Chapter 9

Carl's POV....

The next morning, I pulled up outside Hans’ house, intending to apologize. I had overreacted last night.

He lives with his dad and his mom while I live alone, well I'm married now I have to live with my so-called wife.

Punching him had been out of line, and I knew it. As I approached the door, I could hear his mother, Mrs. Diana, speaking inside.

I steeled myself, thinking about how I would start.

But before I could even knock, the door swung open, and there she was. Her cold eyes met mine immediately, and without warning, her words cut into me like a blade.

“Carl,” she hissed, “you’ve always been so self-centered. Just like your father. Do you think everything revolves around you? You attack my son over your... insecurities?”

Her voice dripped with disdain. I stood there, frozen. She wasn’t done.

“You may have all the power in that company, but in this house, you’re just a selfish, spoiled boy who never grew up,” she spat, her face twisted in anger.

“You were just lucky enough to be born into privilege.” Her words were cruel, but I didn’t fight back. I couldn’t. After all, she wasn’t entirely wrong.

I deserved this, and it wasn’t the first time Mrs. Diana had spoken to me this way. She had been harsh ever since my father brought her into our lives.

My thoughts drifted back to those early days after my mother’s death. I had been a lost, confused boy, and then my father decided to bring in his mistress—Mrs. Diana—along with her son Hans, who was two years older than me.

She had taken over the household effortlessly, and although she wasn’t abusive, she had always made me feel like an outsider, like I was the one intruding on her family.

I glanced at her face, trying to gauge if she was really upset or if this was just her usual way of “correcting” me.

Her expression was hard to read, but it didn’t matter. I knew she wouldn’t change her mind, so I just muttered, “I’ll talk to Hans later,” and left.

The ride back to the office was quiet, but my mind was anything but. Mrs. Diana's words clung to me, stirring up old memories of my childhood, making me question everything I’d done.

I knew Hans didn’t deserve the punch last night, but somehow, my anger had always been misdirected—first at my father, then at Hans.

Now at Mia. When I finally got to my office, I was distracted, barely noticing how neat everything was until I sat down.

A stack of papers sat perfectly organized on my desk, and next to it, a cup of coffee, steam still rising from the surface. Mia.

I scoffed, remembering how I had ordered her to bring in the paperwork by 7 a.m. She went beyond that, even making me coffee.

Typical of her to try to make amends. I eyed the cup with mild suspicion before picking it up and taking a reluctant sip.

The taste... it was surprisingly good. Rich, smooth—just like the first time she made coffee on her first day at the office.

It was one of the few reasons I had even considered hiring her back then. She had seemed so nervous, yet so determined.

The coffee had been perfect, and now, once again, it tasted like she had poured her effort into it.

Before I knew it, I had finished the whole cup. I set the empty mug down, irritated with myself. I didn’t want her to think she had done something right, to feel like she had won some small victory by pleasing me.

I needed to remind her of her place. Pushing back from my desk, I strode into the small inner room of my office, a space I used to unwind when things got overwhelming.

I made another cup of coffee from the machine, this time adding sugar and milk, just to make a point.

I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of thinking she’d impressed me. Walking back into the office, I placed the fresh cup on my desk, feeling more in control.

I sat down, composing myself, flipping through the paperwork she’d sorted.

Everything was in order. I had to give her that Mia was efficient, but that didn’t mean I was going to show her any kindness.

As soon as I noticed her sitting back at her desk through the glass partition, I acted.

Grabbing the cup of coffee I had just made, I deliberately tipped it, spilling the liquid across the papers.

“Mia!” I shouted, my voice booming through the office. Within seconds, she appeared at the door, her face pale with surprise. I didn’t give her a moment to explain.

“What is this?!” I snapped, pointing at the spilled coffee like it was her fault.