Too Late To Kneel, Mr. Hawthorne
Ruby · Completed · 6.8k Words
Introduction
The moment I stepped into the office, a domineering woman started ordering me around, demanding I fetch her coffee.
I endured it.
That was until she deliberately spilled the coffee all over me. Only then did I realize that this woman—running amok in my fiancé’s company and treated like a queen by everyone—was his mistress.
Chapter 1
Lydia's POV
On my first day back in the country after studying abroad, my mother sent me to my fiancé’s company. I was to work low-profile as a secretary, just to slowly cultivate our relationship.
The moment I stepped into the office, a domineering woman started ordering me around, demanding I fetch her coffee.
I endured it.
That was until she deliberately spilled the coffee all over me. Only then did I realize that this woman—running amok in my fiancé’s company and treated like a queen by everyone—was his mistress.
"Are you new? Are you blind? Go get me a coffee."
I turned around. A woman in a tight beige dress leaned against a desk, arms crossed, sizing me up with undisguised contempt. Her makeup was flawless, her curls immaculate—she carried herself with more authority than the boss.
Before I left home, my mother had reminded me: Be friendly to your colleagues. I suppressed my instinctual annoyance and nodded calmly. "Alright, just a moment."
As the heiress to the Cameron family, I wasn't going to feel humiliated over a cup of coffee.
I walked over and handed her the mug. Just as my fingertips were about to slide away, a cold smirk curled on her lips. She abruptly let go.
Half a cup of hot coffee cascaded down, staining my crisp white shirt and leaving a dark brown blotch on her beige dress.
"Ah—! Don't you have eyes?!" she shrieked, stumbling back. "Do you realize what you've done?!"
The surrounding staff immediately swarmed over, their faces full of flattery.
"Annabelle! Are you burnt?!"
"You can't even serve a cup of coffee! You're as stupid as a pig!"
I stared straight into her eyes. "You let go on purpose. Don't try to frame me."
"Frame you? What are you, that I’d need to frame you!"
She smashed the remaining half cup of coffee at my feet. The glass shattered, and flying shards sliced my ankle.
"This is a global limited edition Chanel haute couture! There are only three in the whole country! You couldn't afford it even if you sold yourself!" She pointed a finger right at my nose. "Get on your knees and apologize to me. Right now. Maybe then I'll show you some mercy!"
I ignored her, pulling a bank card from my bag and tossing it onto the table. "I'll pay for it."
She stared at the card for a second before bursting into exaggerated, mocking laughter.
"Did you hear that? This broke beggar is trying to act rich!" She laughed until tears formed. "This dress costs eight hundred thousand dollars! With the way you're dressed, I bet your whole outfit isn't even worth two hundred bucks!"
The crowd joined in her cruel laughter.
Completely losing my patience, I turned to leave.
"Stop! Who said you could leave?!"
Three female colleagues blocked my path, forming a human wall. The leader, a woman with short hair, pointed at me:
"I advise you not to be ungrateful. Kneel down and kowtow to Annabelle immediately. She is Mr. Hawthorne’s favorite. Offending her means you have a death wish!"
Another eagerly chimed in, "Last year, an intern dared to talk back to Annabelle. With one word from Mr. Hawthorne, that person was blacklisted from the entire industry."
Mr. Hawthorne. The "perfect fiancé" my mother always spoke of.
Ruining someone's livelihood over a trivial argument with a secretary—this wasn't a boss-employee dynamic. This was him broadcasting to the whole world that he was keeping a spoiled, arrogant mistress.
Surrounded by her adoring crowd, Annabelle lifted her chin, looking down at me like a queen viewing an ant. "If you don't kneel and apologize right here, right now, I guarantee you won't just be in massive debt. You won't even be able to beg for scraps in Harbor City."
I pulled out my phone.
"Oh, trying to call for backup?" She looked as if she’d heard a joke. "Call! Call anyone you want! In Harbor City, even God couldn't save you today!"
The call connected, and a cold voice came through the receiver.
"Who is this?"
I laughed out of sheer anger, though my voice remained terrifyingly calm. "It’s Lydia—your fiancée. Your arrogant, domineering mistress is currently commanding a pack of wagging dogs to force me to my knees to apologize to her."
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