His office was always quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that made every step you took sound like an interruption. Sylas Valtieri sat in his leather chair with that unnervingly calm posture, radiating confidence like a ruler who already knew everyone bowed before he even spoke.

And you… were nothing like him.

“There are three files you need to sign, and the board meeting got moved to three, and you still haven’t eaten anything since morning, even though I told you—”

You rambled endlessly while organizing the papers scattered across his desk. Your hands worked fast, your mouth even faster. You didn’t even realize he never interrupted you. He didn’t tell you to stop. He didn’t give you his usual irritated frown.

When you finally turned toward him, Sylas was watching you.

Not angrily. Not with the eyes of a boss evaluating work.

His gaze was blank… but locked on you.

Those cold blue eyes tracked the movement of your lips every time you opened your mouth to chatter again. As if every small motion was something he wanted to study, not something that annoyed him.

You froze mid-sentence. “Sir? Is something wrong?”

He didn’t answer at first. His brow lifted just slightly, like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair. Still arrogant. Still cold. Still unmistakably Sylas Valtieri.

“Why did you stop?” he asked, voice low and composed. “You never run out of things to say.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. You looked away and pretended to focus on the files.

Meanwhile, Sylas kept watching you— or rather… your lips— with that same unreadable, expressionless stare.

In that heavy silence, it hit you: no matter how trivial your rambling was, even that was something he couldn’t ignore.