I caused.
"Misti..." I whisper, but she doesn’t stop. Her voice is soft now, a quiet storm.
"Ivan, I am not the simple girl you think I am. I have my own demons haunting me everywhere. You reassured me that you would show me that you are different, that you..." she sobs, her tears streaming down.
Her words hit me like a tidal wave. Demons? What demons? Why didn’t I see this before? I’ve been so blinded by my jealousy, by my need to have her, that I missed what was right in front of me—a girl who’s been fighting her own battles long before I showed up.
"I trusted you, Ivan. I am... How can I make you understand that I see everything in a big picture? It’s a very big thing for me that my newly made boyfriend doesn’t trust me. I..."
Her voice breaks again, and I feel like the worst kind of monster. She’s breaking, unraveling, and I can’t do anything to fix it. But I want to. God, I want to.
"Misti, sweetheart..." I take a step forward, my hand reaching out instinctively, but she pulls back.
Her eyes blaze through her tears. "What? Do you think I am planning to sleep with Conrad?"
The name hits me like a sucker punch to the gut. I feel my jaw tighten, my fists clenching again at the thought of him. Damn Conrad. Damn the way he looks at her like she’s something to conquer.
But this isn’t about him. It’s about her.
"No," I mutter, my voice hoarse. "No, I... I don’t think you’re planning to sleep with him. I just... I couldn’t stand the thought of you with another man, sweetheart. I-"
My words are interrupted by a choked sob escaping her lips. Her tears fall faster now, and I want to take every one of them away.
"What do you want, Ivan?" she asks tiredly, her voice broken with tears.
Her question stops me in my tracks. What do I want?
Everything.
I want her. Her fire. Her strength. Her vulnerability. I want her in every way that matters and in every way that doesn’t.
"You," I mutter, my voice rough. "I just want you, sweetheart. That’s all."
And just like that, the walls around her crumble. Tears roll down her cheeks as she steps forward, throwing herself into my arms.
For a moment, I’m frozen. Did this just happen?
But then I feel the warmth of her body against mine, the way she clings to me like I’m her anchor, and I know—I know I’ll never let her go again.
I wrap my arms around her, pulling her as close as humanly possible. My heart breaks as I witness her cry and sob into my chest.
Her tears soak my shirt, but I couldn’t care less. She’s here. She’s in my arms.
I press my lips to the top of her head, breathing her in, her soft, floral scent mixed with the saltiness of her tears. "I’m sorry," I whisper, my voice breaking. "I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart."
She doesn’t say anything, but her grip on me tightens, and that’s enough.
In this moment, I vow to myself: whatever demons she has, I’ll fight them with her. Whatever pain she carries, I’ll take it upon myself.
Because she’s mine. And I’m hers.
Forever.
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Wow, what a rollercoaster of emotions! 😮 Ivan’s possessiveness is reaching dangerous heights, and Misti? She’s not holding back either. Did you feel the tension crackling between them? 🔥
I know you’re probably torn right now—should you hate Ivan for being so overbearing, or love him for being so hopelessly in love? 💔 Tell me what you think! And Misti’s tears? Oof, those hit hard. What do you think her "demons" are? 👀
Drop your thoughts in the comments below, loves! What’s your take on their dynamic? Are they spiraling out of control, or is this just the storm before the calm? 🌪️
Stay tuned for the next chapter—it’s only going to get more intense from here. Thank you for reading, and don’t forget to vote if you’re loving this emotional chaos! ❤️
Till next time,
Your writer in chaos mode ✍️