Rebirth: Love me Again

[Estelle]

"Don't you have school to attend to?" Damien asked, his tone laced with barely concealed irritation.

I pretended not to notice the way his voice was practically shooing me away and instead flipped through a magazine, my expression the picture of nonchalance.

"I'm more of a short-course kind of gal, you know? I make my own schedule," I replied coolly, lounging on the soft suede pink chair with my legs comfortably propped up on its matching leg stool.

That chair? Oh, I ordered it myself. Damien's office was a tragic wasteland of dull grays and serious leather furniture, practically screaming corporate misery. I couldn't let that slide.

At first, he had tried to resist. He threw out the pastel throw pillows. He yanked down the string lights I painstakingly hung along the bookshelves. The cute succulent arrangement? Dumped in the trash (which, might I add, was unnecessary plant cruelty). But I was relentless. Like a determined interior decorator with no boundaries and no sense of personal space.

Eventually, he stopped trying. Maybe he realized it was futile, or maybe he just ran out of energy to fight me. Either way, his once-bleak office now had character—pink-accented, Estelle-approved character. And whether he admitted it or not, I knew he secretly liked it.

I turned another page in my magazine, smirking as Damien rubbed his temples like he was regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment.

"Feet off the stool, Estelle."

I stretched out even more. "It's my stool, husband."

His eye twitched. "It's my office."

I smiled sweetly. "Which I've made so much better."

The sigh he let out was nothing short of soul-crushed.

Not long now, I thought with satisfaction, watching Damien's patience wear thinner by the second. It was only a matter of time before he would be completely under me. Or over me. Honestly, I didn't care which, as long as he was mine.

I laughed internally at the thought, my mind already painting a victorious future.

Just then, the office door swung open, and in walked Felix, Damien's ever-loyal secretary, holding a fresh cup of coffee. "Here's your coffee, boss."

"Thanks, Felix," Damien muttered, taking a sip, his attention still fixed on his laptop.

I stretched lazily in my self-claimed pink suede chair before flashing Felix my sweetest, most innocent smile. "Hey, Felix, can I get a vanilla frappe?"

Felix beamed, always eager to please. "Of course, Lady Estelle."

Before he could move, Damien shot him a glare. "Don't get her anything. She's leaving."

I scoffed, crossing my legs. "I'm not."

Damien clenched his jaw, but I continued sweetly, "I'll be here as long as you're here. So, Felix, be a dear and get me that frappe."

"Right away, Miss Estelle," Felix said, practically trotting away with a little too much enthusiasm.

I smirked. If I didn't know any better, Felix had taken a liking to me. Not romantically—no, that wasn't his style—but because I was the only person who could go toe-to-toe with Damien without suffering any real consequences.

Or maybe he just enjoyed watching his eternally composed boss get rattled. Either way, Felix was definitely on my side.

Damien exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "Stop ordering my secretary around. If you want something, get it yourself."

I chuckled. "But I'm your future wife, Damien. That means Felix is technically my secretary too."

His fingers froze over his keyboard, then resumed typing like he didn't even hear me. "You should stop wasting your time here and do something productive."

I feigned an affronted gasp. "But I am being productive! I'm reading this magazine and gaining tons of knowledge and inspiration from it."

Damien's eyes flickered toward me, his expression flat. "You should stop reading that upside down."

I glanced at the magazine in my hands. Damn. He was right. Casually flipping it over like I meant to do that, I tossed it onto the coffee table with a huff.

Then, an idea struck.

"You know what? I should just become your secretary!" I declared with sudden enthusiasm. "I'd be really reliable. Super handy. I could organize things."

Damien let out a humorless laugh. "I highly doubt that."

I pouted. "Why? I'd be amazing. You could have two secretaries! Felix for work and me for your personal life."

I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively.

Damien shot me a deadpan look before turning back to his laptop. "Stop stealing Felix's job."

I grinned. "I'm not. We could co-secretary. Teamwork makes the dream work."

Damien ignored me.

I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hand. "You're picturing it, aren't you?"

"No."

"You are. I can see it."

"Estelle."

"Yes, my love?"

He inhaled sharply like he was summoning all the patience in the world.

I smirked.

Victory!

I stood up, stretching lazily, which made Damien sigh in visible relief.

Finally, after hours of my presence invading his space, he must have thought he was free of me.

But I wasn't about to let him off that easy.

"Don't celebrate just yet, my love. I'm just going to pee," I announced with a bright smile.

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Damien pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't need to know that."

I laughed at his grunted response and made my way toward the back door that led to his personal restroom.

Honestly, the placement was a little odd—why was his toilet hidden away in a separate hallway? It was inconvenient. But who was I to judge the eccentricities of a billionaire CEO?

After finishing my business, I was about to return to the office when I heard voices—hushed, low, but unmistakable even from a few meters away.

Damien.

And Kelsey.

I frowned. When did she get here?

Curiosity sparked, and I tiptoed closer, pressing myself against the wall. Their conversation wasn't meant for my ears, but since when had that ever stopped me?

"Estelle is here, I see?"

I peeked around the corner and found Kelsey sitting comfortably in front of Damien's desk, her face partially obscured by that ever-present scarf. It was her way of ensuring no one linked her to Damien, keeping her image pristine, her reputation unsullied. A symbol of independence, a declaration that she wanted to succeed on her own.

How noble. How utterly frustrating.