The hallway was silent, the kind of silence that wasn't peaceful—but heavy. Like something unseen was watching. Rose stepped into the grand office again the next morning, her heels clicking against the marble floor. It was cold—both the floor and the man behind the desk.
Arvi didn't look up.
She stood there for a moment, awkward and unsure. "Good morning, sir."
He raised his eyes slowly. Icy. Controlled. Unreadable. "You're five minutes early."
She blinked, startled. "I—I thought being early was good."
He tilted his head just slightly, like a predator measuring prey. "It means you're either desperate or stupid. Which is it?"
Her breath caught in her throat. She felt her chest tighten, but she didn't flinch. "Neither."
"Then let me make one thing clear, Miss Rose." He stood, walking around the desk with a quiet sort of power. "You work for me now. You follow my rules. You speak only when spoken to. You don't ask questions. And above all…" His gaze dropped briefly to her trembling hands, then back to her eyes. "You do not cry in this office."
She swallowed hard. Her past whispered behind her eyes—flashes of metal, screams, red. But she nodded. "Understood."
He stepped closer—too close. "You think I'm cruel?"
"I think you don't care."
He smirked. "Smart girl."
She didn't know if that was a compliment or a warning.
He handed her a file. "Translate these. In four hours. Mistakes won't be tolerated."
Rose took it. "Yes, sir."
He walked away, his back to her. "And stop calling me 'sir'. I'm not your teacher. Call me Arvi. Or boss. Whichever makes your stomach turn less."
She blinked, stunned by his bluntness, then lowered her eyes. "Boss, then."
Arvi didn't respond. Just disappeared behind another door, leaving her alone.
She worked in silence, fingers trembling over the keyboard. The documents weren't just financial reports—they were coded conversations. Mafia things. Words that hinted at danger and bloodshed. Things no normal assistant should be seeing.
But Rose wasn't normal anymore. Not after everything she'd lost.
She looked up at the closed door, wondering what kind of man sat behind it. What made a person turn this cold? Was he born that way—or broken into it?
Her thoughts were interrupted when the door swung open.
He walked out with a gun in his hand.
She froze.
He wasn't aiming it—just cleaning it. But to her, the sight of metal and the silent smell of gun oil hit like a scream. Her vision blurred. A memory surged:
A crash. Glass breaking. Screams. Blood. So much blood. Her mother's lifeless eyes.
She dropped the pen.
Arvi stopped mid-step, his eyes falling on her. "What's wrong with you?"
"I—I need a minute." Her voice cracked. "Please."
His jaw tightened. "If you can't handle the sight of a weapon, you shouldn't be here."
"I know…" She stood shakily, gripping the table. "But I need this job."
He didn't say anything. For a second, something in his eyes flickered—but it vanished as quickly as it came. "Then get used to it. This world doesn't stop for your fear."
And then, he walked away again.
Rose went to the restroom and locked herself inside. Her chest hurt, her hands wouldn't stop shaking. She splashed cold water on her face and stared at the mirror.
"You're not that girl anymore," she whispered. "You survived. You have to survive again."
The fear didn't leave. But she wiped her tears away. She didn't cry in his office. That, at least, was one rule she followed.