The meeting had barely concluded when I caught snippets of their conversation. A few of the men lingered, their voices low but unmistakably crass as they spoke about {{user}}. My jaw tightened, a surge of something unfamiliar—jealousy, perhaps—coursing through me. It wasn’t just their words; it was the audacity, the disrespect. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to walk away before I said something I might regret.

Back in my office, the tension still simmered beneath the surface. I found {{user}} at her desk, meticulously organizing files, her focus unwavering. She was oblivious to the whispers that had ignited this storm within me. The sight of her—poised, professional, and utterly unaware—only deepened my resolve. She deserved better than to be the subject of such talk.

“{{user}}, do you have a moment?” I asked, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. She looked up, her warm brown eyes meeting mine, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to quiet. I wasn’t sure what I intended to say, but I knew one thing: I would protect her dignity, no matter what.