The second I left the office, Sebastian stood up and strode toward the restroom.
The floating comments kept rolling by.
He really can’t handle even that?
Poor man’s been holding back for over a year.
He’s so doomed.
I clutched the gift box and hurried back to my desk, heart pounding.
Once I was alone, I carefully took the pen out of the box.
The ribbon came off easily.
I turned the pen over in my hand, testing its weight, the smooth lacquered surface, the cool metal trim.
Then, curiosity getting the better of me, I pulled off the cap and tried writing a line on a notepad.
The ink flowed beautifully. The line came out dark and elegant.
At the same moment, a new burst of comments flew across my sight.
There he goes.
She’s writing with it now.
He is not surviving this.
I almost dropped the pen.
My face burned.
The comments were absurd, shameless, and wildly dramatic, but the timing was too exact to ignore.
This pen really was connected to him.
I stared at the smooth dark barrel in my hand.
So if I touched it…
He felt it?
Not everyone, one comment suddenly explained, only her. The bond is keyed to her.
I went completely still.
Only me?
That meant if someone else picked it up, Sebastian wouldn’t feel anything.
Which was probably why fate sent the person I disliked most at exactly that moment.
Vanessa Quinn walked straight over to my desk, looked down at the pen, and snorted.
“So this is what the boss gave you?” she said. “It’s just a pen.”
Before I could stop her, she snatched it right out of my hand.
My whole body tensed.
Even though the comments insisted the effect only worked with me, I still felt instantly protective.
“Give it back,” I said.
Vanessa turned it over lazily. “Why are you so tense? Unless…” Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you actually like Mr. Cole.”
Her voice was loud enough for half the office to hear.
Heat rushed to my face.
“You’re ridiculous.”
From behind us came Sebastian’s cold voice.
“What are you discussing?”
Vanessa spun around at once. “Mr. Cole, I was just looking at her pen. She got defensive for no reason.”
Sebastian’s gaze moved from her face to the pen in her hand.
His expression darkened.
“That belongs to her,” he said. “Did you ask before taking it?”
Vanessa opened her mouth, but he cut her off.
“You’ve been in this office longer than she has. By now, you should know basic boundaries. Return it.”
Everyone around us went silent.
Vanessa flushed and handed it back to me.
I took it carefully, then lifted my eyes to Sebastian.
“I’ll keep it safe,” I said. “I won’t let anyone else touch it.”
Something flickered in his gaze. For one strange second, he almost looked wounded.
Then he said nothing at all and turned back toward his office.
The comments drifted by again.
He wanted to be the one she cherished, not the pen.
He’s jealous of his own gift.
That night, I sat on my bed staring at the box on my lap.
I didn’t dare play around with the pen too much. If the connection was real, then Sebastian was on the other end somewhere, living his life while I accidentally tormented him with office stationery.
Still, curiosity won in the end.
I picked it up.
The comments immediately exploded again.
Bad timing.
He’s in the shower.
Of course he is.
I nearly dropped it again.
“What kind of cursed life is this?” I whispered.
But my hand didn’t let go.
I tightened my fingers around the pen.
The comments screamed louder.
There it is.
He almost slipped.
My whole face went hot.
Then I noticed a tiny bead of ink gathering at the nib.
“Oh,” I murmured. “So it leaks a little.”
It really was just a pen.
A magical, completely unreasonable, emotionally dangerous pen.
I reached for a tissue and carefully wiped the ink away.
The moment I did, my phone rang.
Sebastian.
I froze before answering.
“Hello?”
His voice came through calm, but rougher than usual. “What are you doing?”
I looked down at the pen in my hand.
“Nothing much,” I said. “Just looking at your gift.”
Silence.
Then, very evenly, he said, “Set it down for now.”
I blinked. “Why?”
“The ink cartridge replenishes itself,” he said after a pause. “If you use it too often, it’s… not good for the pen.”
The comments nearly burst apart laughing.
Not good for the pen, sure.
He’s trying so hard.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
“Understood, Mr. Cole.”
Another pause.
“There’s a file I need reviewed tonight,” he said. “Come in early tomorrow and bring it to my office.”
I groaned dramatically. “Do I really have to work overtime?”
His voice softened almost imperceptibly.
“No. Tomorrow morning is fine.”
For some reason, that tiny concession made my heart feel light.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll bring it.”
When the call ended, I looked down at the pen again.
I wanted to test the connection once more.
I really did.
But in the end, I wrapped it carefully in tissue, put it back in its velvet box, and told myself I was being merciful.
Though based on the last line of comments drifting across my sight, mercy might have been the cruelest thing I could have done.
He’s going to spend the whole night thinking about it now.