She Was the Treasure All Along novel Chapter 962

She pushed the door open.

Morris sat behind his desk, a cup of black coffee in front of him, only one sip taken. He wore a crisp white button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms to reveal lean, powerful wrists.

He looked entirely too perfect for a man who had spent the night rolling between the sheets with an heiress. There was no fatigue in his eyes, no lazy afterglow of satisfaction. Even his collar was immaculately pressed.

Helena let out a cold, internal laugh. Of course. He was Morris Lonsdale. He did everything with absolute composure. Even a casual hookup was probably executed with the precision of a business deal.

"Something wrong?" he asked, his calm gaze lifting to meet hers.

Helena stood across from him, the wide mahogany desk acting as a barricade between them. Taking a deep breath, she slid the piece of paper she had spent all night drafting across the surface.

Morris glanced at it but didn't pick it up. "What is this?"

"My two weeks' notice," Helena said, her voice surprisingly steady. "Or, more accurately, a request."

He set down the sheet music he was holding and leaned back in his leather chair, watching her with mild confusion. The posture seemed relaxed, but Helena knew him well enough to recognize that she now had his complete, undivided attention.

"Go on."

"I want to end our arrangement," she said, forcing herself to maintain eye contact. "I want us to go back to being just a boss and his assistant. If that's going to be an issue, I can transfer departments or quit entirely today. If you're fine with it, I'll keep working here, but I don't want to be involved with you in that capacity anymore."

The office plunged into silence. Morris didn't respond immediately. His long fingers tapped a slow, rhythmic beat against the armrest.

"Reason," he finally demanded. "This is sudden. Is it because I didn't take you during the party and you feel rejected? I thought I made my reasoning perfectly clear."

Helena gave a hollow smile. "I know. It's not about that. I just don't want to continue. You said yourself that I could call it off whenever I wanted."

"That's not a convincing reason." Morris's tone remained dangerously smooth. "I can tell you're emotional, and that emotion is directed entirely at me."

Helena remained silent.

"Did you go to my estate last night?" Morris pressed, placing his phone on the desk. "You didn't answer my text, which tells me you were there."

Why was he rubbing it in her face? Was this his way of forcing her to accept reality—that she wasn't even qualified to be his actual mistress?

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