Chapter twenty two
Sebastian's smile curved like a blade, sharp and dangerous, as if he were savoring the scene before him.
"Are you okay?" he asked, voice dripping with mock sympathy.
Kairen's pulse throbbed in his ears. Are you very stupid for asking me that foolish question? Sit on the floor while I speak to you, let's see if you'd be okay, pimp. The insults stayed locked inside, burning against the back of his tongue. Outwardly, he looked wide-eyed and meek, the picture of obedience.
Sebastian tilted his head, waiting. "I asked you something."
The words snapped him out of his inner storm. Kairen swallowed, forcing a smile that looked almost innocent. "I'm very fine, boss. The floors are comfortable."
Sebastian's eyes narrowed. "Good. Don't ever make me repeat myself again."
Kairen nodded quickly. "Yes, boss."
The bundle of clothes Ms. Jo had left behind landed at his feet with a careless toss. Sebastian leaned back in his chair, watching him like a hunter toying with its prey.
"Wear it," he ordered. "Don't walk in here dressed like some slutty fag runway model. This is a company, not some low-budget fashion show."
The words stung like a whip, but for a strange, bitter second, Kairen almost smiled. Runway model. Even Sebastian's venom couldn't hide that he had noticed. Still, rage boiled beneath the faint curve of his lips.
Sebastian wasn't done. "From today on, if you want to keep your job, you wear those cleaner's uniforms. Every day. Every damn hour you step into this building. I don't want to see you in anything else."
Kairen stared at him in disbelief. His chest felt heavy, as if his lungs had forgotten how to pull air. He wanted to scream, to throw the clothes back at him, but all he managed was silence.
A sharp alarm buzzed from Sebastian's phone. He rose smoothly, adjusting his cuffs with practiced elegance.
"Meeting," he said. Then his gaze returned to Kairen, cold and cutting. "I'll leave you to change. And don't think about touching anything in this office with those fag hands of yours. Steal so much as a paperclip, and you'll regret it."
With that, he was gone his presence lingering even after the door clicked shut.
The office fell silent, leaving Kairen crouched on the floor, staring at the bundle of cleaner's clothes wrapped in plastic. His throat tightened, humiliation washing over him like cold water. Yet, somewhere beneath the weight pressing down on his chest, something stubborn sparked.
God, what is all this?
Kairen stayed frozen, his ears straining until he heard it the soft chime of the elevator followed by the hush of doors closing. Only then did his body unlock. He sprang up from the floor like a man possessed, his hands flailing, his feet stomping in restless little circles. It was the dance of someone who had held back for far too long, a man on the edge of laughter and madness all at once.
"Sit on the floor, he says… bastard!" Kairen hissed, his voice low but sharp, every word dripping venom. "What are you, my king? No my pimp? Fuck you." He mimicked Sebastian's deep commanding tone, puffing his chest, "'Don't touch anything with your fag hands.'" Then he dropped the act, teeth clenched. "Oh, choke on your own arrogance, Cross. I hope you gag."
He kicked at the air, shoved at nothing, words spilling out of him faster than his lungs could keep up. Every curse felt like air rushing through a crack in a suffocating wall, not enough, never enough. His fists balled, shaking, itching to land somewhere on a desk, on Sebastian's face, on the marble floor.
But then his eyes fell on the nylon bundle at his feet. The cleaner's uniform.
The sight of it cut his rage short, like a knife through rope. He stared at it, his chest heaving, fury draining into something heavier something like shame, something like disbelief. His fingers hovered, trembling, before he finally stooped and picked it up. The plastic crackled in his grip, loud in the silence of the office.
"God… is this really my life?" he whispered to no one, his voice raw now, stripped of fire. He held the clothes against his chest for a moment, as if they burned.
There was no choice. Not if he wanted to keep this job. Not if he wanted to hold on to the fragile threads of control he still had. He sighed long, defeated and began to unbutton his shirt. Every piece of his outfit he peeled off felt like dignity being stripped away. By the time he slid into the rough, oversized cleaner's uniform, he barely recognized himself.
