Chapter 4

Chloe’s POV

I froze in shock. It was working hours, and I was in his office. How was I supposed to walk out of here later?

Liam gave me no time to process anything before pressing me down forcefully against the desk.

A long while later, Liam finally rose, fully satisfied. He leisurely straightened his clothes, returning to his usual cold, aloof, and dignified demeanor. Not a single trace of disorder could be seen on him.

Meanwhile, my clothes were completely rumpled, and my underwear was sitting in the trash can.

"Get out."

Liam didn't spare another glance at my disheveled state, uttering those two words with icy detachment.

I tugged hard on my hopelessly crumpled skirt suit, my face burning with shame.

I couldn't fathom how I was supposed to face anyone looking like this.

Nor had I ever imagined Liam would humiliate me to this extent.

"Mr. Sterling..."

I managed to speak with great difficulty.

"My... my underwear is gone. Could I borrow your car? I want to go home and change..."

"No."

Liam's refusal was blunt, leaving no room for negotiation.

I bit my lip, my face dead pale as I fought back the tears threatening to spill.

"But I..."

Without my glasses to hide behind, my eyes were wide with panic and brimming with moisture, unshed tears still clinging to my lashes.

When Liam looked up and caught sight of me like this, something in his chest inexplicably twitched.

The very next second, a cold sneer curled his lips.

He had almost fallen for my act again.

If this woman went into acting, an Oscar would definitely belong to her.

Back then, she could play the saintly older sister who wanted nothing; how hard could it be for her to play the victim now?

"Aren't you wearing a skirt?"

Liam leaned back against his chair, taking me in with slow, deliberate eyes.

"Wear it just like that. Work as usual today. You're not going home."

"I'll be checking on you at any time."

The last trace of color drained from my face, and an uncontrollable tremble ran through my body.

He wanted me on pins and needles. He wanted the entire company to make a laughingstock of me.

Liam relished the agony painted across my face, mockery gleaming in his eyes.

Yet in the very next instant, he froze.

I suddenly went quiet.

I didn't make a scene, nor did I plead anymore. Silently, I put my clothes back on, doing my best to smooth out the creases.

Once finished, I kept my head bowed and spoke.

"If you have no other orders, Mr. Sterling, I'll get back to work."

My silence made Liam inexplicably furious.

What he hated most was seeing me like this—quiet, unprotesting, docile.

What he wanted was for me to break.

Only when I broke down and begged him in tears would he feel satisfied.

His eyes swept over the desk, and he grabbed a document, tossing it toward me.

"Take this to the Design Department. Right now."

I reached out to take it, but the moment I saw the document clearly, my face turned utterly ashen.

The cover was crisscrossed with deep creases and bore faint, damp stains.

It was the very file that had been beneath me when he pinned me onto the desk.

Now, he wanted me to deliver it to the Design Department with my own hands.

I stood frozen in place.

A silent scream tore through my mind: I am a human being.

No matter how much he hated me, how much he loathed me, I begged him not to degrade me like this.

I can feel pain, too.

"Didn't you hear me?"

Liam urged impatiently.

I closed my eyes, stretched out a trembling hand, and took the thin folder.

I had no idea how I walked out of that office.

The colleagues I passed in the corridor let their gazes linger over my rumpled skirt before glancing away with knowing looks.

Nor did I know how I made it to the Design Department.

The second I set the document down, the Design Department manager started to speak, but I had already turned and walked away.

Leaving the department behind, I bolted into the elevator as if running for my life, frantically hammering the button for the top floor.

The moment the doors slid open, I stumbled into the rooftop garden.

The overwhelming shame finally burst through its dam.

Clutching the edge of a planter, I bent over and threw up.

My stomach churned violently. Having emptied what little breakfast I had eaten, all that came up was bitter bile.

In the end, not even bile was left—only dry heaves racking my chest.

My legs gave out from the retching. I slid down against the wall and crouched on the concrete, burying my face in my hands.

Tears streamed endlessly through my fingers.

I felt sick. Revolted.

Most of all, I was filled with absolute disgust toward myself.

Treated like this, I was still staying by his side.

Trampled into the dirt, I still hadn't given up on him.

Huddled in the corner, I wept until no sound came out.

The biting wind on the rooftop swept over me, chilling me to the bone, but I didn't move.