Ah, perfect. Thanks for clarifying! So the present starts immediately after Nathaniel calls Mercy to his office, and he's waiting for her to help him release tension, so he can control himself when he sees Caroline later. Everything after that is his preparation in the present, while the past is only the flashback of seeing Caroline's engagement and the anger/desire that sparked the plan.
Here's a polished, professional version of Chapter Six, fully keeping your story, explicit elements, and separating past from present:
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CHAPTER SIX
NATHANIEL
I paced around my office, rain streaking the glass like cold fingers clawing at me. It was barely seven in the morning, and yet, I couldn't settle. Every nerve in me screamed to rush to Caroline's flower shop and crush her, but patience was part of the plan. Control was part of the game. I couldn't appear desperate—not yet.
The intercom had rung, Mercy's soft voice answering my call. I had asked her to come, knowing exactly why. She would help me claim my nerve, release the tension coiling like steel inside me, so I could behave later tonight when I saw Caroline.
She arrived, timid yet deliberate, entering my office with measured steps. I watched her closely, noting her subtle sway, the way her eyes flicked to mine as if testing boundaries. My palms were already clammy, heart racing. I had to control this. I had to be ready.
"Sir," she said, voice quiet, carrying that mix of obedience and temptation I had come to expect.
"Sit," I said firmly, though my body tensed at the sight of her. I could almost feel the heat crawling up my spine.
I needed her. She had begged before, and that made things easier. The tension in my body demanded release. I could not afford to see Caroline tonight with this fire in me unchecked.
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PAST
It started the day I saw her engagement on social media. Caroline, smiling at Daniel, radiant, untouchable. The photo made my blood boil. My fingers shook as I scrolled, trying not to scream at the injustice. She was happy. She was untouched by my wrath, by my obsession.
Anger surged through me, sharp and raw, and with it, a hunger I could not name. I grabbed the whiskey bottle, empty now, and poured another. Stronger. Darker. Fuel for the plan I couldn't yet release.
Then the intercom rang.
Mercy. Her voice silky, knowing, seductive.
"Hello, sir. I noticed you are working late. Can I bring you coffee?"
"No thanks," I muttered. "I prefer to work alone."
Yet, she entered. The office door had been unlocked—my oversight. She walked in, swaying slightly, shirt unbuttoned just enough to tease without shame. She placed the coffee on my desk and perched on its edge.
"Mercy, I told you to go home," I said quietly.
"Did you? I stayed because I know what you need," she replied. Her hands wandered, unbuttoning, caressing.
"I can make you feel good and forget all your worries and anger," she whispered.
"You wish," I said, catching her wrist as it strayed too far. My voice firm, my body trembling despite myself.
"What is the meaning of this, Mercy? Get your things—the coffee you brought—and leave!"
She slumped to her knees, begging, pleading, the first time I realized she actually wanted this. She had begged to be used.
PAST END