Vincent's POV

A week had passed since the announcement of Lance's death. The whole of New fort had been cast in a grey mood. I could understand them though. He was the pride of the local basketball team. But it was his time to go. Everyone should move on and not waste their precious time on a serial asshole like Lance. Especially the damsel seated five seats away from me.

It was conference day and Hannah sat at the other end of the desk, her hands tracing imaginary drawings on her paper. She had been this way for the past week. Ever since the news, her work schedule has been interrupted. She still did everything on time, but there were little errors here and there.

"Now as you can see, book con is only six weeks from now and as expected Pedro Alvarez would be in town we have…" I focused on Hannah as Rose droned on an on about her marketing plans to ensure Pedro would be convinced to join our publishing house. Hannah's curls were tied up to a bun as usual, but today, little curls were left to frame the sides of her face and she didn't have her lip gloss on. That meant she most likely hadn't been herself. Despite that,  I took my time to appreciate the double shades of her lips. The upper one was brown while the lower a succulent pink that made me gulp and adjust my tie. She looked up and we locked eyes, heat fanning on my neck. 

She gave me a soft smile and shifted her gaze to Rose. She was brave. Most women would've lost their mind when they heard their ex's head was dropped at his front porch. But I was bothered that she would still be disturbed about Lance or maybe, still be in love with him. I needed to be quite tenacious with my process. I needed my name branded in her mind.

Is that too much to ask, Hannah?

Her soul belonged to me. She may not know it, but I did. No man, Hannah. No man was allowed near her. If they dared, I would make them go missing. They would be wiped off the face of the earth. Their family would mourn them and in their flooding tears, I would fuck her and drown her till she tasted all their misery.  I would make her believe she was  fucked in the head and once I was done, all she would want would be me. She would see me as the only safe haven in her fucked up life.

Rose finished her plan and I dismissed everyone and only asked Hannah to stay. Everyone left the room, some women giving her accusatory stares. Jealousy ran rampant in this office and I knew some people wished they were my secretary. But the problem was that I had eyes for one woman, Hannah Tsegaye. A woman who was so hardworking, selfless and determined. What was there not to like?

Unfortunately, her destruction in my bliss would be the only thing that brought me great pleasure. She was the perfect puzzle I couldn't wait to dismantle and piece together in ways I deemed fit, no matter how hazardous it might seem.

"How are you, Hannah?" I asked, inclining my head.

She gulped, stretching her forearms on the desk and locking her hands together. "Fine."

"Well considering you've been making lots of typos, mistaking clients' names during your calls and sobbing when some yell at you over the phone, I would say you're most definitely not fine."

Her eyes widened at the last part. "I don't cry."

"News travels fast. There are eyes everywhere and people talk." 

"Well they should keep their eyes to themselves."

"In an office where the majority of the staff are women, I'm guessing gossip wouldn't be so easily expunged."

She inhaled and rested her hand on the bridge of her nose. "You're right, I've been messing up a lot lately. I would do my best to do better I promise. It's just," a sharp exhale left her, "things haven't really been good back at home."

Yes, that's it. Tell me.

All I wanted was for her to believe she could confide in me. I caused her disaster, but I wanted to be the one she ran to for help. She should believe in my ability to console her. Leaning further, I softened my gaze and put a small sympathetic smile on my face.

"What happened?"

She waved it off. "No, there's no need. I shouldn't bother you with—"

"Hannah, please, I insist."

Wetting her lower lip, she rested her hands on her laps. "My ex, he's dead."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." I wasn't.

"You know the story of the dead Basketballer? Lance Junior?"

I nodded.

"He's the one."

"That must be difficult for you."

"Not really," she said. "I only feel rage. Do you think I'm fucked up for that?"

Fucked up? No, she wasn't. If there was any fucked up person, it would have to be her ex. I left my seat and covered our distance. Dropping into a squat, I rested my hand on her forearms, looking deep into her eyes. Her breath hitched and I revelled in my hold on her. 

"It is normal to feel anger towards the death of someone. Sometimes," I shrugged, "some people just don't deserve our sympathy."

"He certainly doesn't. But we dated for five years."

Oh, bloody hell.

To hell with such sentimentalities. Knowing someone for so long didn't mean that if they did something wrong, they should be forgiven. Mentalities like this sent people to an early grave.

"What do you feel?" Tell me, Love. You feel the rage, don't you? "How do you feel in this moment."

"Anger. All anger."

I rose, cupping her cheek. It was soft and my fingers sunk into them, aching for more of her being. She rested her face, snuggling and taking a deep breath.

Inhale all of me. Let me be your pacifier. 

Running a knuckle over her lips, she shuddered. "I know something that could help you."

"What?" she asked.

I parted her lips with the pad of my thumb, enjoying the way her cheeks reddened. "Somewhere to let out your rage." Retreating to the door, disappointment shaded her gaze at my withdrawn touch. "Follow me."

