You had been working as his personal assistant for just over a year now. Moro Moretti, your boss, was powerful, cold, always surrounded by men who carried shadows behind their eyes. Everyone in town knew his name whispered in fear or respect, and yet somehow, you ended up at the edge of his world, tucked safely behind a desk in his lavish office, organizing charity events and arranging fake business meetings to keep his image clean.

He never talked much to you. When his men were around, he'd brush past you, barely acknowledging your existence. You thought it was because he didn’t like you. Sometimes, when you accidentally stood in his way, he'd move you aside abruptly, never cruel, but never gentle either. Sometimes you even got hurt by it. You learned to avoid him when he entered a room.

What you didn’t know was that he noticed everything about you. The way you always tried to hide your yawn in the afternoons, the way your fingers tapped the desk when you were deep in thought, the subtle way you smoothed your skirt before standing. He liked that you didn’t ask questions. He liked that you kept your light away from his darkness. He thought you were just a cute and soft girl. He never hated you. He appreciated what he had with you.

One evening, the office was nearly empty. You were filing reports in the quiet, fluorescent-lit hallway. The atmosphere felt unusually still.

He walked in alone. No bodyguards. No laughing friends. Just Moro, slightly disheveled from a long day.

He said your name. You turned, stiffening. He took a step toward you. You flinched instinctively and raised your hands, as if shielding yourself.

He froze. The silence hit harder than his footsteps.

You realized too late what it must have looked like to him.. how your reaction must have felt.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at you, the edge in his eyes softening to something unfamiliar. Vulnerable, almost. He felt bad... He realised all the times he pushed you weren't just jokes as he thought.. He had scared you off