Clara's POV
The pounding in my head was merciless, a dull drum that throbbed behind my eyes and made every step feel like I was wading through quicksand. I dragged myself into the bathroom and gripped the edge of the sink, staring at the pale, wrecked woman in the mirror. Aspirin. Water. Deep breaths. Anything to make me look and feel less like the disaster I was.
Last night. God. Last night.
Images flashed through my mind like shattered glass, jagged and unforgiving,the bar, the music that had pulsed through my veins, the reckless way the burn of alcohol had dulled my anger, and then… him. Adrian Blackwood. My boss. My cold, merciless boss.
And me? Rambling like a drunken idiot. Mocking him. Slurring insults. I buried my face in my hands and groaned out loud.
How the hell was I supposed to look him in the eye now?
Shame churned in my gut, but shame wasn't going to get me through the day. Work was work, and Adrian Blackwood didn't tolerate weakness. I couldn't afford to show up looking like the disaster I felt.
So I forced myself into the shower, let the hot water scald away the fog clinging to me, straightened my hair with mechanical precision, and slipped into my armor—navy slacks, a silk blouse, and my sharpest heels. The outfit screamed confidence even if my insides screamed regret. Maybe, if I looked put together, I'd start to feel put together. Maybe.
My car was still parked at the bar, mocking me with its absence, so I called a taxi. Smooth, Clara. Really smooth.
By the time I hurried into Blackwood Global's skyscraper, clutching the largest coffee I could find, I was already late. My phone buzzed with reminders I didn't want to see, my head buzzed with self-loathing, and then....
Crash.
The hot liquid splashed across fine wool and crisp white cotton. My stomach dropped to the floor.
"No, no, no…" I gasped, my voice barely a whisper.
And then I looked up.
Adrian Blackwood. My nightmare wrapped in Armani. My humiliation personified.
The scalding coffee had ruined his immaculate black suit, spreading across the fabric in a stain that would probably never come out. He stared at me, jaw tight, eyes like honed blades.
"I'm so sorry, sir," I blurted, panic clawing up my throat. "I wasn't looking, I...my phone buzzed and..."
"Are you stupid?" His voice was low and sharp, each syllable slicing through the buzzing silence of the lobby.
The words hit harder than if he'd shouted.
"Excuse me?" My voice was thin, trembling, but I forced it out.
"You heard me," he said coldly. His gaze swept over me like I wasn't even worth the time it took to scold me. "You're late. You're careless. And now you've ruined a ten-thousand-dollar suit before nine a.m."
Ten thousand? Was he exaggerating or actually serious? Either way, the number stung almost as much as his disdain.
"I… sir, I said I'm sorry…"
"Sorry doesn't clean up incompetence, Ms. Richards." He turned slightly, dismissing me with a flick of his hand, his voice cold as ice. "Dan, get this taken care of."He said,gesturing sharply to the brown stains spreading across his jacket and shirt.
Dan moved forward, expression unreadable, while Adrian strode past me without another word.
The humiliation clawed up my throat until I could hardly breathe. People were still watching, whispering, eyes following me like I was the company clown. My face burned hotter than fire.
I stormed to my office, slammed my bag down, and buried my face in my hands. He was my boss. He could hate me, dismiss me, insult me all he wanted. But he had no right to humiliate me in front of half the damn building.
The anger simmered beneath my skin, sharp and restless.
By afternoon, it boiled over.
"Mr. Blackwood wants you in his office."
Of course he does.
I grabbed my report,perfectly bound, perfectly researched, each page a testament to how damn good I was at my job and marched upstairs. My heels clicked against the polished marble floor, my pulse hammering in my throat. I knocked firmly, waited a breath, then stepped inside.
He didn't look up.
"Don't you knock?" His pen scratched across paper without pause.
"I did, sir," I replied, my voice tight.
"Did you get an invitation to enter?"
My jaw clenched. "I'm sorry."
Finally, he lifted his gaze. His suit was different now, charcoal gray, cut to perfection. His eyes were knives, pinning me in place.
"Your report."
I crossed the room, set the folder on his desk, and folded my hands tightly behind my back so he wouldn't see them tremble. He didn't touch the folder. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers like a judge ready to deliver a sentence.
"You were late this morning."
"Yes, sir. It won't happen again."
"It better not. I don't tolerate weakness. Or excuses."
Something inside me snapped.
"With all due respect, sir, spilling coffee doesn't make me weak. It makes me human."
For the first time, his brows rose, as if I'd actually surprised him. "Human," he echoed, the word dripping with disdain. "Tell me, Ms. Richards,were you being human the other night at the bar too?"
The floor seemed to vanish beneath me. My stomach dropped like a stone.
"You..."
"Oh, I remember every word," he said smoothly, a cruel amusement sparking in his eyes. "You don't impress me, was it? For someone so eager to preach perfection, you certainly fall short when the drinks come out."
Heat scorched my face. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
"I was drunk," I blurted before I could stop myself. "People say stupid things when they're drunk. Maybe you've heard of it?"
His silence was worse than anger. His gaze glittered dangerously, cold and sharp.
"Don't mistake defiance for strength, Ms. Richards," he said at last, his tone soft but deadly. "It's pathetic."
The words were a punch straight to my chest. Pathetic.
I swallowed hard, my voice barely steady. "I'll make sure the report exceeds your expectations."
His smirk was faint, cruel, like I was a game he had no intention of letting me win. "See that it does. Because next time, I won't be so forgiving."
Forgiving. As if humiliating me in front of an entire lobby was an act of mercy.
I gathered the last of my dignity, lifted my chin, and walked out. My hands shook, my insides twisted, but I refused to let him see it. He thought he could break me, that I'd fold under his disdain. Maybe I was rattled. Maybe I was terrified. But he'd never see it again.
Not from me.
Not ever.