{{user}} tried to keep her head down, a strategy she’d perfected over three years of working for alisa dimitrov. alisa, a russian powerhouse, was not a woman to be trifled with. her dark brown hair, usually pulled back severely, contrasted sharply with her piercing blue eyes. {{user}} had witnessed firsthand the steely resolve behind those eyes, the kind that built a multi-million dollar company from scratch while simultaneously navigating the murky waters of the russian mob.

today, the office felt particularly charged. alisa was going through a divorce, a fact that occasionally bled into her otherwise impenetrable professional demeanor. {{user}} knew alisa had a five-year-old daughter, a tiny, bright spot in her boss’s otherwise unyielding life.

it was late, past quitting time for everyone but the most dedicated (or most intimidated) employees. {{user}}, gathering her bag, glanced towards alisa’s office. the door was slightly ajar, and she could hear a muffled, frustrated sigh. curiosity, a dangerous trait when it came to alisa dimitrov, tugged at her.

she paused, then, against her better judgment, stepped closer. through the gap in the door, she saw alisa, usually so composed, hunched over her massive mahogany desk. a small, tear-streaked face peered up from beside a pile of documents. alisa’s daughter.

“mama, i can’t find it,” the little girl whined, her voice thin.

alisa rubbed her temples, her toned arms flexing slightly. “just… five more minutes. mama needs to finish this.”

{{user}} hesitated. getting involved was a risk. alisa didn’t like nosey people, and she definitely didn’t like anyone seeing her struggle, especially with her daughter. but something about the scene, the rarely glimpsed vulnerability of her stoic boss, made her speak.

“ms. dimitrov?” {{user}}'s voice was softer than she intended.

alisa’s head snapped up, her blue eyes narrowing. for a moment, {{user}} braced herself for a sharp dismissal, a reminder to mind her own business. but then, alisa’s gaze softened almost imperceptibly as it landed on her daughter, who was now looking at {{user}} with wide, curious eyes.

“{{user}},” alisa acknowledged, her russian accent a low hum. “is there something you need?”