Chapter 308: She Played Him Again

Gracie stepped out of the office and left the old bastard exactly where she wanted him.

Tied.

Half-stripped.

Locked in.

She did not look back once.

Instead of heading straight for the exit, she walked to the office Durnik had renovated for her. The upgraded room. The polished desk. The softer lighting. The whole expensive little gift he had thrown at her when he still believed comfort and attention could keep a woman obedient.

Gracie almost laughed at the sight of it.

She stepped inside, collected her bag, and gathered everything that still belonged to her with quick, clean movements. No hesitation. No second thoughts. She checked her handbag once, making sure the most important things ~ the flash drive and the satisfaction ~ were still with her.

Then she noticed the office key in her hand.

Gracie stared at it for half a second.

A normal person might have left it on his desk.

A soft person might have slipped it under the door.

Gracie walked to the trash can in the renovated office, tipped her fingers, and dropped the key in with a soft metallic clink.

"Bye," she muttered under her breath, and walked out.

---

Inside the office, Durnik’s eyes finally focused properly.

For a moment he just sat there, breathing hard, wrists locked behind the chair, bare legs exposed, with nothing left below the waist except his boxers. His trousers were already gone ~ thrown aside earlier when he still thought all of this was leading somewhere good. Belt marks burned across his thighs. The air in the room felt colder against skin that was never supposed to be on display in his own office.

The quiet was ugly.

It was the kind of quiet that only arrived after a man realized the fantasy was over and the humiliation had officially begun.

Then the truth landed.

She had played him.

Again.

"This bitch..." he rasped.

He twisted his arms hard against the tie. The knot only bit deeper into his skin. He tried again, harder, shoulders straining, face turning red from the effort. Nothing. The silk held like it had been waiting its whole life for this exact job.

"Fuck~"

He jerked sideways. The chair wobbled but did not free him. He tried dragging one wrist under the other, then scraping the knot against the backrest, then bouncing his whole weight like an idiot who believed office furniture could be bullied into cooperation.

Still nothing.

All that movement did was make the chair squeak and remind him that he was half-naked, tied up, and alone.

So he changed strategy.

If the tie would not open, then the whole chair would have to move.

Durnik planted his bare feet against the floor and started shoving.

The chair scraped forward half an inch.

Then another.

His boxers shifted with every awkward push. The expensive office chair, which had always made him look powerful in meetings, now just made him look like a furious bald man trying to migrate across his own office in underpants.

"This bitch," he growled through his teeth. "I swear I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you."

Each push made the chair legs complain across the floor. His arms were useless behind him, so all the work went into his legs and core, which would have been a lot more impressive if he did not look like a furious bald man trying to migrate office furniture with pure spite.

He aimed for the desk.

Specifically, the telephone.

If he could reach that, he could call security, call somebody, call anyone who could walk in and pretend this had never happened.

The problem was distance.

And pain.

And dignity, which had already left the building several minutes earlier.

"Come on~" he hissed, shoving again.

The chair lurched, then tilted dangerously. For one horrible second he thought he was going to go over sideways and spend the rest of the afternoon on the floor like a flipped turtle in a tie.

He froze, balanced, sweated, and carefully corrected himself.

Then he kept going.

"Security... useless bastards... how did you let her leave...?"

His voice cracked into the empty office. No one answered. Of course no one answered. The door was locked from the outside, the key was in a trash can, and the only witness to his struggle was the computer screen still glowing with the desktop he had been stupid enough to unlock.

By the time he got the chair close enough to the desk, his legs were shaking. Every belt mark felt louder than the last. He stretched his body forward as far as the bindings allowed, neck strained, mouth near the edge of the table, eyes locked on the phone like it was water in a desert.

His forehead almost touched it.

His mouth was close enough to kiss the receiver.

His hands, naturally, remained somewhere behind the chair, living their best useless life.

"Are you serious?" he whispered to the universe.

The universe did not reply.

Durnik stared at the phone in pure hatred, then tried one more desperate forward lean. His chair slipped an inch the wrong way. He cursed so hard his voice went hoarse.

---

Outside, Gracie walked through the office floor like she owed nobody an explanation.

She could feel the stares.

Female employees tracked her from their desks, from the copy area, from the narrow corridor near the glass partitions. Their faces were not confused. They were sharp, bitter, and full of the kind of quiet cursing people did with their eyes when they did not dare use their mouths.

She knew what they were thinking.

First she shows up.

Then she gets close to Durnik.

Then somebody else loses their place.

Then she goes online and plays soft and emotional for the public.

Celebrity bitch.

That was the summary in their expressions.

Gracie did not slow down.

She adjusted the strap of her handbag, kept her chin level, and passed them without offering a single word of defense. Their opinions were irrelevant. They could glare until their faces went numb. She had the files. She had the exit. She had the old man locked in his own office like a damaged secret.

That was enough.

The moment she stepped out of the building and into open air, she pulled out her phone and called Lucas while walking toward the roadside to catch a taxi.

The line connected.

Gracie’s voice was calm, almost pleased.

"I’m out," she said. "And you’re going to like what I brought."