The office felt colder than usual.

Not literally—the heating was on, and the wind was shut out behind layers of glass and polished marble. But something in the air had changed. It lingered in the pauses between footsteps and echoed in the empty space between two people who once didn't speak much... but now were thinking too much.

Maya sat at her desk, posture a little too straight, eyes scanning the screen but not reading anything. Her swollen ankle was tucked beneath her chair in a soft brace, hidden beneath slacks and layered socks. She hadn't dared limp into the building. She'd arrived early, teeth clenched through the pain, determined not to give her boss any reason to regret helping her.

He carried me.

The thought looped like a quiet echo when she wasn't careful.

She wasn't sure which part of it haunted her more—that she'd been so close to him, or that he'd been... gentle. Not distant or cold, not disdainful. He hadn't pulled away like everyone else eventually did when she inevitably messed something up. He hadn't even flinched.

Instead, he'd looked at her with that unreadable, soul-deep quiet. Like she wasn't a burden. Like she wasn't the walking failure daughter of Alfred Peyton.

And that had unsettled her more than any sharp word ever could.

Her phone buzzed with a message from Richard.

"My office. Now."

No greeting. No signature. Business as usual.

Except... her hands trembled slightly when she reached for her notebook.
Except... her pulse jumped as though she'd been caught doing something wrong.

She limped slowly toward the door, careful not to favor her foot too obviously. She paused just outside his office, smoothed her blouse, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then knocked twice.

"Come in," came the voice. Even. Measured.

She stepped inside.

Richard was at his desk, fingers steepled, eyes focused. But not on her. On something behind her. Or past her. Or maybe nowhere at all.

"Morning, sir," she said, carefully steady.

He finally looked at her—and for just half a second, she caught it.
That flicker. The same one from the snow.
A fracture in the stillness.

He blinked it away fast.

"Sit."

She obeyed, perching lightly on the edge of the seat.

"I reviewed your summaries," he said, his tone clipped. "The presentation edits need to be finalized by end of day. And you'll accompany me to the Lawson briefing at noon."

"Of course," she replied quickly. "I'll—prepare the final deck and update the talking points."

Another pause.

Then, in a tone far too careful: "Your ankle?"

She glanced up, startled.

"It's fine, doesn't affect my work sir."

He nodded once. But his eyes lingered—just a moment too long—on the edge of her shoe, where her foot rested oddly.

She shifted uncomfortably.

"I won't let it interfere with anything."

"I didn't ask for that reassurance," he said quietly.

Her heart stuttered. The silence that followed was heavier than it should've been. She didn't know what he meant. Or why his voice sounded like that—so sharp, and yet oddly subdued.

They stared at each other for a beat too long.

Then he reached for a folder and slid it across the desk.

"You're dismissed."

She rose slowly, taking the folder with both hands. As she turned to leave—

"Maya."

She froze.

He didn't look at her. Just said, "Be careful."

Her throat tightened.

"I will, sir."

The door clicked shut behind her.

And she realized—this wasn't the same office anymore.

Something had cracked.

And no matter how professional they both pretended to be...
the quiet between them had changed.

______

Mr. Lawson was already seated when Richard and Maya entered the smaller conference room reserved for high-value clients.

He was a broad-shouldered man in his fifties with immaculately slicked-back hair and the kind of smile that always looked like it had just finished chewing someone out. The CEO of a chain of luxury private hospitals, Lawson was a client who demanded perfection and left no room for uncertainty.

Today's meeting was about an experimental premium insurance package—one that integrated live health analytics, elite-tier service, and AI-based emergency response tracking. Risky, expensive, but potentially game-changing.

Maya took her seat at Richard's left, legs crossed to mask the careful way she'd sat down. Her foot still throbbed, but she kept her expression smooth, pen poised over her notebook.

Richard stood tall, black suit immaculate, tie crisp, watch glinting beneath the conference lights. Not a single detail was out of place. When he spoke, it was all control and clarity.

No hesitation. No wasted words.

"Mr. Lawson, this structure guarantees both priority access and direct physician-led case management. We're aligning patient care data with multi-tiered underwriting projections. You'll see that reflected in the margins on slide seven."

Maya flipped to the slide before he finished speaking, sliding the tablet closer to Lawson.

The meeting stretched past the hour mark. Maya did her part quietly—discreet gestures, quick file swaps, updated figures. But toward the end, she rose to plug in a file and winced as she accidentally put weight on her swollen ankle.

Pain flared up. Her breath hitched.

Richard's head turned toward her instantly. A brief glance. Sharp. Measuring.

She recovered quickly, nodded once, and lowered herself back down.

But she could still feel his eyes on her.

Lawson didn't seem to notice. He clapped his hands together and said, "Well, Steel, I'll admit, this is more forward-thinking than I expected. I'll take it to the board, but... I like where this is going."

They shook hands. The deal was far from signed, but the mood was good.

As the door shut behind Lawson, silence settled.

Then Richard spoke, low.

"You should be resting that ankle."

Maya blinked. "I'm fine, sir."

"You're not."

He didn't sound angry. Just... certain.

She opened her mouth to argue, but then he added, without turning to face her:

"Don't walk to your desk. Sit here until I am done."

"Sir, I can—"

"That's an order."

His voice was calm. Professional. But final.

She sat back, blinking hard.

He moved to the window, phone in hand, taking a follow-up call. His back to her. But his reflection in the glass...

He wasn't as unreadable as he thought.

Now and then, his eyes shifted toward her. Quick glances. Small, sharp assessments. Like he was measuring something. Or trying not to.

When he ended the call, he returned and placed a small water bottle next to her.

Wordless.

She looked up. "Thank you."

He didn't respond.

But he didn't walk away immediately, either.

He just stood there, fingers curling slightly against the table edge, gaze flicking over her face in a way that felt more like confusion than curiosity.

And Maya felt heat rise to her cheeks.

Because no one had ever looked at her like that before.

Like she wasn't a mess.

Like she wasn't inevitably going to fail.

This feeling was something that made her heart stir.