It started with a smirk.

She looked so small in that office uniform, trying so hard to fit in. I couldn't help myself—I teased her every chance I got. Late reports? I blamed her. Coffee spills? Her fault. A missing pen? Obviously her. She’d grit her teeth, swallow the anger, and bow her head because she knew—if she snapped, my dad would snap her job in half.

But she never cried. Not once. She stood tall even when I tried to push her buttons. That... drove me insane.

I didn’t want her to fear me. I wanted her eyes—those damn eyes—to look at me with anything other than hatred. But I’d already messed up so badly. She flinched when I walked by. She avoided eye contact. She didn’t even hate me properly—she just tried to survive me.

So I did something reckless. Desperate. I walked into my father’s office and said, “I want to marry her.”

He laughed. I didn’t.

The next day, I found her in the break room—tired eyes, hands trembling around her coffee cup. I dropped the envelope in front of her.

She blinked. “What’s this?”

“Your new contract,” I said, folding my arms.