Back in the office, Drogo sat behind his desk with papers neatly stacked and his pen occasionally scratching across margins as he made notes.
His mind, always alert, barely registered the quiet shuffle of footsteps until a shadow fell across the edge of his workspace.
He looked up. Karen stood there, holding the now-empty plate. Her movements were casual, but her gaze stayed on him.
“I see you enjoyed the food,” he said without inflection, his crystalline blue eyes betraying nothing.
Karen arched an eyebrow, leaning slightly forward as she set the plate down. “Above average,” she replied, letting the words roll off her tongue almost lazily. “But it seemed safe for consumption, so I’ll give you that.”
Drogo barely reacted, his attention drifting back to the papers as Karen casually picked up the plate and placed it aside, her fingers brushing the table lightly, almost mockingly deliberate.
“Anyway,” he said, his voice even, “we will be closing today at two o’clock.”
Karen’s brows knitted together, curiosity and irritation both playing across her face. “Two? Why? I thought you said five yesterday.”
“Not today. Today, every eighth of the month, we close at two,” he explained, his eyes returning to his work.
“Why?” she pressed, tilting her head slightly.
Drogo frowned, irritation flickering behind his otherwise neutral mask. “I thought you’d be elated to leave this hell early.”
“I am,” she tutted, a hint of a pout forming, “but the last time I requested leaving early, you forced me to stay against my will. Now, suddenly—”
“That’s this clinic policy, Ms. Benjamin,” he said sharply, the words carrying just enough edge to make her pause, though not retreat.
“And I ask, why?” she persisted, her voice deliberate and adamant.
Drogo’s fingers thumped against the desk in quiet frustration. “That’s enough interrogation from you, Ms. Benjamin. Either you prepare to leave at two, or you sit outside the clinic after we close.” His gaze snapped briefly toward her.
Karen’s eyes glimmered with a challenge, but she held it just long enough before turning on her heel and making her way back to the couch, settling herself with a measured calm, as though the office were a stage and she already owned her position on it. Visit novelping.com for the full chapter.
Silence settled between them like a fog.
Drogo exhaled slowly, feeling the pulse at his temple thudding insistently.
He rubbed at his forehead, already imagining the exhaustion this new arrangement would demand of him. Every day, every small interaction with her seemed designed to test patience, probe limits, and pull at the edges of reason.
Is this how it’s going to be every single day? he wondered, letting the thought sink in. He knew the answer would be yes, and the realization made the thrum in his skull all the more pronounced.
He sighed, resigned, as his eyes once again returned to the meticulous stack of papers before him, though his mind had drifted, tangled already in the unpredictable gravity of Karen Benjamin.
Drogo stood at the threshold of the office, adjusting the cuff of his shirt as he glanced briefly at the clock.
“Mary, make sure to close up,” he said calmly, carrying an underlying tone that brooked no argument. “I’m already running late.”
The old secretary nodded with her usual stoicism, but Karen’s eyes lingered on him, narrowing slightly as she watched him stride toward the main door.
Something in the deliberate pace of his steps and the way his coat swung made her instincts itch.
She remained standing in the office centre, her arms folded loosely, staring after him with a gaze that could have been mistaken for boredom.
Her brow knitted.
Later that afternoon…
The sun was casting long amber shadows across the city as Drogo’s car slipped out of the streets with practiced precision, leaving behind the hum of traffic and the slow chatter of urban life.
His hands gripped the wheel with quiet intent, the rosary wrapped around his left hand.
He murmured prayers under his breath, soft syllables barely audible over the engine, each whisper a measured rhythm against the beat of his heart, a tether to something fundamental as the city receded behind him.
The road narrowed, winding past fields and low hills, until the asphalt surrendered to gravel, welcoming the comforting crunch of solitude. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
Trees leaned in on both sides, dark green fingers stretching toward the road, filtering the fading sunlight into fractured golden shards.
Drogo slowed as the path curved, guided by memory, until the car finally came to a stop.
He stepped out. The air was cooler, carrying the smell of damp earth and pine. The forest seemed to exhale around him, a soft rustling of leaves and the occasional distant birdcall.
He moved to the trunk and opened it with care, revealing a crate of seedlings, small pots of soil, and a bag of tools, each item meticulously packed.
He lifted them with ease, moving further into the forest, the crunch of twigs underfoot sounding unnaturally loud in the dead silence.
The trees began to thin, sunlight streaming in shafts between the trunks as dust motes danced like suspended gold.
He followed a natural corridor formed by the spacing of the trees, stepping over roots and low ferns, until he reached a clearing.
There, in the heart of the woods, lay a hidden gem.
A small garden bursting with color amidst the green and brown of the forest floor. Bright petals—crimson, violet, and sunflower yellow—leaned toward the last remnants of sunlight, the air filtered with a heavenly, intoxicating scent, almost unnatural in its perfection.
The garden seemed to hum with quiet life, each bloom meticulous and captivating, like a secret preserved from the world.
Drogo set down the crate and bag gently, taking a moment to survey the space as if committing it to memory.
He rolled up his sleeves, slipping on the gardening gloves with the precision of someone used to ritual.
The tools felt heavy in his hands at first, but familiar. He knelt down, digging into the soft earth to plant the seedlings with careful attention.
The quiet around him was his only companion rather than a void. The forest seemed to lean closer, attentive, as he worked.