Chapter 4

Rosie's POV

What did it feel like to see the man you once loved more than the world again after six years?

At first, I thought it was an illusion—a cruel trick of memory or exhaustion. But with each step closer, the truth solidified before me: this was real. The man I had missed for six years, the one I'd never truly been able to forget, was standing right here.

Thorn Rockwell.

The name thrummed beneath my ribs, beating in time with my heart. How I wanted to say it again, to taste it on my lips. But his cold, hardened face, the ice in his eyes—it stole the breath from my lungs.

He had matured, his features more sharply defined, his gaze more severe. The intensity he'd always carried had now turned glacial, formidable. For a heartbeat, I almost reached out—to touch his face, to soften the hard lines of his brow.

But then I saw the ring on his finger.

A cold, stark reminder. I'd lost that right long ago. And maybe, he'd forgotten me entirely.

I swallowed the ache and forced myself to stay professional. I thought we'd maintain this mutual, silent distance—a quiet understanding between strangers who shared a past.

I didn't expect him to dismiss the others. I didn't expect him to look at me and say, with such chilling clarity, that he intended to ruin me.

Just hearing those words was enough to make my heart bleed.

The man who once vowed to love and cherish me forever now stood before me, armed with thorns, each one pointed at me.

The hatred in his voice wasn't entirely unexpected—but the pain of it was. I couldn't bear the weight of his cold, unforgiving stare. It pressed down on me like stone.

Six years ago, I left so he could live. So I could live. So Thraia could live.

Thraia was my life now. If I let Thorn break me, it won't just be me who suffers.

I drew a slow, steadying breath and lifted my gaze once more to meet his burning eyes.

I forced a smile—small, strained, but there—and watched his expression tighten in response. His brows drew together, his jaw clenched, his lips pressed into a thin, severe line. The air around us seemed to grow heavier, darker.

His face was a mask of punishment, and every part of it was meant for me.

I wanted to argue. I wanted to make him understand—no matter how he punished me, it wouldn't change why I left, and it wouldn't break who I was now. But the door swung open before I could speak, stealing my chance to defend myself with words.

Thorn pulled himself up and walked around, letting me breathe as the distance between us lengthened.

"Sir..." It was Claire, holding a folder. "I just...came back for the documents you need to review and sign."

"Isn't that Ms. Summers' responsibility?" he said coldly, his eyes briefly cutting toward me. I could feel his impatience like a physical chill in the air.

Claire glanced my way—I knew she could sense my unease. She didn't want to leave me alone with the new tyrant. She parted her lips, then looked back at Thorn. "Sir, I could stay for the briefing and clarify anything Rosie may not have fully explained. Besides, I offered to deliver these documents earlier."

"And why would you volunteer for that?" Thorn's brows drew together sharply. "Ms. Summers is surely clear on the scope of her duties. What's the point of having a senior executive assistant if her work is done by someone else?"

A tight, sinking pain gripped my chest—deeper and more lasting than when he'd threatened to ruin me.

No one spoke. The silence stretched for seconds until Thorn sank back into his swivel chair, his gaze fixed on me without mercy.

There was no regret in his eyes. No softness. He wanted to assert his power, and every cell in my body felt it.

"Get out." His voice was icy, clipped, dangerous. "You. Leave the file."

I turned immediately and walked out without looking back. I didn't wait for Claire. Instead, I pushed straight into the nearest restroom.

My heart hammered hard and fast against my ribs, a raw, bruised rhythm. Just moments ago, I'd stood before him with some semblance of composure. Now, inside the cool, tiled quiet, my legs trembled and my hands shook.

My lips quivered. Tears pooled hot behind my eyes.

I bit down on my lower lip and stared at my reflection in the mirror, breathing slowly, heavily, trying to steady the storm of hurt rising inside me.

I splashed water on my face, trying to steady my breathing. Just as I was staring blankly at my reflection in the mirror, I heard footsteps approaching. Quickly, I slipped into a stall, sat down on the closed toilet seat, and shut my eyes tight.

"Did you hear? Rosella got called into the CEO's office. The CEO sent the other assistants away and kept her in there alone."

Hearing my name, I paused. The woman's voice outside was startlingly loud, as if she didn't care who overheard.

"Really? On his very first day?"

"Yeah. I bet she was already trying to seduce the new boss. What a slut."

My teeth gritted as my fists balled.