He caught his reflection in the black mirror of the office window. The man looking back wasn't Kairen Noel, not the one who dared to dress with pride this morning. This was someone else entirely someone reduced, someone forced to play a part.
He closed his eyes, jaw clenched so tight it hurt, and muttered under his breath, "Just a few more hours… just survive this day."
And yet, beneath the sigh, beneath the surrender, his rage simmered, alive and restless, waiting for its time.
---
The employee section hummed with its usual rhythm. Keyboards clicked in uneven choruses, printers coughed out pages, and the muted buzz of telephones rang here and there. Afternoon light slanted through the wide glass panels, pale and sleepy, as though the day itself was beginning to drag its feet.
Julian crossed the aisle between rows of desks, a neat stack of files balanced in his hand. He stopped at Elodie's desk and laid them down gently, careful not to disturb the scattered post-it notes and pens she had arranged like props for a stage.
Without looking up, her fingers still flying across the keyboard, she said in a tone sharp enough to slice paper, "Don't talk to me. You betrayed me this morning."
Julian blinked, already sighing. "Elodie," he said, calm as ever, "I didn't betray anyone. And there's nothing going on between me and Kairen, so you can stop making things up."
That earned him the smallest flick of her eyes, her lips curling as though savoring her own private joke. "First of all, who's Kairen? Because I never mentioned anybody's name." She lifted her chin dramatically, as if she were delivering a line on stage.
A nearby coworker, braver than they should've been, leaned over their cubicle wall and chuckled. "Elodie, stop being a hater."
Slowly, Elodie turned in her chair, fixing them with a look that could shrivel glass. "And you," she said sweetly, her voice dripping venom dressed as honey, "should continue clicking your little keyboard like you know what you're doing. If you're bored, darling, go find somewhere else to loiter instead of sticking your nose into private conversations."
The coworker's laugh died instantly. "Sorry," they mumbled, shrinking back to their desk.
Elodie smirked and pivoted back around, satisfied. "Happy I clocked your tea real quick," she murmured, tossing her hair off her shoulder like a curtain call.
Julian exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose, though a faint smile tugged at his lips despite himself. Working alongside Elodie was always like this half theater, half battlefield and he had long ago learned there was no winning, only surviving.
Elodie leaned back in her chair, eyes flicking up at Julian. "Fine. Since you say you've got nothing to do with him, then I pray he gets hit by a truck."
Julian gasped, sharp and loud. "Elodie! Don't say things like that."
She arched a brow, lips curling in a sly smile. "See? You're defending him. You like him."
Julian dragged a hand down his face. "No. Not no, yes. Not yes like that. I just don't want him dead, come on."
But Elodie wasn't listening anymore. Her gaze had drifted past Julian's shoulder, her sassy smirk slowly spreading into something else surprise first, then amusement, then full-blown glee.
Julian frowned. "What? What is it?"
Elodie pointed upward toward the glass-lined corridor that overlooked the section. "This," she whispered dramatically, "is worse than a truck."
Julian turned—and froze.
There, walking stiffly along the upper floor, was Kairen. Gone was the head-turning outfit that had dropped jaws that morning. In its place hung the shapeless, faded uniform of the company cleaners. The fabric clung awkwardly to his frame, a size too big, a size too small—it didn't matter. On him, it looked like a cruel joke. His elegance stripped away, he seemed out of place, almost ghostly, like some escaped figure from a mortuary wandering the halls of power.
"What the…?" Julian muttered under his breath.
Elodie slapped the desk, bursting into shrill laughter that turned heads. "Oh my God—look at him! Look!" She could barely breathe as she clutched her sides, rocking back in her chair.
Others followed her gaze. The laughter spread like wildfire. A few covered their mouths, whispering. Others didn't bother hiding their chuckles. Fingers pointed. Eyes lingered. The section, once filled with the rhythm of typing and shuffling papers, now buzzed with ridicule.
Julian shook his head, disbelief hardening into something closer to anger. While the others mocked, he pushed away from Elodie's desk and strode toward the staircase, jaw tight. If no one else was going to stop this spectacle, then he would.