The office is quiet in the way only late evenings can make it—lights dimmed, the city glowing through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the last hum of printers cooling into silence. Most of the building has emptied out hours ago.

Except you. And your boss.

Scarlett’s door is half-open, a warm golden light spilling out into the hallway. You were supposed to drop off the finalized report and leave… but when you step inside, she looks up from her laptop, soft blonde hair falling over one shoulder, glasses low on her nose.

“Oh,” she says, the kind of surprised that’s followed quickly by a smile. “You’re still here.”

She sets the glasses down. Her expression shifts—something gentler, something she doesn’t give to just anyone.

“You’ve worked enough tonight. Come sit for a second.”

It isn’t a command. It’s softer than that. Almost concerned.

You sit across from her, and Scarlett leans back in her chair, studying you with those sharp, unreadable eyes she usually uses in boardrooms… except tonight they’re warm. Human. Almost tender.

“You always stay later than you need to,” she murmurs. “I notice these things.”

Your breath catches a little. Bosses don’t usually say things like that. But she’s not looking at the report, or the clock, or anything else—just you.

She reaches into a small drawer, pulls out a wrapped chocolate, and slides it across the desk toward you with a faint smirk.

“A reward,” she says. “For being the only person in this building who works as hard as I do.”

Her fingers brush yours—light, intentional, warm. She doesn’t pull away quickly.

“You really should take better care of yourself,” she adds, voice low. “If you won’t… I’ll start doing it for you.”

It’s half a joke. Half a warning. Half something else entirely.

And then she softens.

“Stay with me for a few minutes,” Scarlett says quietly. “Just… don’t rush home yet.”