"But Rosella's a competent assistant. I've never heard anyone complain about her. Her reputation is almost too clean." A third voice chimed in. I wasn't sure whether to be grateful for the defense or not—because now she was part of the gossip circle too.

A scoff echoed in the restroom. "You really believe that? How naive. It's all an act. Like you said—her reputation is too clean. That just means she's good at playing innocent."

Another laugh, sharp and mocking, pushed me over the edge.

"Right. She's probably a total whore in private."

I shoved the stall door open, letting it bang against the wall. Grabbing the vase from the counter, I strode toward them and poured the water straight over the heads of the two main gossips.

I knew them. Stella Jones and Tanya Miller from Marketing. They'd always looked at me with that same condescending glare, as if I'd committed some unforgivable sin just by existing.

"Oh my god! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"So disgusting! Ew!"

I advanced once as I alternately threw them a deadly glare. The third girl visibly flinched and backed away.

"Consider that a warning," I said, my voice low and dangerously calm. "Spread another rumor about me, and my next call won't be to HR. It'll be to a lawyer."

"A lawyer?" Stella shrieked, her face flushed with fury. "You really think you can intimidate me? I was just stating the truth! You're nothing but a slut in private!"

"You know nothing about me," I snapped, slamming the vase back onto the countertop.

They flinched, but Stella—the one who'd started this—didn't back down.

She propped a hand on her hip, a mocking smirk playing on her lips. "Then why did a friend of mine see you doing side work near the nightclub district? What kind of 'part-time job' happens around there besides selling yourself?"

I froze, brows drawn tight. What was she even talking about?

I couldn't believe they'd spun a whole story out of one random sighting.

"I never realized your imagination was as cheap as your judgment," I said, shaking my head. "Explaining anything to someone like you would be a waste of breath."

I walked out only to find a small crowd of employees gathered just outside. Whispers still rippled through them.

I knew how rumors worked—they fed on silence as much as on sound. And I also knew that sometimes defending yourself only made the stain spread. Most people didn't care about the truth.

Clenching my fists, I tried to push past, but my body locked up when I saw a tall figure standing beyond the crowd, watching.

Thorn pinned me with his dark and intense stare, weighing me down like a gigantic rock that fell from the sky.

"Rosella—" Stella tried to follow me out, but she stopped short when she saw who stood ahead of us.

A soft sob broke the quiet. I turned to find Stella crying, shoulders trembling as if she were the one who'd been wronged.

"I never meant to accuse you of anything improper," she whimpered, her voice trembling with what sounded like genuine hurt. "I was just concerned about the company's image. But instead of talking it through, you attacked me..."

I clenched my jaw. I'd never seen Stella perform so convincingly. If only her actual job skills matched her acting talent.

"Stella!" Claire's voice cut through the tension. She stepped beside me, eyes blazing. "How dare you twist this? Rosie has always been impeccable at her job. Meanwhile, you've had multiple performance issues—issues she has covered for you on more than one occasion."

Stella's eyes flickered toward Thorn, panic flashing briefly before she dropped her gaze. "That's not—"

"And now you're trying to play the victim?" Claire's voice rose, clear and unyielding. "Is this how you handle clients too? By lying when you're called out? If this is the standard we're setting, what does that say about this company?"

"Claire's right."

"I've never heard of Rosie making a mistake."

"Stella talks a lot, but what has she actually delivered?"

Murmurs spread through the gathered staff like ripples. And then Thorn moved. The crowd seemed to part instinctively as he stepped forward.

"S-Sir, I didn't mean for it to escalate like this," Stella rushed to explain, tears glistening. "I was only thinking of the company's reputation—"

Thorn lifted a hand, silencing her with nothing more than a look. "This will be dealt with through formal channels. Everyone return to your stations."

It was like watching a storm pass—swift, decisive, leaving only quiet in its wake. Within moments, the hallway emptied, leaving only Claire, Thorn, and me.

I looked at him, but his expression gave nothing away. He merely glanced at me, cold and detached, before turning toward the elevators.

"Are you okay?" Claire touched my arm gently, her eyes full of concern.

I managed a small smile and nodded. "Yes. Thank you for standing up for me."

"Always."

I returned to my desk afterward. No one mentioned the incident again—an uneasy silence settled over the floor. Just as I began to think the storm had truly passed, a notification flashed across my computer screen.

My hands turned cold as I read it: a summons from Human Resources for a private meeting.