JOAN’S POV
The sun shone through the windows of the kitchen. I was standing near the stove, overseeing the staff, just as I always did. The morning routine was the same as every other, but the air felt thick today. I could hear it. everyone could. Whispers, too quiet to catch, but loud enough to make the staff’s movements hesitant, almost self-conscious. There was an interrogation ongoing. Because of the incident last night, saff members were being questioned and everyone was scared. The weight of it all was heavy on my shoulders, and I couldn’t help but feel that I was at the center of it all, the reason for all this chaos. If it weren’t for the attack on me, none of this would be happening. I hated that it had all come down to this.
Emily’s voice broke through my thoughts.
“They’re letting a lot of people go,” she muttered, her eyes scanning the kitchen “Can’t say they didn’t deserve it, but…”
I finished for her with a sigh “It’s because of me, isn’t it?”
She nodded, biting her lip. “Yeah, but you didn’t ask for this, Joan. You can’t blame yourself.”
I swallowed, feeling guilty. I hadn’t asked for any of this-being attacked, being in this position, being watched so closely. But it didn’t matter. The fact was, it was happening because of me. The least I could do was try to put a stop to it.
I excused myself from the kitchen and made my way to Derrick’s study. My feet moved almost mechanically as I passed the halls. I wanted to talk to him, to assure him I was fine and to stop the interrogation on everyone.
I knocked lightly, waiting for his deep voice to command me to enter. When it came, it was as emotionless as ever. “Come in.”
The door creaked open, and I stepped inside, feeling my pulse race at the sight of him. Derrick stood by the window. His broad back was to me as he stared out, lost in thoughts that seemed to consume him. He always seemed like a man who kept everything inside, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to reach in and know what was going on behind that impassive expression.
“What do you want?” he asked.
I cleared my throat “I want to talk to you”
“Then talk”
“I’m fine, Derrick. You don’t need to fire anyone because of what happened to me..”
He turned to face me then. His eyes were dark and unreadable. But something flickered in the depths-something softer, something unexpected. He seemed to be holding back, struggling with something.
His jaw tightened, and he took a step toward me.
“I need to know who did it, Joan. What if something happened to you?” His words came out as a raw confession.
My breath caught and my heart skipped a beat. He was the last person I’d ever thought would care. Derrick-the stone-cold, untouchable man who kept everyone at arm’s length-cared about me?
“You care about me,” I whispered. My voice was a mix of surprise and something deeper, more vulnerable. Something I hadn’t expected to feel.
He scoffed and turned back to the window “I don’t care about anyone,” he muttered. His words were as harsh as the sharp edge of a blade. But I could see through it. I knew that wasn’t true. I could see it in his eyes-the faintest crack in the armor he wore.
I stepped closer, noticing the bottle of whiskey on the table. The sharp, bitter scent of it filled the room. Derrick was trying to drown something, I could tell. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it was there. It was an unspoken thing that made his hands tremble slightly.
“What’s really wrong, Derrick?” I asked..
He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he took a long sip from the glass in his hand. Then, his eyes scanned the room as if he were looking for the right words. When he spoke, his voice was raw, almost painful.
“The mafia has expectations, Joan. Expectations I can’t meet. I’ve dealt with betrayals, people I thought I could trust turning on me.” His fists clenched involuntarily, and I could see the tension in his shoulders, in his face.
I reached out without thinking. I felt so sorry for him. I could tell he was holding a lot inside and I just wanted to help. My hands gently cupped face. I needed him to see me, to feel the weight of everything I was offering-understanding, compassion. I needed him to know that he wasn’t alone in this, that he didn’t have to carry it all on his own.
His eyes softened, but he didn’t speak. The rawness in his gaze made my chest tighten with something that wasn’t just pity. It was something else. Something deeper, more intimate. I could feel the chemistry between us, the tension building in the space between us.
“Derrick,” I whispered “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here. You can always talk to me”
He stiffened under my touch. His eyes hardned. “Stay away from me, Joan. You don’t know what I’m capable of. You don’t know what I’ve done.”
I felt a wave of heat rush through me. This wasn’t the man I was seeing right now. This wasn’t the Derrick I knew. There was something more in him-something human, something that wanted to be seen.
“I don’t care what you’ve done,” I said “I care about you, Derrick. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Before I could stop myself, I was standing on my tiptoes, my hands still holding his face, pulling him toward me. I leaned in slowly. The anticipation between us thickened with every inch that closed between our lips. He was leaning in, too. His breath came faster.
But just as I thought we were about to kiss, his body tensed, and he pulled away with a rough, breathless grunt. I stared at him in confusion.
“Why did you stop?” I whispered.
His eyes were full of conflict, but he turned away from me, pacing toward the door. “I’m not the man you think I am, Joan. Stay away.”
And just like that, he walked out, leaving me standing in the middle of his study with my heart pounding and my head spinning