The office smelled faintly of paper and coffee.
The hum of the air conditioner mixed with the soft tapping of keyboards and the low murmur of voices.
I kept my eyes on the spreadsheet in front of me, the green lines blurred after staring too long.
Two desks away, Ada and Clara leaned close, pretending to work while their mouths move faster than their fingers.
"I heard Mr. Kennedy and his wife might be separating," Ada said in a hush. "They don't attend parties together anymore."
Clara's brows rose. "Seriously? I thought they were the perfect couple."
Ada shrugs. "Perfection cracks when nobody's watching. My cousin saw her at a charity event alone. She said Mrs. Kennedy looked… different."
Their voices dropped lower, but the words still crawled toward me. Separate. Different. Alone.
I tell myself not to care, but something pulled at me. Mr. Kennedy, my boss, the man everyone fears or admires or both, suddenly feels human. I picture him in an empty mansion, tie undone, staring at nothing.
The thought unsettled me.
I'm stacking reports when a prickle crawled up the back of my neck, that strange sense that someone is watching.
I glance up through the glass wall. Mr. Kennedy is walking past the finance department. For a moment, his eyes were on me, sharp, unreadable, like they could cut through glass.
Then he looked away quickly, as if caught doing something wrong.
My breath caught. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe
My heartbeat stumbled. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe he was just looking in my direction.
But I can't shake the feeling that he had been watching longer than I noticed.
I closed the file on my desk and took a deep breath.
I had to submit the report to his office anyway. Professional. Calm. No nonsense. That was how I wanted him to see me.
When I got to his office, the door is half-opened.
Voices floated out, low, serious, and familiar in that kind of tone men use when they discussed things that aren't meant to be heard.
"…it's her. I'm sure of it," a deep voice says.
"Keep watching," Mr. Kennedy replies, quieter, colder.
My hand froze on the doorknob. Her? My pulse quickened before I could think.
I knocked softly, and silence filled the space.
"Come in," he said, his voice suddenly controlled.
I push the door open and step inside.
Mr. Kennedy stood by his desk, beside another man I've never seen before.
The stranger's build is heavy, his suit too casual for someone who belongs in this building.
His eyes, sharp and calculating, studied me for a beat longer than necessary.
Mr. Kennedy's expression gave nothing away, but I felt the weight of both their stares. Something about the air in the room felt tight, like I've just walked in on something I shouldn't have.
"I… brought the financial summary you requested, sir," I said, forcing steadiness into my voice.
The stranger looked at Kennedy, then back at me, before giving a short nod and walked out of the office.
The moment the door closed behind him, the air shifted.
Mr. Kennedy doesn't speak right away. He walked behind his desk, his movements deliberate, calm. Too calm.
"Set it on the table," he said finally.
I obeyed, but my fingers tremble slightly when I placed the file down.
I can feel his gaze, heavy and unreadable.
"Was that one of your new partners?" I asked before I can stop myself.
His lips tilt faintly, not a smile, but something close to it. "I suggest you mind your business and not mine."
The silence that follows stretched thin between us. My throat felt dry.
"Sorry sir. Is there anything else you need?"
He looked up then, his eyes locked with mine. "No, Elena. That will be all."
The way he says my name, it's not just polite or formal.
It's quiet, careful, like it means something more. I don't know why it made my chest feel so strange.
I nodded and turned to leave.
As I walked out, I couldn't shake the way his eyes had softened for a heartbeat when he said my name. It wasn't cold. It wasn't distant.
It was something else.
Back at my desk, I tried to focus on my work, but my mind kept circling back to what I saw.
The man in his office. The look they shared when I walked in. The quiet tension that wrapped around the room.
Were they talking about me? Or am I just imagining things?
I reminded myself why I'm here but my mind kept wandering back to Mr. Kennedy, his eyes, his warning, his silence.
Maybe Ada was right. Maybe perfection really does cracked when nobody's watching.
What I don't know yet is that cracks can spread, and sometimes, they lead straight to fire.