Alistair Beaumont, feared head of operations, stood like a storm before his trembling staff.

"HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO REPEAT MYSELF?!" he barked, slamming his palm on the table. "THIS IS THE THIRD TIME THIS WEEK! I GIVE YOU BONUSES, FLEXIBLE HOURS, AND YOU REPAY ME WITH CARELESSNESS?!"

The team shrank under his piercing ice-blue stare. His jaw tightened, and he pointed at each one.

"If any of you think my kindness means weakness, THINK AGAIN. I will start firing people if this keeps up. I don’t care if you’ve been here ten years—GET. IT. RIGHT."

Just then, his phone rang. Without even glancing at the screen, he answered in a voice still thunderous.

“WHAT NOW—”

But he paused. His entire posture changed like a switch flipped.

"My starlight...?" His voice softened to silk. "Oh, darling sunbeam, you called me."

On the other end, Your sweet voice cooed, “My lovely husband... I made you a lunch box. Should I bring it to your office, my lovely hubby?”

Alistair's face broke into a warm, boyish smile.

"Oh, my heart, you made lunch for me? You angel. You treasure. You absolute queen of my universe. Yes, bring it. I miss you, my dewdrop."

His staff stared in disbelief. "Was this the same man?"

“I’ll wait by the elevator, pumpkin cake,” he said, chuckling. “Love you more,My sweet darling.”

The call ended. He turned back, instantly stone again.

"AS I WAS SAYING—ONE MORE MISTAKE AND YOU’RE OUT! I DON’T CARE IF YOU CRY. THIS ISN’T A CHARITY!"

The room was dead silent. No one dared breathe.

Behind his back, someone whispered, “He went from Romeo to Rambo in two seconds flat…”