Chapter 5 Regret Begins

If Julian Hayes possessed a single defining talent, it was his ability to convince himself that every disaster in his life was someone else's fault.

It was 9:15 AM on Friday morning, and Julian was sitting at his grand mahogany desk, staring blankly at a screen that was currently displaying a bright red error pop-up: [FILE CORRUPTED: PLEASE CONTACT YOUR SYSTEM ADMINISTRATOR].

"Sarah!" Julian bellowed into his intercom, slamming his fist onto the polished wood. "Sarah, get in here!"

A beat later, the heavy oak doors swung open. Sarah, his new temporary assistant, peeked her head into the room. She was clutching a lukewarm paper cup of coffee in one hand and a crumbling chocolate croissant in the other. Her hair looked like it had been styled by a ceiling fan.

"Yes, Mr. Hayes?" she squeaked, stepping carefully over a stray stack of unfiled shipping receipts on the rug.

"What is this?" Julian demanded, pointing a trembling, dramatic finger at his monitor. "The Q3 financial presentation file is corrupted! I opened it, and it turned into a bunch of weird wingdings and random rectangles!"

Sarah blinked, taking a slow bite of her croissant. "Oh. Did you click the little orange button that says 'Export to PDF' like I suggested?"

"I don't know what button I clicked!" Julian shouted, throwing his hands in the air. "I hit three buttons at once because the screen froze! Vivian used to fix this in four seconds! Where is Vivian?!"

"Ms. Vance resigned four days ago, Mr. Hayes," Sarah reminded him gently, brushing croissant crumbs off her blouse. "And as I mentioned yesterday, her four-week contractual notice was waived because you signed her exit release form without reading it."

Julian froze. His mouth opened and closed like a fish washed up on a dock. "I signed what?!"

"The exit release form," Sarah said, pulling a pink sticky note off her arm. "You thought it was the receipt for your dry cleaning on Tuesday afternoon. You signed it while yelling at the printer."

Julian buried his face in his hands, letting out a long, pathetic groan that sounded remarkably like a dying accordion. "I am surrounded by incompetence! I am a vision-oriented leader! I cannot be expected to read things before I sign them!"

"Right. Well," Sarah said, holding out the lukewarm paper cup. "Here’s your coffee. The cafe downstairs was out of oat milk, so I got you soy milk with hazelnut syrup and three pumps of caramel."

Julian took a sip, instantly making a face as if he had just consumed battery acid. "This tastes like a melted candle! Vivian knew my exact order! Black, two ice cubes, no sugar, served at precisely sixty-five degrees Celsius! How hard is it to replicate a simple coffee order?!"

"Ms. Vance also didn't cry when the printer ran out of paper," Sarah muttered under her breath, turning toward the door. "I’ll go see if IT can un-corrupt your wingdings file."

"And tell IT to hurry!" Julian yelled after her. "I have a pitch with the European logistics board at eleven!"

The door slammed shut.

Julian slumped back into his leather armchair, staring at the chaotic mess covering his desk. Without Vivian, his life was falling apart at a terrifying speed.

His calendar for next week was a completely blank grid because he didn't know how to sync his phone to the master server. His favorite navy suit was still sitting at the dry cleaners three blocks away because he kept forgetting to pick it up. And to make matters exponentially worse, he had missed his own mother's birthday dinner on Wednesday night because Vivian wasn't there to buy the flowers, book the restaurant, and text him fifteen reminder alerts.

"She’s doing this on purpose," Julian muttered to himself, his eyes narrowing as a sudden, delusional wave of realization washed over him. "She’s testing me! She wants me to see how much I need her so I’ll chase after her!"

A smug, confident grin slowly spread across Julian’s face. Of course! It all made perfect sense now! Vivian hadn't left because she was genuinely tired of his brilliant leadership. She had left because she wanted a grand romantic gesture! She wanted him to beg!

Julian grabbed his personal phone off the desk, unlocked the screen, and tapped on Vivian’s contact entry.

Vivian Vance (The Engine).

He pressed the call button, hitting speakerphone, and leaned back in his chair, tapping his designer shoe against the rug with absolute confidence.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

"The number you have dialed is currently unavailable or has been blocked by the user. If you believe you have received this message in error, please—"

Julian snatched the phone off the desk, staring at the screen in pure horror. "Blocked?! She blocked my personal number?!"

He lunged across the desk, grabbing the black landline office phone. He aggressively punched in her ten-digit mobile number from memory.

Across town, on the sixty-fifth floor of Thorne Industries, the morning sun was pouring through the grand glass windows of Alexander’s suite.

I was sitting at my marble desk, sipping a perfectly brewed espresso, finalizing the consolidated European transport schedules for the upcoming quarter. My dual monitors were humming smoothly, my email inbox was completely organized, and for the first time in three years, my shoulders were entirely free of tension.

BRRRRING.

