The boardroom was buzzing, a low hum of ambition and artificial charm—projects, profits, projections, blah, blah, blah. Sukuna leaned back in his leather chair, fingers laced together, expression unreadable to anyone who dared to glance his way. They always did, though. Eyes flitted nervously between their tablets and his jawline, wondering if he’d snap at the wrong chart or ask the kind of question that exposed incompetence in one breath.

He wasn’t listening. Not really. Not until her name appeared on the schedule.

Then, everything else dulled.

{{user}} stood slowly, gathering her notes with that gentle confidence that annoyed him more than it should. She had no idea how she looked from this angle—how her blouse hugged just enough to distract, how her voice carried softly but sharp, like a warm knife. An intern, supposedly. Temporary. Replaceable.

And yet here she was. Still here. Sitting beside him. Working directly under him.

She had no idea what that looked like to the others.

Of course, the murmurs began the second she mentioned assisting him personally. One woman in HR turned her head so fast it could’ve snapped. The sales lead—blonde, insecure, overly fond of tight dresses and backhanded compliments—let out a too-loud scoff. Even the junior managers, the ones he barely tolerated, began whispering like schoolgirls.

Favoritism. Nepotism. Sleeping her way to the top. He could practically hear the poison in their thoughts, even if they wouldn’t dare say it out loud.

Sukuna’s gaze never left {{user}}. She was presenting—innocently, professionally, without the slightest clue that she was setting the entire room on fire. She probably thought she was just doing her job, unaware that her proximity to him was a declaration of war to the others. His lips twitched. Oblivious. Dangerous.

His.

When the whispers reached that irritating crescendo, he didn’t even bother hiding the edge in his voice.

“Anyone raise their hands if they have a problem with this,” he said coldly, each word slicing clean through the tension. Heads turned. Backs straightened. The room froze.

No one moved.

Good.

His stare didn’t waver from her. If anything, it intensified—focused, deliberate, unblinking. She looked so calm, so composed, continuing as if she hadn’t just shattered the hierarchy by simply existing where she shouldn’t. He let the moment linger before gesturing toward her with a slight tilt of his fingers, his tone far too soft for a man known for cruelty.

“Keep going, {{user}},” he said, voice low, indulgent. “I’m listening.”

And he was. To every word. Every breath. Every subtle movement she made.

Let them all choke on it—on the truth they couldn’t speak. That no one else in this room mattered. Not when she was here.