At that mont, when the news finished playing and the silence inside the room grew almost unbearable, the director turned slowly toward Samuel. His expression was caught sowhere between disbelief and shock.
"Tell this is a joke," the director said, his voice tight, almost desperate. "Please tell this is just another rumor. This isn’t true, right?"
Samuel sat still in the chair, his hands resting on the armrest. His jaw was tight, eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak.
The director stepped closer, voice rising. "Samuel... don’t tell this is true. You have a wife? Children? And you’ve been hiding them? Neglecting them?"
Samuel’s lips curved into a small, humorless laugh, but it held no joy. "Is this really what’s making everyone panic?" He leaned back slightly, voice calm but edged. "It’s nothing. A rumor that got blown out of proportion. Sothing I can take care of right away."
The director’s eyebrows drew together, not convinced. "Nothing?"
"Yes." Samuel finally stood, straightening his jacket, still carrying himself with the sa pride he walked in with. "This doesn’t change anything. The contract stays. The agency’s plans stay. This little story?" He waved toward the screen with a dismissive hand. "It’ll disappear in a few days. I’ll handle it. You don’t need to worry."
At that mont he turned to his manager, nodding for her to follow him as if the conversation was already over.
But the director’s voice cut through the room, stopping him mid-step.
"Well," the director said slowly, his tone shifting from disbelief to cold resolve, "it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen anymore."
At that mont, hearing what the director had just said, Samuel’s proud expression faltered for the first ti. His brow furrowed as he stepped forward, his voice sharp and restless.
"What do you an by that?" Samuel asked, his tone rising. "What did you just say? What does that an?"
The director’s face hardened. He didn’t flinch at Samuel’s anger. "It ans exactly what you think it ans. Your news is everywhere. Do you even realize how bad this is? This isn’t so little gossip we can sweep under the rug. This is ugly. It’s everywhere already."
Samuel’s jaw tightened. "So? It’s nothing I can’t fix. Give a day. Two days. I’ll—"
"No." Imdiately the director cut him off. "From the look of things, this isn’t just an allegation anymore. There’s evidence. People believe it. And if I move forward with this contract, I’m gambling my agency’s reputation on soone who might already be finished. I’m not willing to take that risk."
Samuel’s hands curled into fists. "You’re backing out? After everything we just agreed on?"
The director stepped around the desk, each step slow and deliberate. Without wasting anymore ti he reached for the freshly signed contract lying on the table. Without hesitation, he tore it straight down the middle. The sound of ripping paper cut through the silence like thunder.
Imdiately Samuel’s eyes widened. "Are you serious right now?"
However the director didn’t even look at him. He kept tearing the paper, ripping it again and again until the contract was nothing but scraps scattered across the desk.
When he finally spoke, his voice was cold and final. "Let’s pretend you were never here. Pretend we never discussed anything. As far as this agency is concerned, this contract never existed." He looked Samuel dead in the eye. "Go clean up your ss. That’s the best advice I can give you... for yourself and for whatever’s left of your na."
At that mont, hearing the director’s words, Samuel’s pride snapped like a rope pulled too tight. His face hardened, his jaw clenched, and his voice roared through the office with raw anger.
"You’re a bitch! You’re a bastard!" he shouted, pointing a trembling finger at the director. "How dare you talk to like this? Do you even know who I am?" His words were sharp, cutting through the tense silence. "Because of so little allegation, you tear up my contract? Who the hell do you think you are?"
However the director remained still, expression unreadable, but his silence only fanned the flas of Samuel’s fury.
"Have you forgotten?" Samuel barked, stepping closer, his voice rising with every word. "Have you forgotten the ti you begged to work with you? The hours you spent pleading, promising everything just so I would sit here today? Have you forgotten the words you said, the things you swore, all the begging you did?"
His breathing grew heavier. The proud smile he carried earlier had twisted into pure rage, his chest rising and falling as his glare bore into the director.
"Well," Samuel said, voice low but filled with venom, "when all of this is over, we’ll see. We’ll see who cos begging. And by that ti, it’ll be too late to cry when the head is already cut off."
The director finally stood, his chair scraping against the floor as he faced Samuel head-on. His voice was steady, calm almost too calm.
"Then I’d rather cry later and manage what I have, than to watch my agency fall apart because of you now," he said plainly. "I will not gamble everything we’ve built for one man who can’t keep his own na clean."
Then he took a slow step toward the door, his eyes never leaving Samuel’s. "You should leave. Now. Before I call security to escort you out."
At that mont, without saying another word, Samuel turned sharply and stord out of the director’s office. His footsteps echoed down the hallway, heavy and fast, the sound matching the anger burning inside him. His hands were clenched so tight his knuckles had gone pale, and his chest felt like it might burst from the pressure building inside.
Deep down, his thoughts were racing, loud enough to drown out everything around him. How did they find out? The idea tore at him like claws. That secret, his wife, his daughter no one was supposed to know about it. It was buried, sealed away, sothing he had gone out of his way to hide. Not even people closest to him knew.
Who could have done this? The question scread in his head over and over. Was it soone in his team? Was it Cora? Was it soone from MK? His mind ran wild, searching for an answer, but all he felt was rage rage at the betrayal, rage at the timing, rage that his mont of triumph had turned into disaster.
By the ti he pushed through the glass doors of the agency, he stopped dead in his tracks.
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