My personal phone, sitting quietly beside my keyboard, began to ring. The screen flashed with an unfamiliar local landline number.

I set my coffee cup down, picked up the phone, and swiped the green button. "Hello?"

"Vivian!" Julian’s frantic, breathless voice blasted through the speaker so loudly that I had to pull the phone three inches away from my ear. "Thank God! Why are you blocking my mobile number?! Do you have any idea what kind of morning I’m having?!"

I blinked, recognizing the background noise of Hayes Logistics immediately. A tiny, amused smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

"Hello, Julian," I said, my voice smooth, calm, and utterly professional. "I blocked your mobile number because I no longer work for you, and we are no longer dating. How did you get this landline number?"

"I called from the main desk!" Julian said, his tone a chaotic mixture of panic and smug entitlement. "Listen to me, Viv. The game is over. You made your point! I admit it! The office is a bit tricky without you, the coffee tastes like liquid perfume, and the Q3 presentation file turned into Egyptian hieroglyphics! You won! You can come back now!"

I let out a soft, genuine laugh. "Julian, I didn't leave to win a game. I left because I quit."

"Okay, fine! You want a raise?!" Julian offered frantically, the sound of papers rustling loudly over the receiver. "I’ll give you a ten percent raise! No, fifteen percent! And you can have that ergonomic chair you wanted! The one with the lumbar support! Just get down here right now and fix this presentation before the eleven o'clock board review!"

"Julian," I said gently, as if speaking to a confused toddler. "I am currently employed at a new firm. I am very busy."

"New firm?!" Julian gasped, sounding as though I had just announced I was moving to Mars. "What new firm?! Who hired you?! Vivian, nobody in this city values your talent like I do! We were a package deal! A team!"

"You treated me like a combination of an alarm clock and a doormat, Julian," I replied crisply. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have actual work to do."

"Vivian, wait! Don't hang up—!"

Before he could finish his sentence, a broad, shadow fell over my desk.

I looked up. Alexander Thorne was standing beside my workstation, holding a slender black tablet in his hand. He was wearing his immaculate charcoal suit jacket, his dark hair neatly styled, his hazel eyes fixed on my phone with a sharp, discerning curiosity.

He didn't say a word. He simply raised one dark eyebrow in a silent, questioning gesture.

"Is that your former employer, Ms. Vance?" Alexander asked, his deep, resonant voice easily carrying through the phone's microphone.

On the other end of the line, Julian went completely silent.

"Who is that?!" Julian’s voice suddenly shrieked through the speaker. "Vivian, who is that man?! Are you in an office right now?! Who is talking?!"

I looked at Alexander, a mischievous, quiet spark flashing between us. I pressed the speakerphone button so Alexander could hear clearly.

"Mr. Hayes," I said smoothly. "I am currently at my new workplace. I suggest you consult the transition binder I left on my desk to fix your presentation."

"I don't want a binder, Vivian!" Julian yelled, his arrogance flaring back up. "Put that guy on the phone! I want to know who thinks they can poach my executive secretary!"

Alexander tilted his head slightly, a cold, razor-sharp smirk touching his lips. He stepped closer to my desk, leaned down slightly toward the microphone, and spoke in a tone so smooth, commanding, and icy that it could have frozen a volcano.

"This is Alexander Thorne, CEO of Thorne Industries," Alexander announced calmly. "And Ms. Vance is no longer an executive secretary, Mr. Hayes. She is my senior executive associate. If you call this number again to harass my staff during business hours, my legal department will ensure your firm's shipping licenses undergo a very long, very painful regulatory audit."

Silence. Absolute, stunned silence descended over the line.

"A-Alexander Thorne?" Julian squeaked out, his voice cracking so hard it sounded like a teenage boy going through puberty. "The... Thorne Industries?"

"Have a productive morning, Mr. Hayes," Alexander said smoothly.

He reached down, his long fingers lightly brushing against mine as he tapped the red 'End Call' button on my screen.

The line went dead.

I looked up at Alexander, my chest rising and falling with a mixture of shock and quiet, thrilling delight. "Mr. Thorne... did you just threaten to audit his shipping licenses?"

Alexander straightened up, rolling his shoulders back, his expression turning into one of supreme, arrogant satisfaction.

"I didn't threaten, Ms. Vance," Alexander murmured, his hazel eyes locking onto mine with a warm, protective intensity that sent a sudden rush of heat straight to my cheeks. "I simply informed him of the consequences of bothering my most valuable asset."

He handed me the slender tablet, his thumb lingering against my hand for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

"Now," Alexander said softly, his voice dropping an octave into pure velvet. "Shall we review the European transport schedules? Or do you need a minute to celebrate the sound of a fool hanging up?"

I looked at my silent phone, then up into Alexander’s striking face, a bright, triumphant laugh bubbling up from my chest.

"The schedules are ready, Mr. Thorne," I said, standing up with my tablet. "Lead the way."