Click.
The lock whispered into place behind him.
Elna didn't flinch.
She didn't dare.
Her hands stayed planted on the desk, perfectly still. But her fingers had turned bloodless from the grip she held—like that would stop them from shaking.
Neby Brohem stepped forward, closing the distance between them like time had already passed and this moment was inevitable.
He didn't speak right away.
He looked at her.
Not like a director. Not like a colleague. Not even like a man seeing a woman.
No.
He looked at her like she was the beginning of something he hadn't finished. And had no intention of letting go.
"I've been thinking about yesterday," he said finally. His voice was smooth. Quiet. Too quiet.
Elna didn't answer.
"You remember, don't you?" He tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving hers. "The dim lights, that place with the rusted bar stools, the cracked mirror..."
Still, she said nothing. But her chest rose, just a bit more sharply.
"And that black dress. God." He chuckled, slow and deep. "It was impossible not to notice you, but it was never for me."
He stepped closer. One hand slid gently across her desk, tracing an invisible line between them.
"You walked in like the room owed you its silence. And when he didn't show up, I thought… maybe fate was giving us a moment."
Her eyes flicked. That he—he meant…
"Your little date," Neby added, voice like a sigh. "He was supposed to meet you, didn't he. But he got busy. Last-minute job transfer. Overseas."
Elna's eyes hardened.
"Why would you care about that?" she asked, her voice stiff.
He smiled.
"I don't care about him," he said. "I only care about how long you sat there waiting... don't you think that's inappropriate. To let you wait... That's when I finally introduced myself."
She remembered. That arrogant, smug smile. The hand he laid too long on her arm.
"I said something," he continued softly, stepping even closer. "Something most girls melt for. But not you."
"You wouldn't leave," she whispered.
He nodded, eyes glinting. "No. I wouldn't. You asked once. Then again. And the third time..."
"You dared to touch me."
"I did," he admitted. "And then you hit me. Right here, sweetheart."
He pointed to his jaw. The memory was vivid for both of them now—her fist connecting, the crack, the way he didn't even flinch until she left.
Elna's breath hitched.
"I didn't stop you," he murmured. "I let it happen. Did it hurt you? Your soft hands creasing my cheek, it felt like a feather, which I was waiting for such a long time."
She turned her face slightly away.
"You wouldn't have touched me, at least like that, if I hadn't done that, would you?"
Elna was taken aback by his words.
"You shouldn't have followed me."
"But I had to," he said. "You don't understand. The way you looked at him… like I wasn't even real. Like I was just some noise in the room. And then you dared to take someone else as your date... You will never understand how I felt when he touched you, with his filthy hands on your 1st date. How he made you look like a fly going for some stupid candy."
Elna tried to throw a punch at him again. But Neby grabbed her and pulled her into him. He leaned in, his voice lowering to a near-whisper.
"I knew I wanted more of it. Not the punch… the truth in it. That raw, honest moment. No games. No walls."
Her voice was barely audible now. "You're sick."
He smiled, unbothered. "Maybe. But I'm also patient."
She tried to pull back, but his grip was too strong for her to resist... he moved even closer, closing in over her, his body against hers. Her pulse throbbed against her neck, though she didn't move.
"You looked so powerful that night," he said. "But you were waiting. Alone. Vulnerable. I wondered… if you'd look at me differently if he never showed up again."
Elna's lips parted slightly—but nothing came out. There was a heat generated between them.
Neby's smile returned. As he moved closer to her, closer to her soft lips, and whispered, "I made sure he wouldn't."
Her eyes snapped to his. And pulled back.
"What did you—"
"I made him an offer," Neby said. "One he couldn't refuse. And in return, he left. No note. No closure. Just vanished."
"You did what?" she whispered, her voice laced with restrained rage.
"I opened a door," he said coolly. "He chose to walk through it. I didn't tell him not to tell you, but it was his decision."
Silence fell again—thick, heavy.
"I came here to supervise this project," he said finally, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. "But honestly, that was never the real reason, and you know that."
Her body remained still. But her heartbeat echoed in her ears.
"I wanted to see you again, Elna. In the daylight. In control. Behind your glass walls."
He leaned so close now their faces nearly met.
"But even glass cracks under pressure."
Elna's lips trembled—but not from fear. From fury.
A flicker of something else stirred beneath the rage. Not affection—never that. But a pull. A dangerous, unwanted pull.
Then—
Knock knock.
The sound ripped through the room like a lifeline.
Arsey's voice muffled through the door: "Ma'am, urgent request from Central."
Neby stood still for a moment, holding her in his stare.
Then slowly, he smiled again.
"Next time you hit me, Elna," he whispered, "don't expect me to stand still."
He stepped back, fixing his cuffs, his composure untouched.
"Don't forget about the board meeting the next day. Hope you will save my face. I'm the one who supported you for the project to go this far, but this ain't a joke, remember. It's already been a year."
And just before he opened the door—
"I still remember the taste of your anger. And I'd wait a lifetime to feel it again. "
"If the walls you built ever come crashing down…"(he lingers by the door, hand resting on the knob, voice barely above a whisper)"…you'll look around and find no one left to save you."(he turns his head just slightly, meeting her eyes one last time.)"Except me."(his smile curls, dark and knowing)"Because your surrender… was always meant to be my masterpiece."
He left a soft chuckle... and left.
Click..
The door opened. Then shut.
She was alone again. But her reflection on the screen wasn't the same.
Her eyes shimmered—not with tears.
With war.