The low hum of morning filled the Sinclair Enterprises headquarters — the sound of heels on marble, printers churning in nearby rooms, voices kept to efficient tones. Everything moved like clockwork.
Leila stepped out of the elevator with a stack of neatly organized files in her arms, her expression serene, her pace unrushed.
Her eyes remained fixed ahead — not on the glass-walled executive office at the end of the hallway. Not on the man who stood just beyond the frosted doors, half-shielded by tinted glass, his profile sharp against the soft gleam of morning light.
She didn't falter.
Didn't shift her eyes.
Didn't pause.
Elias turned.
Almost like instinct.
And there she was — walking past.
No subtle glance. No polite nod. Not even a flicker of recognition.
She didn't see him.
No — she chose not to.
The realization hit him like a quiet blow to the chest.
She always greeted him before — even if it was a restrained smile, or a quiet "Good morning, sir."
Now?
Nothing.
She walked by with a kind of grace that felt... deliberate. Effortless, yet sharpened by purpose. Her shawl was pinned perfectly, her hair tucked neatly back, her expression unreadable.
The same girl who once smiled gently in meetings, who laughed quietly with her team when she thought no one was watching — now carried herself like a mirror polished too smooth to hold any reflection.
Elias blinked, a muscle ticking faintly in his jaw.
Kai appeared beside him seconds later, sipping his espresso like a man far too amused for a Monday.
"She walked right past you," Kai muttered, raising a brow. "That's cold. Even for her."
Elias didn't answer.
Kai leaned against the doorframe, glancing back down the hallway where Leila had disappeared into the project department. "You push people away. But you're not used to them walking away on their own, are you?"
Elias's eyes narrowed slightly. "She didn't walk away."
Kai arched his brow. "No? Then what do you call that?"
Elias didn't know.
But whatever it was — it unsettled him.
Elias returned to his office, the door shutting with a quiet thud behind him. The silence that followed was too loud.
He loosened his tie and stood by the tall window overlooking the city. But his mind wasn't on the skyline.
It was on the absence in her eyes. The silence in her presence.
She used to acknowledge him — if not with familiarity, at least with respect. Now, it was as if she'd erased him, efficiently, precisely. Like a mark cleaned from glass without leaving a trace.
And it bothered him.
More than it should.
He pressed the intercom.
"Lucia, send a message to the project management team. I want an update on the Arcadia logistics proposal by this afternoon. Bring in the junior manager assigned to that file."
There was a pause. Then Lucia's crisp voice replied, "Yes, sir. That would be Miss Zaman. I'll schedule the meeting for 2 p.m."
Elias didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
This wasn't about logistics.
This was about the fact that she didn't look at him — and he needed to know if that indifference extended beyond the hallway.
Later that afternoon — 2:01 p.m.
The door opened with a soft click.
Leila walked in with a file held confidently in her hands, her dupatta pinned just so, a polite mask of composure over her features.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Sinclair," she said, tone neutral. "I've brought the Arcadia file, as requested."
Her voice didn't waver. Her eyes didn't search his.
Professional.
Detached.
Elias watched her walk toward the conference table, her steps measured. She didn't sit until he gestured wordlessly.
He hated that.
That she waited for permission now.
"Proceed," he said, his voice deeper than usual, gravel clinging to the edge of it.
Leila opened the file, her fingers steady, her posture upright.
"We've finalized the vendor shortlist for the new logistics partner," she began, her tone calm, direct. "Three bids are under consideration, based on budget optimization and location efficiency."
Elias didn't interrupt.
He didn't even look at the file.
He looked at her.
The curve of her brows as she explained numbers. The way she pressed her lips when she flipped pages. The sharp intelligence behind every point — and the studied coolness behind every glance that didn't meet his.
Her indifference was eloquent.
Like a language of its own.
When she finished, she closed the file with quiet finality.
"If there's anything else," she said, rising to her feet.
"You didn't look at me," Elias said suddenly.
The silence dropped, sharp and unexpected.
Leila froze.
Her hand paused just above the table.
"I wasn't aware it was required," she replied, her voice still even, but softer now — almost too controlled.
Elias rose from his seat slowly.
"It's not," he said. "But you used to."
She met his eyes then — just briefly — and for the first time in days, he saw something flicker behind them.
A warning.
A boundary.
And then it was gone.
"I'll update the progress report by the end of day," she said, turning toward the door.
Elias didn't stop her this time.
He only watched her go.
Again.