Page 38 of Grumpy Orc CEO

I decide to give Lucy the space she seems to need. It goes against every instinct I have, but forcing her hand will accomplish nothing. So, I pull back. I stop trying to force conversations or corner her into discussing what’s wrong.

Instead, I focus on my work with a renewed intensity. Meetings, contracts, negotiations—they all take precedence as I channel my restless energy into something productive. Every day is a struggle between my desire to fix things and my need to respect her boundaries.

In the office, our interactions become strictly professional. When I pass by her desk or see her in meetings, I make sure to be cordial but not overbearing. It’s an uneasy truce—a silent acknowledgment that something’s wrong but neither of us are willing nor able to address it just yet.

Patience isn’t something that comes naturally to me. But for Lucy, I’ll wait as long as it takes.

Every time I see her lately, she looks more worn out, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion. She moves through the office like a ghost, her usually vibrant energy muted. It tears at me to see her this way.

All I want to do is find a way to fix this, to step in and make everything right. But I know better. So, I watch from afar, masking my worry. In meetings, I notice her gazing off, clearly preoccupied. She’s normally so attentive, so engaged. Seeing her this distracted only heightens my concern.

One afternoon, I come across her in the break room, staring vacantly at the coffee machine. Her shoulders sag under some unseen burden. It takes all my willpower not to walk over and ask what’s wrong. But I restrain myself, biting my tongue and respecting the boundaries she’s set.

I know she needs space, even if it defies every instinct I have. My feelings for Lucy are profound—deeper than I ever anticipated. It’s that bond that keeps me patient. I trust in what we share; it’s strong enough to weather this storm.

Later that day, I find myself pacing my office, haunted by the image of her weary face. I catch a glimpse of my own reflection in the window—an orc who's supposed to be in control yet feeling utterly helpless. The contrast is jarring. I clench my fists, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

How can I, someone who’s known for handling crises, be stumped by the distress of one woman? Because she’s not just any woman, she’s Lucy. And she means everything to me.

There are moments when I think she might be close to opening up again. Once, she glanced my way during a meeting and held my gaze for a beat longer than usual before looking away quickly, almost as if caught in the act. Another time, our hands brushed as we both reached for a document on the conference table—a fleeting touch that sent a jolt through me.

It’s these small signs that give me hope. They tell me she’s struggling internally but hasn’t completely shut me out. Every day is a test of patience and restraint. The connection we share is worth every moment of waiting.

I can still remember the first time I saw her that day at the airport, how her vibrant eyes caught my attention immediately. There was something about her, something that made me want to know more, to break through the walls she had built around herself. And now, every glance, every fleeting touch, reminds me why I’m doing this. For her, I’ll wait as long as it takes.

CHAPTER 22

Lucy

Isit at my desk, staring blankly at my computer screen. My mind is a whirlwind of emotions—confusion, sadness, frustration. The pressure of pretending everything is fine around Jarvin has become unbearable. I feel trapped in my own turmoil, unable to escape the constant reminders of our strained relationship. Tears well up in my eyes as I realize I can't keep this up much longer.

I swipe at my cheeks, trying to compose myself. The office hums with activity, but it all feels distant and irrelevant. Every time I glance toward Jarvin's office, a knot tightens in my stomach. His presence looms large, even when he's not there.

I think back to that woman in his office, her hand on his arm, her laughter, like they were sharing a secret only meant for them. The scene plays on a loop in my mind, each replay stinging more than the last. I try to focus on the task at hand, but the words on the screen seem to blend together.

My thoughts are a chaotic mess, bouncing between anger at Jarvin and frustration with myself for having to pull away. Why did I let him get so close? Why did I allow myself to feel something again?

The tears threaten to spill over again, and I clench my fists in an attempt to hold them back. It's no use; the dam breaks. A quiet sob escapes me, and I quickly cover my mouth, hoping no one notices.

"Lucy?" A soft voice pulls me from my spiral. One of my colleagues stands nearby, concern etched on their face.

"I'm fine," I manage to choke out, forcing a smile that feels like a lie. "Just... allergies."

They nod sympathetically but don't seem convinced. As they walk away, I take a deep breath and try to steady myself.

I slip away from my desk, the office's hum of activity fading as I make my way to the rooftop. The cool air greets me, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere inside. I breathe deeply, hoping the fresh air will clear my mind. The city stretches out below me, a reminder of the vast world beyond my current turmoil.

I pace back and forth, each step echoing the chaotic rhythm of my thoughts. The rooftop is a refuge, offering a momentary escape from the emotional whirlwind that has consumed me since seeing Jarvin with that woman. I replay the scene in my head for the hundredth time, each detail sharpening the ache in my chest.

Quitting my job seems like a drastic solution, but the thought of facing Jarvin every day feels unbearable. I imagine handing in my resignation, walking out of this building and leaving everything behind. The idea offers a fleeting sense of relief, but it quickly fades as reality sets in.

What would I do next? How would I support myself? My career is important to me; I've worked hard to get here. Another complication.

Leaving would mean severing those connections, losing the camaraderie we've built. It feels selfish to consider abandoning them just because of my personal issues. Yet, every time I think about staying, I'm confronted with the constant reminder of Jarvin—his presence, a persistent thorn in my side.

I stop pacing and lean against the railing, staring out at the city skyline. Protecting my heart from further pain feels like the most pressing need right now. But at what cost? Is it worth sacrificing everything I've worked for just to avoid one person? It just doesn't make sense.

I close my eyes, trying to find clarity in the chaos. The solitude offers a brief respite, but it doesn't bring any easy answers.