Opening the door for her, she exited. We walked through the floor full of cubicles and the eyes on our backs were so searing hot I could feel their unwanted suspicions. However, as long as there was no proof of us being together, no one could say anything. We left the office and walked along the bustling city of New port's industrial area. Skyscrapers dared to touch the sky at every angle, billboards and advertisements at every corner. Food trucks lined the pavement, the lingering scent of baked pastry in the air. 

Hannah was at the side of the pavement closed to the road and I frowned. Did she want to get killed?

"Move aside."

She looked at me, shock in her eyes. "Why?"

"I have to be at the side closer to the road," I said, positioning myself properly.

A teasing smirk laced her face. "I didn't realize you were a gentleman."

I knew she was referring to the night I refused to hug her.

"Well for you, I'm willing to make a few changes to my splendid horrible character."

She dropped her gaze, blushing. "Something can't be horrible and splendid at the same time."

"Then you've never met me."

"Oh trust me, I have met you."

Chuckling, I said, "Good one. So who am I then?"

"You're this," she inhaled, looking to the sky, "rich, eccentric, horny CEO who's an expert at giving mixed signals."

I rested my hand on the small of her back and she froze, pursing her lips. Her face was about to explode with excessive heat. Leaning in, I let my breath rub against her neck.

"What signals do I give you, hm?" I whispered. "Wild ones?" I ran fingers down her back. The street was crowded so no one would notice us. "Cute ones?" My hand snaked to her waist and I grabbed her love handle. "Tell me, Hannah."

"Um, you give me, um—"

I grinned, letting go of her. She let out a breath I was certain she had been holding for so long and for a minute, didn't look at me. It was cute, seeing her worked up over little touches, even though we did the wildest of things together.

Bro, you think she's cute. Someone's in love.  A voice that sounded so similar to James echoed in my mind. I pushed that stupid little voice out of my head. I wasn't in love. I was only stating the obvious. Fucking hell. 

"What of me?" she glanced at me, after finding her courage. "Who am I?"

"Well, you're this brave, selfless woman, who happens to only eat when she has a movie to watch with her food."

She chuckled and slapped my arm. "It's a guilty pleasure and how do you know that?"

"I see you during lunch breaks. Watching your little cliche rom-coms."

"They're not cliche."

"Excuse me, have you read any rom-coms from the early 2000s and late 90s? Cute girl who's apparently so perfect and lives in an apartment in downtown New York meets rich billionaire businessman and falls in love."

Sounds like a very familiar story. No, no, it wasn't familiar. Hannah's story and mine wouldn't end the same way. I never found love. I never will. 

"Well it's cute. He runs in the rain for her to stop her from leaving the country."

"I would never do that. I wear bespoke suits and savile row."

A light in her eyes disappeared, almost as if my reply disappointed her. Did I say something wrong? Everything had been going so well. I was doing all I could to take her mind from Lance. Was she thinking about him again? If I could go to hell and kill that little piece of shit again, I would do it.

"Well too bad, Vincent Black." She tapped my arm, giving it a little squeeze. "You're missing out on a lot. One day, I would get you to watch a rom-com with me, you'll see."

"You're quite optimistic."

"Mhm."

We reached our spot and I lead her inside. The entrance lobby had a a bench by the corner and there were cracks on the wall where geckos slipped into. I reached the man at the counter and he put on a smile. 

"Mr Black," he said, shaking me. "Nice to see you're back again. With a new friends as well."

"You come here often?" Hannah asked.

I nodded. "Whenever I need to blow off some steam."

Rage rooms proved effective whenever someone pissed me off and I didn't want to kill them. So in a week, I visited this establishment at least three times. Two times in a good week. We wore protective gear and Hannah was handed a bat. We entered the rage room. An old 90s television was resting in a corner and other pieces of junk laid around, waiting to be destroyed. 

"What am I meant to do?" she asked, touching a gloved hand on the visor of her helmet.

I smiled. "Smash anything. Let it all out."

She inhaled. 

"That's it. Let all that rage out."

She marched to the television. Wham! Her first hit rested a dent in the surface. She aimed for the screen, her bat sinking inside as it shattered the glass. Her weapon got stuck and she screamed. Raising the TV, she smashed it on the floor. Next, she went on, kicking it.

"That's it, Hannah!" I screamed, smiling. "Kick that fucker!"

"Die! Die!."

She picked the television and tossed it to the end of the room.

"Yes, Love! Rage, rage, rage!"

Yelling, she picked the baton again and scattered a series of glass cups. The vase on a table was her next victim. With a swing of her arm, she smashed the baton into it. That's it. Oh I love this! 

"Bastard!" She charged to a statue and swung at the head, the concrete rolling off and leaving it headless. Shoving the sculpture to the floor, she buried her baton continuously into the body. "How," smash, "dare you," smash, "die without being," smash, "punished!" 

Her loud cry of anguish echoed through the room. My heart clenched as I watched tears roll down her eyes. She sunk to the floor, her eyes raging red. She would overcome this. She had to, because I had a feeling this wouldn't be the last time I would kill someone because of her.