CONFIDENCE — POV
I couldn't believe he called what happened between us a game. A stupid, meaningless game.
Me? A game?
As I walked home that night, my entire body was buzzing with anger—anger at him, anger at myself, anger at how his stupid lips still lived rent-free in my mind like they owned the place.
But Charles? No. Charles wouldn't lose sleep over me.
At least… that's what I thought.
By the time I reached the compound and entered my small tenant quarters, I was so exhausted I dropped on the bed fully dressed. I didn't even turn on the fan. I closed my eyes for "five minutes" and next thing I knew… smoke.
Thick. Grey. Angry smoke.
My heart jumped.
The small stove I used earlier had somehow flared back up. Flames danced on the cloth nearby. Perfect. Just what I needed—my house catching fire like some cheap movie.
I rushed out, grabbed the old extinguisher beside my door and sprayed the flames until they hissed and died.
Just as I was wiping sweat off my forehead, I heard someone shouting like a madman.
"CONFIDENCE! CONFIDENCE!"
The voice cracked. Almost terrified.
I frowned. Who in the world—
Then he came running from the front gate like a man that outran death itself.
Charles.
His eyes were wild. Breath short. Suit jacket half off. He looked like he had driven here in a panic.
Before I could even understand what was happening, he grabbed me—no, he wrapped himself around me so tightly my feet could barely touch the ground.
"I—" he swallowed hard, voice shaking, "I thought… something happened to you."
For a moment, I froze. My heart stopped. My lungs forgot how to work.
Was he… worried?
About me?
I pressed my hands gently to his chest. "Charles… are you—"
But immediately he stiffened and pushed me away like he suddenly realized he had feelings he didn't permit himself to have.
"This…" he shouted, pointing at the now-dead flame, "is such a hassle! Imagine having to deal with a worker's compensation claim because you burned yourself to death!"
I blinked. A WHAT?
"Excuse you?!" I snapped. "You were shouting my name like you thought I died!"
"I— I didn't shout," he denied too fast, straightening his shirt. "I was simply making sure my employee wasn't… uh… affecting company property."
"Company property?!" I raised my hand dramatically. "Wow. So that hug—purely HR-related, right?"
"Obviously," he said, though his face was red enough to fry an egg.
I scoffed. "So you ran here… because of HR."
"Yes."
"And panicked."
"False."
"You hugged me like your life depended on it."
"I slipped."
"Oh? Into my arms?"
He glared. "Confidence, don't start."
"Then stop acting like you didn't care!"
"I didn't!" he insisted.
I folded my arms. "Then why are you sweating like someone stole your kidneys?
Instead of answering, he changed the topic—classic Charles.
"You started this fire."
"I did not start any fire," I shot back. "The stove sparked on its own!"
He pointed at the soot. "Careless."
"Are you calling me careless when YOU left me alone to do every single task today?"
"You said you could handle it," he argued. "But clearly you bragged for nothing."
"Oh I bragged?" I stepped forward. "I bragged because I did everything. You assigned the job but didn't lift a finger. You sat down licking cherry off your lips like—like—"
"Like what?"
"Like you knew exactly how it would affect me!" I shouted, heat rising to my face.
His jaw tightened. His eyes darkened. "If you can't handle simple tasks," he said harshly, "resign."
My chest cracked… just a little.
"I won't resign," I whispered. "And I didn't sleep. I went to the bathroom for two minutes. That's all."
"I don't want someone reckless on my team," he snapped.
"And I don't want someone who doesn't appreciate effort!" I yelled back, feeling the sting of tears.
I turned to walk inside but stopped when something fell from Charles' pocket.
His phone.
I picked it up to hand it to him—completely innocent—until the screen lit up.
And I saw it.
My picture.
As his lock screen.
Me. Laughing at the beach. Sunlight in my eyes. A moment he must have taken quietly when I wasn't looking.
My heart stumbled.
But before I could speak, Charles snatched the phone out of my hands so fast it grazed my fingers.
His eyes were wide. Terrified. Exposed.
"Charles…" I whispered softly, "Is that—"
Without breaking eye contact, he unlocked the phone, pressed down on the photo…
…and deleted it.
Right. In. My. Face.
The sound of the delete confirmation was louder than any fire.
My throat tightened painfully. He didn't explain. Didn't blink. Didn't breathe.
He just turned and walked to his car.
And drove off.
Leaving me standing there, soot on my hands, smoke in the air, and a sharp, painful hole right where my chest used to be.