The moment I stepped into the office the next morning, the air shifted.
Whispers died mid-sentence. Everyone suddenly found something incredibly fascinating about their coffee mugs. A few brave ones broke the silence, cautiously approaching me like I was some fragile artifact from a war zone.
"It's not your fault," one of them muttered, her eyes darting around nervously. "It's just... Bryan acts like a child. Why else would he throw a tantrum just because you rejected him?"
"Seriously. So immature," another chimed in with a snort.
I forced a polite smile, though the heat of their stares crawled up my neck.
"Don't talk about him like that," I said gently, trying to steady my voice. "Who knows? He might be going through something."
"Oh please," Brittany scoffed.
She strutted toward me, hips swaying with unnecessary confidence. One of Bryan's self-proclaimed fangirls, her loyalty was as loud as a stilettos clacking against a tiled floor. Her eyes narrowed
"Tough moments, you say?" she sneered. "Don't flatter yourself."
I raised a brow, folding my arms slowly. "What exactly are you implying?"
Her lips curled into a smug grin. "I'm saying... maybe Bryan isn't the only one playing games here. Maybe *you* like the attention more than you admit."
The room went dead silent.
"You think you're special just because Bryan asked you out?" Brittany laughed, loud and bitter.
"Don't let it get to your head," one of her clones chimed in. I didn't even bother remembering her name. Another Bryan groupie with too much eyeliner and not enough sense.
I scoffed. "Hiss. Stupid players and even stupider fangirls," I said with a chuckle. "What is this, a teen drama?"
I stepped closer, arms crossed, chin high.
"Wake up — this is *reality*. Not some B-rated high school movie where the 'mean girl' tells the new girl to stay away from her man."
Then I tilted my head, sweet and venomous. "Nobody's dragging that buffoon with you. Bryan? He's all yours. Full package — ego, immaturity, and a fragile heart. Enjoy."
I smiled wide, eyes locked on hers.
"You all can go choke on your obsession. Meanwhile, I have actual work to do. I'm not jobless... like you."
With that, I turned on my heels, hands over my mouth, laughing under my breath as I left their stunned faces behind.
Since Bryan and I were tragically cursed to work in the same unit, I had no choice but to inhale the same air as that ego-driven buffoon every single day.
As I turned a corner, I caught him glaring at me like I'd just insulted his ancestors in three different languages.
"Hmph. What a nutcase," I muttered under my breath.
He looked like he was auditioning for the cover of *"Men's Ego Weekly"* — shirt half-buttoned like he was cosplaying a cheap villain in a B-grade soap opera. The kind who thinks flexing his barely-there abs makes up for his rotting attitude.
I fought the urge to cackle. Instead, I laughed inwardly like a villainess plotting her enemy's downfall.
I was just about to turn and mind my business when I saw Elena and Brittany — aka Bryan's top cheerleaders and the unofficial presidents of the *Delusional Fan Club* — saunter over to him like she was on a Victoria's Secret runway.
"Bryan, you look sooo hot this afternoon," she purred,
I rolled my eyes so hard they almost fell out of my head.
Then Brittany — the backup vocalist in the Bryan worship band — chimed in:
"Is it because he's soaked in sweat? I find it... appealing to the eyes. And he smells *so* good."
I nearly gagged on my own soul.
*Smells good?*
Did they just say *sweaty* Bryan smelled *good*?
"Ew," I muttered, loud enough for the universe to hear as I walked past.
"Bryan smells like a damn garbage truck roasting under the Lagos sun."
I could feel the tension shift, like the air itself paused in shock.
Their fake giggles choked on themselves.
But I didn't care. I was done playing the quiet, polite one.
I stormed off to the restroom to cool down, splashing cold water on my face, trying not to scream at the stupidity I had just witnessed.
And just as I was coming out, still dabbing my face dry, someone stepped into my path.
I looked up—
And of course, it was *him.*
Bryan.
Arms crossed over his chest, his stance rigid, confrontational.
"You're in my way. Can you move?" I said, voice flat.
His eyes darkened, jaw tightening.
"You think you can embarrass me like that and just walk away?" he growled, his voice low, almost a whisper — but laced with venom.
I tilted my head, feigning confusion.
"Try speaking clearly, Bryan. I don't speak *delusional*."
That landed.
His smirk faltered for a second, just a flicker, before it returned — sharp and cold.
He didn't respond.
He just gave me a long, unreadable look… then turned and walked off.
Weird.
I shook my head and kept moving, but something made me glance across the room.
There he was.
Bryan.
Sitting like nothing had happened.
Calm.
Too calm.
Like a storm that had just passed… or one about to break loose.
Then our eyes met.
And he smiled.
*But it wasn't really a smile.*
It was something else entirely — a quiet challenge, a threat wrapped in charm, a promise of unfinished business.
*A challenge. A promise. A threat dressed in charm.*
My stomach flipped. Not out of fear — no. It was the type of turn your gut makes when you realize you're about to lose it publicly.
"You're not dead," Bryan said — loud enough to echo. Loud enough to invite an audience.
His voice rang out like a slap, each word dipped in mockery.
I froze mid-step.
Was that supposed to be an insult? A question? A wish?
I turned slowly, one brow raised. "And you're still breathing. Life's just full of unfortunate miracles, isn't it?"
A ripple of sound spread through the hallway.
Snickers. Gasps. Someone even choked on their gum.
And there it was again — all eyes on us.
Us, the never-ending public spectacle.
He stood up, slowly. Like a predator preparing for a kill.
"And what line are you crossing now?" he asked, tone deceptively calm.
I didn't flinch. Not this time.
"The one where I reject your oversized, overfed ego. Remember? Or was your pride too loud that day to hear it?"
His jaw clenched tight — muscles ticking like a time bomb.
Oh, I hit a nerve.
Good one.