Tristan Davis stood frozen, his hand still resting on the arm of the chair.

Emily Blair, livid, didn't hesitate. She lashed out with her foot, kicking him square in the stomach.

She didn't hold back. Tristan doubled over with a choked gasp, stumbling back until his shoulders hit the floor-to-ceiling window behind him.

The sight of him—disheveled, looking hurt and wronged-only made Emily more irritated. After all, she was the one who'd just been unfairly attacked, yet here Tristan was, playing the victim.

Without another glance at him, she spun her chair around with a huff and focused on her computer, her face cold and intent.

A few tense seconds passed before Tristan, voice hoarse, finally broke the silence. "Emily, I'm sorry. It was my fault..."

Emily didn't look up, her tone icy as she typed, "Just leave. Now."

Tristan's voice cracked with desperation. "I don't want to go. Can I stay, please?”

She ignored him, her fingers hammering the keyboard so loudly it echoed through the office.

Tristan lifted his head, his expression twisted with discomfort and wounded pride as he gazed at Emily.

"...Should I go, then?"

She still didn't answer.

Clenching his fists, Tristan quietly skirted past her desk, slipped out of the office, and, even in his dejection, remembered to pull the door closed behind him.

Only after he'd left did Emily finally lift her head, expressionless as she pushed the keyboard away.

"Mr. Davis, what happened to your face?"

Sadie's gaze was curious, almost amused, as she took in the angry red mark across Tristan's cheek. It was impossible to miss-she'd spotted it the second he walked

out.

Tristan's face fell, but at the sound of another voice, he quickly straightened, trying to act unfazed as he touched his cheek. “Oh, I just tripped. It's nothing.”

Sadie's expression grew even more intrigued. "Is that so?"

She wasn't blind or stupid. Anyone could see that mark wasn't from a fall—those were clearly the lines from a slap. The five-finger imprint stood out on his skin. Tristan nodded firmly. "Yes."

Sadie nodded back, glancing in the direction Tristan had come from.

Ms. Blair's office.

Sadie's eyes widened, a spark of wild curiosity lighting up her gaze.

She had always suspected there was something... different between Ms. Blair and Mr. Davis. So, it was true-Ms. Blair had finally made her move.

She knew some couples liked to play rough, but she never imagined people like Ms. Blair and Mr. Davis would be into that kind of thing. Maybe all the rich and powerful had their own strange games behind closed doors?

She didn't really get it, but wow-they sure didn't hold back. That slap had left such a mark on Mr. Davis's handsome face. How was he supposed to show himself in public now?

Sadie felt a pang of sympathy for his looks and offered a practical suggestion. "Mr. Davis, there's ice in the break room. If you'd like, I can get some for you."

Tristan touched his cheek again, his eyes dimming. "No, that's fine. I'll manage." Sadie nodded with understanding. She got it.

This was Ms. Blair's mark of love-of course he wouldn't want it to disappear too quickly.

She nodded knowingly. "All right, Mr. Davis. I'll let you be."

Once Sadie was out of sight, Tristan slipped into an empty conference room. He sat heavily in a chair, elbows propped on his knees, and tugged at his collar in frustration, exposing the sharp line of his collarbone and neck. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, eyes squeezed shut, trying to calm himself.

The room was silent, save for the ragged sound of his breathing, growing rougher by the second.

After a moment, Tristan raised his hand and, with a forceful swing, slapped himself hard across the same cheek Emily had struck.