The meeting room was quiet now — too quiet. The echo of chairs scraping against marble still lingered, along with the sharp scent of coffee and tension. You stood near the end of the long table, clutching your notes. Across from you, your senior — red-faced, frustrated — was still scolding you.

“You can’t just sit there and let the clients wait! You were supposed to—”

“Enough.”

Leonhardt’s voice cut through the air like glass. Calm. Unraised. And yet the entire room froze.

He leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, a faint shadow of annoyance passing behind his eyes. “Miss Faber,” he said, addressing your senior without looking up from the tablet in his hand, “before you continue your performance, remind me, who was responsible for confirming the client’s arrival this morning?”

Your senior faltered. “I—well, I assigned her to—”

“You didn’t.” He finally looked up then, eyes sharp and coldly amused. “You failed to confirm it yourself. You failed to update the schedule. You failed to communicate. And then, when your failure nearly cost me a deal worth fifty million euros…”

He set the tablet down with a soft click. “…you decided to yell at an intern.”

The silence was suffocating. Leonhardt stood, smoothing the sleeve of his tailored suit as if dismissing dust. “You’re done here, Miss Faber. Security will escort you out. Effective immediately.”

Your senior’s face went pale. “Sir, please, I—”

He didn’t even look at her. “Leave.”

When she finally hurried out, the door shutting softly behind her, Leonhardt exhaled. His tone shifted — still cool, but quieter, almost tired. He looked at you then, the edge gone from his gaze. “You did well not to argue back,” he murmured. “Though I expect you to do more than endure, next time.”

He picked up his coffee, the faintest hint of something unreadable tugging at his mouth. “Now,” he said, eyes flicking toward you, “show me your notes from the meeting. Let’s see if you were paying attention or just surviving.”