Chapter 4: Crossing Lines in the Office

Rachel spoke, her voice a little hoarse: "Is the scented candle still for Melissa?"

Her eyes flickered to mine for a split second, something unreadable there. I was still reeling from the comments, nodded blankly, and straightened up, pulling my low neckline higher.

We’d been dating for half a year, but Melissa and I hadn’t even shared a proper kiss.

A few times, after an episode, I was so miserable I mustered the courage to hug her, only to be met with cold words:

"Alex, sometimes I really can’t tell if you actually like me, or if you’re just using me to treat your illness."

My skin hunger syndrome never really improved; the craving just got worse each time.

A few days ago, I went downstairs late at night for water and accidentally overheard Rachel talking about scented candles on the phone with a friend.

She was laughing, her voice softer than I’d ever heard it. I stood in the hallway, my socked feet chilly against the hardwood, feeling like an eavesdropper in my own home.

Desperate, I begged her to get some for me.

She agreed with a sigh, pressing the phone between her shoulder and ear, as if she’d known this was coming all along.

I finally managed to sneak it into Melissa’s bedroom, but before I could light it, she smelled it and tossed it in the trash...

I looked up and asked again, "Aunt Rachel, you actually don’t want to help me win Melissa back, do you?"

Rachel avoided my gaze, her eyes returning to the files as she answered irrelevantly:

"I’ll bring you the candle after my business trip."

She reached for her phone, scrolling through emails, but I could see her fingers trembling ever so slightly.

The comments rolled in:

[Stop pretending, you perv. Just thinking about what she’s giving the main guy, her lips are tighter than a gun barrel.]

[LOL, the main guy still doesn’t know the so-called scented candle Rachel gave him was specially made with all the foods Melissa hates most. The real scented candle is for the late-night bonus chapter’s locked room. I remember it burned for three whole days and nights...]

[Tsk tsk, the taste of a powerful person falling into depravity is just delicious.]

[Is this still my lovable but dumb main guy? Why does it feel like he suddenly got smart and noticed his aunt’s words and actions don’t match? But waking up now is too late. The female supporting character is about to go full dark mode. 36 is no joke.]

[36? Rachel can’t be that old. I remember she’s only five or six years older than the main guy.]

[Y’all, who said 36 was her age? Add a letter after it and think about it...]

The warm air in the office made my head pound. I felt dizzy, the comments swelling and shrinking before my eyes, my breathing growing ragged.

The fluorescent lights overhead flickered, buzzing like cicadas, and sweat prickled at my hairline.

"Aunt Rachel..."

Wearing red-soled heels, I lost my balance, twisted my ankle, and grabbed onto the warm, soft skin before me.

The moment our skin touched, Rachel seemed to feel something pressing against her.

Rachel’s breath hitched, and for a second, her hand hovered in the air, torn between pulling me close and pushing me away.

Thinking of the earlier comments, I used the last of my rationality to push Rachel away and put distance between us.

Rachel’s arms hung awkwardly in the air, her face tightening just for a second before she masked it with a too-bright smile.

"If your shoes are uncomfortable, just throw them out and buy the latest ones."

She glanced at my scuffed, limited-edition sneakers—her voice soft, but her words carried that familiar Wells practicality. I remembered the shopping trips she’d drag me on every August, making sure I had the best for the new school year.

Comments:

[Sob sob sob, the look on Aunt Rachel’s face after being pushed away reminds me of the main guy’s coming-of-age party. A friend once joked, ‘Your aunt is so pretty, don’t you have feelings for her?’ The main guy replied, ‘We’re family, that’s disgusting.’ Rachel, standing outside the door, overheard it all...]

[Enough, I really feel for the female supporting character. Her heart is bleeding, but she still forces herself to smile at the main guy, still worries about whether his shoes are comfortable. Rachel, don’t love him too much.]

[Main guy, you need help. Can’t you just cross that line? Every time you reject your aunt, she adds another toy to her basement.]

[Sorry, maybe my focus is off, but I want to know where that pair of limited-edition shoes will be thrown out. I’ll go pick them up in advance...]

My whole body burned, sweat beading on my forehead, the words in front of my eyes blurring into a messy swirl, nothing clear.

Rachel gently comforted me: "I’ll have the driver take you home. Take your meds, get some sleep, you’ll feel better when you wake up."

She pressed a cool hand to my forehead, checking my temperature like she used to when I was a kid with a fever. Her voice was soft but distant.

I grumbled, unhappy: "The driver again. Every time I’m sick it’s the driver who takes me. Can’t you just take me yourself for once? What’s more important, work or your nephew?"

Rachel’s eyes darkened, her voice icy: "Work."

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the ticking of her office clock, echoing in the space between us.

The single word was like a slap. For a moment, she looked almost guilty, but the mask slipped back on quick.

Me: "..."

Comments:

[Main guy, look in the mirror. Flushed face, messy clothes, abs trembling. If Rachel takes you herself, you won’t make it home. That car will be rocking in the garage for at least three hours...]

[Rachel, acting tough won’t get you a husband. ‘Work’ my ass. When the main guy is really gone, you’ll be alone in the bathroom with his photo, acting all proper.]

[By the way, am I the only one curious how many times the main guy’s photo can be washed clean...?]

[It’s fine, this pervert printed a whole box.]

She turned back to her laptop, but her hands shook so hard she missed the keys.