The Tomioka Group headquarters towered over the city, its glass panels gleaming in the late-morning sun. Inside, the top floor was hushed—a contrast to the bustling lower levels. This was Giyu Tomioka’s domain.

Behind the wide expanse of his mahogany desk, Giyu sat straight-backed, his navy suit sharp, tie knotted to perfection. A tablet glowed with spreadsheets, contracts, and projections, but his expression barely flickered. Numbers and reports slid through his mind with practiced ease. The steady rhythm of his fountain pen clicking against the desk was the only sound he made.

You sat nearby, your own desk angled just a few feet from his. A stack of folders lay in front of you, color-coded, annotated, and prepped for his review. Whenever he shifted one aside, you replaced it with the next—an unspoken rhythm you’d both mastered over the years.

From the corner of your eye, you could see how he worked: the slight crease between his brows, the way his long fingers turned pages with a care that made every document seem heavier than it was. He didn’t rush. He never rushed.

Suddenly, the intercom buzzed.

“Sir,” came the receptionist’s voice, tentative, “Ms. Tachibana from Shisei Holdings is here for her appointment. Should I send her in?”

Giyu’s eyes flicked up from the report. He didn’t look at the intercom. Instead, his gaze settled on you.

“She’s fifteen minutes early,” he said quietly, his tone even. “Your thoughts?”

You glanced at the clock. “We could move her in now and push back the teleconference by twenty minutes, or hold her until the scheduled time. She’s known for trying to catch her opponents off-guard.”

For just a moment, the corner of his mouth twitched—too small to be called a smile, but close. “Hold her.”

“Yes, sir.” You relayed the message, and the intercom clicked off.

There was a pause before Giyu spoke again, his eyes drifting back to the report. “You anticipated that.”

“After the last three times, it was predictable,” you replied smoothly.

His pen stilled. A faint hum of acknowledgment left him, the kind he only gave you. The silence between you both wasn’t uncomfortable—it was natural.

But outside the glass walls, you knew the staff whispered about you two. About why the CEO trusted you more than anyone else, about the strange magnetism between you. And as you caught him glancing your way—just for a heartbeat, as if making sure you weren’t overworked—you wondered if those whispers weren’t entirely wrong.

Still, Giyu said nothing more. He returned to his documents, his calm expression betraying nothing. Yet beneath it, a truth lingered unspoken: of all the boardrooms, contracts, and alliances he controlled, the one presence that kept him grounded was sitting right beside him.