Working Alone

Kaelen's POV:

I sit stiffly in the driver's seat, my hands gripping the steering wheel tight enough to turn my knuckles white. I shoot a sideways glance at Valerie. She practically presses herself against the passenger door, leaving a large, deliberate physical gap between us. I am genuinely trying to be a decent guy here. I offered to drive her home late at night, yet she just stares blankly out the window, ignoring my presence.

The silence grates on my nerves. Unable to hold back my burning curiosity, I break the quiet. "You play the piano well. When did you start learning?"

She shifts slightly, turning just enough to raise an arrogant eyebrow. "Well, I just started."

I frown. That makes no sense. She played far better than Chloe, who had painstakingly practiced for five entire years. "What are you talking about?"

A smug smile touches her lips. "I just watched Chloe play once and remembered the hand movements. I'm pretty clever, don't you think?"

My irritation boils over at her sheer sarcasm. I snap, unable to keep the harsh edge out of my voice. "Do you even know how to speak properly? When can we have a normal, proper conversation?"

"Well, we don't then."

Her reply is flat, devoid of any basic manners. She turns her face back to the passing streetlights, effectively shutting me out again.

I furiously tug at my tie, loosening the silk knot. I deeply regret ever opening my mouth. Trying to talk to this infuriating, impossible woman is a massive waste of breath.

Valerie's POV:

The rest of the tense ride home is dead silent. The heavy atmosphere in the car does not bother me in the slightest. As soon as the tires crunch to a halt on the gravel driveway of the Manor, Kaelen shoves his door open and storms out in a huff.

I step out at my own pace and stroll through the grand front doors. I walk right past him in the hallway without sparing a single glance.

*Smash.*

The loud, echoing thud of a glass water cup slamming against the wooden table rings through the living room. A dry chuckle escapes my throat. It is amusing to witness the supposed future Alpha of the Zenith Pack throwing a childish tantrum over nothing. His glaring lack of emotional self-control is pathetic. If this man cannot even handle a minor slight, any rival Alpha with a shred of ambition would easily tear him apart.

The next morning at the breakfast table, Beatrice and Daphne resume their usual routine. They throw venomous, snide remarks across the spread of toast and eggs, aiming right at my rural background. I treat the two women as if they do not exist. My deafening silence only serves to fuel their anger, their faces flushing red as I calmly finish my meal and leave for the Zenith Group.

The secretariat department is bustling when I arrive. The mundane secretarial tasks might be tiring for a normal human, but with my awakened Obsidian Pack Alpha energy and enhanced cognition, the workload is effortless. My brain processes documents in seconds, allowing me to finish all my morning assignments quickly. I even take a peaceful nap in the breakroom before lunch.

However, I return from my break to find a massive, towering pile of physical files dumped dead center on my desk.

Fiona stands guard over the mountain of paper like a dictator. "These files must be meticulously entered into the system today," she commands, her voice dripping with artificial authority. She glares at me, blaming a coworker's sudden leave of absence. "It is all on you now."

I eye the towering stack. "Why wasn't I given these files earlier in the morning?"

Fiona smirks confidently. "A sudden change of plans. I just got the order from above. Things like this happen." She leans closer, maliciously challenging my attitude. "Even though you are Mr. Vance's fiancée, you are here to work. You must do your part."

I am well used to these petty, small-minded games. Honestly, hiding my immense power within the oppressive walls of the Vance Manor is suffocating. Pushing my limits at work serves as a decent outlet.

"Of course," I calmly reply, pulling my chair out and sitting down at the desk.

Fiona does not leave. She lingers by my side, leaning over my workspace to patronizingly warn me. "Double-check every single exact number, Valerie. One typo ruins the whole dataset."

I shoot her a deeply impatient glare. "Do you have anything else to say? Spit it all out at once."

She blinks, taken aback by my icy tone. "No. That is it."

"Leave then. Stop wasting my time."

Fiona hesitates, her face twisting in fury at my utter lack of submission. She opens her mouth, shuts it, and finally spins on her heel, stalking off toward her office.

I sigh inwardly. I crack my knuckles, bracing myself for a long day of tedious typing.