Chapter 4

"Ms. Sutton, the timing might be a bit..." I hesitated.

Yvette's smile didn't budge, but her eyes turned cold. "Problem? Mr. Zeller considers this report a priority. If it's too much, just say so. I can always find someone else."

There was nothing I could say at that point. I gritted my teeth and nodded. "No problem, Ms. Sutton. I'll get it done."

But inside, I was screaming, 'I'm so screwed.'

That night, I dreamed of Jackson again.

Only this time, the warmth was gone, replaced by a biting chill.

The scene in the dream was foggy like I was watching it through frosted glass. I saw Jackson's back, and next to him stood a woman in a tweed suit. She looked exactly like Yvette.

With a bright smile, she slid her arm through his. And he didn't pull away.

I couldn't see Jackson's face, but my chest felt like it was being crushed from the inside.

I woke up in the dark, my heart racing. Sleep wouldn't come again. My chest was tight and heavy.

I knew it was just a dream. But jealousy and the sense of loss all felt painfully real.

Seriously, did these shared dreams have to come with jealousy and anxiety, too?

The next day, I showed up with dark circles under my eyes, typing like crazy to finish my report.

Yvette floated by at regular intervals, always with a steaming coffee in hand and that infuriatingly concerned look.

"Ms. Lott, how's the report going? Need a hand?" she asked, like a cat toying with a half-dead mouse.

Just when I was about to completely lose it, my inbox pinged. An anonymous email appeared.

It came with an attachment, a perfectly compiled database with the exact info I'd been struggling to track down.

The sender's name was a mess of random characters, but when I checked the file properties, one name stared back at me—Jackson Zeller.

My heart skipped a beat.

He knew Yvette had been sabotaging me? And he was secretly helping me?

That single realization sent a rush through me. My productivity shot through the roof. But at the same time, I was even more confused.

If he knew, why wouldn't he stop her? Why this quiet support instead of taking a stand?

As the day wound down, I was asked to deliver documents to Jackson's office.

The door was slightly ajar, and Yvette's flirtatious voice drifted out. "Mr. Zeller, how about dinner tonight? There's a lovely new place nearby."

I froze, instinctively holding my breath.

There was a long silence. Then Jackson's voice came, cool and unreadable. "Not tonight. I have plans."

Yvette didn't back down. "What about this weekend? Come on, Mr. Zeller. Just humor me..."

I couldn't bear listening any longer. My heart ached. Even though he'd turned her down, her familiar, intimate tone and the image of them alone in that office ate away at me like acid.

Maybe... he didn't fully reject her.

I went back to my desk, and I buried myself in work, trying to drown out my emotions.

It wasn't until late into the night, when the office was empty, that I finally finished the report.

Exhausted, I slumped over my desk, barely able to move. My eyes burned from staring at the screen too long. I rubbed them, ready to shut everything down and head home.

Just then, I noticed a cup of warm milk sitting in the corner of my desk.

Next to it was a sticky note with two sharp, familiar characters written in bold strokes: [Get some rest.]

It was Jackson's handwriting.

I froze, my fingertips brushing against the warm cup. The gentle heat seemed to spread from my hand into my chest.

But with that warmth came a deeper confusion.

He knew why I was working late. He could've stepped in, but instead, he left me a cup of warm milk and a note. What did that mean? Was this a concern? Guilt? A subtle apology? Or... something more?

The city lights twinkled outside the window, but my heart just wouldn't settle down. Like these strange dreams, Jackson himself was becoming more and more of a mystery I couldn't solve.