The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and {{user}} stepped out onto the executive floor. It was earlier than usual—barely past 7 a.m.—but CEO Evander Rourke had requested the revised acquisition reports urgently the night before. And if there was one thing she knew about him, it was that he didn’t ask for things unless he truly needed them.
She adjusted the folder in her hands and walked quietly toward his office. The glass walls were slightly fogged by the contrast of the air conditioning and the morning heat pressing against the city outside. Light filtered in through half-drawn blinds, casting a sleepy golden haze across the floor.
His door was ajar.
Unusual.
She knocked gently. “Mr. Rourke?”
No answer.
She pushed it open just a little.
Evander was at his desk, but not in his usual commanding posture. He wasn’t reviewing documents, typing rapidly, or barking orders into his phone. He was hunched over, his forehead resting on the polished wood surface of his desk as though he were trying to hide from the world—or disappear into it.
She stepped inside cautiously. “Evander?”
His name on her lips was rare, almost too intimate. But this moment didn’t feel like it had room for titles and distance.
He didn’t lift his head. His voice came low and raw. “Leave it on the desk.”
{{user}} approached, the file still in her hands. But before she set it down, her eyes caught something on the desk just inches from his folded arms.
A photo frame, face-down.
She didn’t need to guess what—or who—was in it.
She stood there, unsure. The air between them was heavy, thick with things she hadn’t been allowed to ask.
He finally moved, lifting his head with a quiet sigh. His hair was slightly tousled, his tie loosened. He looked… tired. More than that—lost.
“She used to send me notes,” he said suddenly, eyes still not meeting hers. “Before we got married. Little things—stupid, really. A dumb drawing on a napkin, a line of poetry. She used to laugh with me.”
{{user}} stayed silent. Listening.
“And then,” he continued, “somewhere between the penthouse and the gala invitations and the inheritance, I realized I wasn’t her person—I was her plan.”
He turned to face her, eyes heavy-lidded but sharp now, focused. “You ever watch someone you love slowly turn into a stranger?”
Her breath caught. Not because of his words—but because of the weight behind them.
“I’ve watched it,” she said quietly. “From the other side of a glass wall.”
He blinked at that.
She lowered the folder to the desk between them. “The files you asked for.”
His eyes lingered on her—longer than they should have, longer than was appropriate. But not long enough to mean anything. Or maybe too long, if it meant something he couldn’t afford to admit.
He glanced down, then reached for the folder, fingers brushing against hers briefly.
She didn’t move her hand right away.
Neither did he.
And for a moment—just a moment—the air shifted. The hum of the city outside vanished. The ticking of the desk clock stilled. There was only the closeness of two people orbiting the same silence.
But then he pulled back.
“Thank you,” he said, voice controlled now. The CEO again.
She nodded once. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
He hesitated. “I do,” he whispered.
Then louder: “I will.”