Jeslyne stared at the endless stretch of the ocean, its waves lapping gently at the shore as she dug her feet into the soft, warm sand. It was a tranquil Saturday afternoon, and she was surrounded by friends at the beach, including Clara, who had suggested the trip. Yet, Jeslyne couldn't shake the storm brewing within her.
She watched Clara and the others laugh and splash water at each other, their joy filling the air. Jeslyne, however, felt distant, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of Rolland. She hated that he lingered in her head, that his piercing gaze and enigmatic charm had carved a space she didn't want to acknowledge.
Clara plopped down beside her, shaking water from her hair. "You're quieter than usual," she remarked, studying Jeslyne's face. "What's eating you up?"
Jeslyne forced a smile. "Nothing serious. Just work stress."
Clara gave her a knowing look. "Come on, Jes. The ocean is here to cleanse your worries. You've got to let loose!"
Jeslyne chuckled softly, but her thoughts remained tied to the chaos back at the office. The Vice CEO's arrival had not only shaken her professional life but also her sense of self-worth.
On Sunday evening, Jeslyne drove to her father's house. The small, cozy home brought back bittersweet memories of her childhood. Her brother, Theo, greeted her at the door, a wide smile on his face.
"Dad's making his famous stew," Theo said as they walked inside. "What brings you here? You rarely visit unless you need a pep talk."
Jeslyne rolled her eyes but smiled. "Can't a girl just visit her family without an ulterior motive?"
Her father, a kind but stern man, was in the kitchen, humming an old tune. "Jes, you're here early," he said, glancing up from the pot. "Dinner will be ready soon."
The evening was filled with lighthearted banter, but as they sat down to eat, Jeslyne's mood shifted. She couldn't hold back anymore.
"Dad, Theo," she began, her voice softer than usual. "Do you ever feel...angry about how things turned out with Mom?"
Her father's expression darkened slightly, and Theo put down his fork. They all knew this was a wound that never truly healed.
"Your mother made her choice," her father said, his voice measured. "We made ours. And look at us—we're doing just fine."
Jeslyne nodded but felt the familiar bitterness rise within her. "I just... I don't want to end up like her. Leaving things behind for comfort."
Theo reached across the table to squeeze her hand. "You're nothing like her, Jes. You've fought for everything you have."
Monday came too soon, and Jeslyne returned to the office with a heavy heart. Her new role felt hollow. The job was easier but stripped of the passion she once felt. Emma tried to cheer her up, sitting with her during breaks and offering words of encouragement.
"You'll find your footing again," Emma said one afternoon as they watched a training session in the modeling studio. "It's just a rough patch."
Jeslyne managed a weak smile, but her resolve wavered as the days turned into weeks. Some of the models, emboldened by the hierarchy shift, began mocking her openly.
"Looks like the mighty have fallen," one of them sneered as Jeslyne walked past. "Guess all that pride wasn't worth much."
The comments stung, reopening old wounds of childhood bullying. Jeslyne had spent years building a tough exterior, but the attacks now felt personal, cutting deeper than she anticipated.
Three gruelling months passed. She learned to ignore the whispers and focus on her tasks, but the strain took its toll. Even Emma's unwavering support couldn't fully shield her from the ache of feeling sidelined.
One late evening, Jeslyne stayed behind to organize files for an upcoming scouting event. She changed into her walking shoes near the parking garage, preparing for the long walk home. The hour was late, and the building was eerily quiet.
As she bent down to adjust her laces, a deep, familiar voice startled her.
"Working late, Miss Timer?"
Jeslyne jumped, spinning around to find Rolland standing a few feet away. His presence was commanding, even in the dim light. He was dressed impeccably, though his tie was slightly loosened, a rare glimpse of casualness from him.
"Mr. Williams," she said, regaining her composure. "You scared me."
"My apologies," he said, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Though, I'd say you look more like you were caught off guard than scared."
She straightened, brushing off her clothes. "What are you still doing here?"
"I could ask you the same," he countered, stepping closer. "But it's past working hours, so perhaps we can drop the formalities?"
Jeslyne hesitated. She had worked hard to maintain a professional distance from him, yet his casual demeanor now felt disarming. "I was finishing up some work."
Rolland nodded, his eyes scanning her face. "You seem... different these days. Is everything alright?"
She stiffened, unwilling to let him see the cracks in her armor. "Everything's fine, Mr. Williams. Thank you for your concern."
He tilted his head, studying her with an intensity that made her uneasy. "You know, sometimes it's okay to admit when things aren't fine."
Jeslyne forced a polite smile. "I'll keep that in mind. Goodnight."
She turned, ready to walk away, but before she could take a single step, Rolland caught her by the waist. The sudden contact sent a jolt through her, his firm grip pulling her back against him.
"Rolland," his name escaped her lips in a soft, mournful sound, almost as if she had no control over it. Her hands instinctively pressed against his chest, the solid strength beneath his shirt making her heart race.
His gaze bore into hers, unwavering and intense. "Jeslyne," he murmured, his voice low and velvety. "I like you."
Her breath hitched, but she quickly masked her surprise, tilting her chin defiantly. "Okay," she replied, her voice defensive, as if dismissing him. Her tone carried the unspoken message:
I know—and I don't care.
A flicker of amusement crossed his face. "Okay?" he repeated, his tone teasing. Without warning, he pulled her closer, his body pressing hers against the sleek side of his car. His scent—clean, masculine, intoxicating—overwhelmed her senses, leaving her disoriented.
"Rolland," she started, her voice shaky as she tried to regain control of the situation.
His lips brushed against her ear, sending shivers down her spine. "I always get what I want," he whispered, the heat of his breath against her skin making her clutch his shirt instinctively.
Jeslyne felt trapped in the moment, her mind at war with her body's reactions. She remembered her colleagues' words, the rumors of a girlfriend—if not a fiancée. The thought jolted her back to reality.
She pushed against his chest with all her strength, forcing a sliver of space between them. His body relented, but his eyes held a playful, almost predatory gleam.
"I hope you get what you're looking for," she said, her voice firm but laced with challenge.
She turned and started to walk away, but his voice stopped her in her tracks.
"What if what I'm looking for is you?" he called out, his tone smooth and confident.
Jeslyne glanced over her shoulder, her expression carefully guarded. "Then I'd say you're chasing the wrong dream," she shot back, trying to sound unaffected, though her heart was pounding.
He took a step closer, the smirk on his face deepening. "I've never been one to give up easily, Jeslyne. And you're far too intriguing for me to let go."
"You don't even know me," she countered, crossing her arms in an attempt to shield herself from his disarming charm.
"Oh, but I want to," he replied, his voice softening, almost coaxing. "Every sharp reply, every moment you hold back—I want to unravel it all. You fascinate me, Jeslyne Timer."
Her resolve wavered, but she held firm, shaking her head slightly. "Well, Mr. Williams, good luck with that."
His laughter followed her as she walked away, the sound deep and rich, echoing in the quiet garage. "I don't need luck, Jeslyne. I already know I'll win."
She didn't turn back, didn't let him see how his words left her both flustered and intrigued. By the time she reached the end of the garage, she was almost running, her heels clicking against the floor as if to outpace the fluttering in her chest.