Aaron's POV
Work had never felt brighter than it did that morning. Maybe it was because I had finally seen Tracy again— standing in the same company halls as me, in her new role. She looked different somehow, lighter, though I could still sense the nerves clinging to her.
When I spotted her near the breakroom, I could not stop myself from walking over.
"Hey, Tracy." I greeted warmly.
She turned, and her face softened the way it always did when she recognized someone safe. "Aaron. Hi."
"Congrats on the job." I said. "I knew you'd get it."
Her lips curved into a small smile. "Thank you. Really. For telling me about it in the first place."
I shrugged, pretending it was nothing, though inside I was glad I had at least done this for her. "You deserve a fresh start." I said simply.
We talked a little longer— about how her first day went, how overwhelming everything seemed. I listened, offering words of encouragement where I could, but soon enough, duty pulled me back. I excused myself with a quick smile, leaving her to her new world.
With a cup of coffee in hand, I headed toward my office. My thoughts were still lingering on Tracy's nervous smile when it happened— an accidental bump that jolted me out of my head. Hot coffee sloshed dangerously close to the rim of my cup, and I scrambled back, mortified.
"Oh God— sorry!" I blurted instantly.
The man I had collided with was taller than me, sharp-suited, his face striking enough to make the world around him blur for a moment. He turned, and instead of annoyance, his mouth broke into an easy smile.
"It's fine." he said, brushing it off like it truly was nothing. "No harm done."
And just like that, I was gone.
That smile… it was the kind that could undo a person without even trying. The kind that lit up a face and made the air around it softer, warmer. My heart, ridiculous traitor that it was, fluttered inside my chest, thudding against my ribs like it wanted to escape.
I managed a weak nod. "Right. Sorry again."
He waved it off casually, as if he had not just set fire to every nerve in my body. He kept moving, heading further down the hall.
My eyes betrayed me— they followed him.
He walked with a kind of quiet confidence, shoulders relaxed, steps unhurried, as though he belonged everywhere without needing to try. I could not help but drink in the sight of him, that smile replaying in my head like an echo I could not silence.
Daniel. That was his name. Ethan's friend. I had heard about him before and seen him from far off, but seeing him up close was something else entirely.
I stood there for a long moment, clutching my cup of coffee that had suddenly gone tasteless. My chest was still tight, but not from nerves— something else, something foolish.
Don't be stupid, I told myself. It is just a smile. Just a man.
But the truth settled in quietly, stubbornly. It was not just a smile, and he wasn't just a man.
My heart had already decided.
And as Daniel disappeared from view, I found myself staring after him with a secret I didn't dare share.
.
.
.
Tracy's POV
By the second week, the office was beginning to feel a little less like an intimidating palace and a little more like a place where I might belong. Only a little, though. Every morning, I still felt my stomach twist into knots as I rode the elevator up, my notebook clutched tightly in my hands as though it were a lifeline.
Nathan — my boss— made things easier than I expected. He had a way of explaining tasks without making me feel stupid, even when I made mistakes. The first time I misplaced a file, my cheeks had burned hot enough to set the desk on fire. I was sure he would sigh, roll his eyes, or worse, call me careless. Instead, he had simply said, "It happens. Just double-check next time." and smiled like it was nothing at all.
That small grace had meant everything to me.
Most of my day was spent learning the rhythm of things— schedules, phone calls, meetings. My handwriting filled pages of my notebook, every instruction and reminder carefully written down because I could not trust my nerves not to forget. Some of the other assistants were friendly, offering small smiles or little tips, and I clung to those kindnesses like they were rare treasures.
Still, I often felt like a shadow in the office. Everyone else moved with purpose and confidence, while I was always careful, always second-guessing myself. It reminded me of home— how invisible I had felt in my own family. Only this time, invisibility was not painful; it was safe.
One afternoon, as I was leaving Nathan's office with a stack of papers, I spotted Aaron at the far end of the hall. His face brightened when he saw me, and I felt a wave of relief. Familiarity. A friend in this sea of strangers. He waved and walked over, and just that small gesture made me feel lighter.
"Still surviving?" he teased gently.
"Barely." I laughed, though my voice cracked a little. "But Nathan's patient. That helps."
"I knew you'd do well." he said with quiet certainty.
We talked for a minute before he excused himself, carrying a cup of coffee back toward his office. I watched him go, grateful for the comfort of his presence, before turning back to my desk.
The rest of the day passed in a blur, and when the clock finally ticked past closing, I gathered my things slowly, stretching the stiffness from my shoulders. The halls were quieter by then, most people having already left. I was almost at the main entrance when I saw him again.
Ethan.
He was stepping out of another office, walking in the same direction. For a split second, our eyes met, and I froze. The memory of our last, brief exchange came rushing back— his polite words, his cold shoulders. I almost did not say anything this time, afraid of another sting. But politeness tugged at me.
"Good evening, Mr. Cole." I said softly.
His eyes flickered to me, calm and unreadable as ever. "Good evening."
And then, just like last time, he walked past, his stride purposeful, leaving me in the wake of his distance.
I let out a slow breath, my chest tightening with an ache I did not want to name. He wasn't cruel— he wasn't dismissive— but he was cold, and somehow that hurt more.
I stepped out into the evening air, clutching my bag tighter. My first weeks here were teaching me many things— how to manage a calendar, how to keep my head down, how to breathe through nerves. But one thing was already clear: in this place, Ethan Cole was untouchable.
And I was just a small shadow passing through his light.