Under the Mistletoe with My Boss

CHAPTER 5

ALEXANDER…

Lyla's POV

The stairwell is cold… Too cold, my fingers sting as I grip the railing, my breath fogging in front of me as I reach the next landing.

The party noise fades behind the heavy doors above, replaced by quiet echoes and the faint hum of the building vents.

I stop halfway down, press my back against the wall, and clutch the gift bag to my chest like it’s radioactive.

“What the hell,” I whisper into the emptiness.

My voice sounds too small. Too shaky.

I run a hand through my hair. My scalp tingles with leftover adrenaline, and my pulse won’t slow down no matter how many breaths I take.

Lingerie.

Red lace lingerie.

Given to me at a company event…

By my boss.

By Alexander Sterling…

The man I’ve been trying to avoid for days, the man whose voice just broke me open like glass.

“Bunny.”

I flinch at the memory.

Why that nickname?

Why that tone?

Why me?

I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the cold concrete. My knees pull up instinctively, and my hands shake around the ribbon of the gift bag.

I should be angry.

I should storm back upstairs and throw it in his face.

I should email HR.

I should call Ryan.

But I can’t move, because under all the humiliation… there’s something else.

Something I don’t want to name.

The door above clicks faintly, someone opening it. My heart leaps.

Footsteps.

Heavy, slow, and hesitant.

No…

No, I can’t see him. Not like this. Not with my face still burning and my thoughts a mess.

I stay perfectly still.

The footsteps stop right beyond the landing, close enough that I sense him, feel him, even without seeing him.

I grip the bag harder as silence stretches.

Then, his voice. Quiet and controlled.

Not the whisper from before.

Not the smirk.

Something else.

“Lyla.”

The sound hits me straight in the chest.

He breathes in, sharp and unsteady.

Then he exhales.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he murmurs.

My throat tightens.

“I shouldn’t have followed you either.”

He pauses.

The silence trembles.

“Go home,” he says finally. “Please.”

It’s the “please” that breaks me.

He never says please.

I swallow hard and force my voice out. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he replies immediately.

I close my eyes. “Why would you… Why would you give me something like this?”

Another long pause.

“I didn’t pick it as a joke,” he says. “Or to embarrass you.”

“Then why?”

He doesn’t answer.

The quiet stretches between us until it feels like a living thing.

I push myself up slowly, my legs stiff. I still don’t look at him, but I face the stair railing, shoulders tight.

“Just go back to the party,” I whisper.

“I can’t.”

That single sentence sends a shiver down my spine.

“Alexander…” I breathe.

His voice lowers. “If I go back in there right now, I’ll…”

He stops himself.

I turn my head slightly, just enough to catch the edge of his silhouette in my peripheral vision.

“You’ll what?” I ask, too softly.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t breathe.

Then he shakes his head once, sharply.

“No,” he says. “No. This is already crossing the line.”

My heart sinks, relief and disappointment mixing in a way I hate.

“Go home, Lyla,” he says again, firmer. “Before I make this worse.”

I nod, barely.

His footsteps retreat, not toward me, but back toward the party.

The door opens.

The music spills out, then it closes again, sealing the world behind it.

And suddenly I’m alone.

Really alone.

~

(Outside)

Cold night air hits me as I step out of the building. I button my coat up to my throat and keep walking until my breath comes out in sharp bursts.

The city is bright, loud, and alive. People laugh in clumps on the sidewalk, taxis honk at every corner, and neon signs buzz above storefronts like electric stars.

But inside me?

Everything is quiet.

Too quiet.

My phone vibrates.

I pull it out, half-hoping it’s Ryan even though I don’t know what I’d say.

It’s a text from Hazel:

`Where did you disappear to?? Is everything okay???`

I stare at the message.

Hazel, my best friend.

The person I trust or used to trust.

I type back slowly:

`I just needed air.`

She replies instantly:

`Come back inside! You didn’t even finish your champagne. And it’s almost midnight!`

Midnight…

A new year.

A fresh start.

Except I don’t feel fresh.

Or renewed.

Or ready for anything.

I feel… broken open.

I text back:

`I think I’m heading home. Tell everyone I’m fine.`

She sends a stream of pouty emojis and a boooooo.

I stare at her messages, uneasy.

A familiar ugly twist coils in my stomach.

Something about Hazel’s excitement, her insistence, her closeness with Ryan—every part of it suddenly feels wrong.

But I shove it down.

One emotional disaster at a time, Lyla.

I put my phone away, hail a cab, and slide inside.

As the city moves past the window, lights blur into streaks as I press my forehead to the cold glass and whisper,

“What is happening to my life?”

But there’s no answer.

Only the memory of Alexander’s voice following me all the way home.