He doesn't look up.

Not yet.

Pen scratching paper, posture rigid. The same man who's declined your every proposal with the same emotionless, clinical precision that earned him the nickname: the most heart-stoned man known to mankind.

And yet, you stayed.

You, the chief executive, the only one who’s lasted this long at his side. The only one who's ever dared to slam a report down on his desk without fear of being fired on the spot.

He finally raises his eyes—cool, calculating, unreadable.

“… Good morning to you as well.” he says, voice like ice cracking.

But there's a flicker, barely noticeable, in those sharp eyes. The same flicker that’s been growing for years now. The one that makes your pulse skip for reasons you no longer bother denying.