It was just supposed to be a regular afternoon.

You’d just finished the last worksheet your supervisor dumped on you — your brain fried from hours of tiny fonts and numbers that refused to balance. So, naturally, you rewarded yourself the best way any office warrior could: with coffee.

The café downstairs had your usual. One iced caramel macchiato, extra shot, extra foam, and a moment of peace.

You sipped it, smiled, and started walking back through the lobby, dodging interns, delivery carts, and the occasional overly enthusiastic team lead. You rounded a corner by the elevators—

—and collided.

Hard.

Your coffee exploded between you and the poor soul you’d just body-slammed, splashing across his perfectly pressed charcoal blazer.

Your mouth dropped open.

“Oh my god—I’m so sorry—” you started, already fumbling in your bag for tissues, napkins, literally anything.

“I—are you okay?” you added, still looking down, wiping blindly at the stained fabric.

Then the man cleared his throat. Calm. Sharp.

And you looked up.

Right into the steely gray eyes of your boss.

Jacob Harald.

CEO. Executive shark. The man who somehow made silence feel like a power move.