Tracy's POV
Even though this was a new job, it was not my first taste of company life. I had spent years working with my adopted father, building his business, managing things others twice my age fumbled through. In truth, I knew my way around an office— I knew how to file, how to schedule, how to balance numbers, how to solve problems when no one else could.
What made my stomach twist on these mornings was not the work itself— it was everything around it. A new environment. New faces. A past that weighed too heavily on my shoulders.
I was not afraid of the tasks. I was afraid of being seen too closely.
Nathan, my boss, noticed quickly that I did not need hand-holding. The first time he gave me a stack of reports to organize, I had them sorted and summarized before his next meeting ended. When he came out, he raised a brow at the neat folder on his desk.
"You are fast." he said.
I smiled faintly. "I have done this before."
It happened again with his calendar. He asked me to reschedule two meetings and confirm a call with an overseas partner. By the time he came back to check, it was done, all confirmations neatly written into his planner. He gave me a look then— not of doubt, but of surprise.
"You catch on quickly." he said.
"I had a good teacher once." I replied, thinking of my adopted father, though the thought left a bittersweet ache in my chest.
Each day, I poured myself into the work, not because I needed to prove myself, but because it was the one place I felt steady. Numbers, schedules, files— they did not lie to me. They did not betray me. They did not break my heart.
Still, there were moments I felt the weight of the past creeping in. I would see colleagues laughing together, or hear someone mention family dinners, and my chest would tighten. I would force myself back to the screen, reminding myself: this is your fresh start, Tracy. Don't look back.
And then there was Ethan.
He was always somewhere— walking down the halls, talking to executives, commanding attention without even trying. His presence stirred something complicated in me. He was not warm, not with me at least. Whenever I greeted him, he returned it politely, briefly, before moving on. Cold, distant, untouchable.
But still… I remembered that day at the elevator. The day I had not known he was the CEO. Back then, he had just been a man. A stranger who noticed me. And I could not help but wonder— had that been real? Or had I imagined it?
One evening, as I gathered my things, I caught sight of him again. He was standing near the lobby, speaking with someone, his expression serious. I hesitated, my hand tightening on my bag strap. When our eyes met briefly, he gave a small nod, nothing more, before turning back to his conversation.
It shouldn't have meant anything. But the way my chest fluttered and sank all at once told me it did.
I walked out into the cool night air, whispering to myself the same thing I always did:
You are here to work, Tracy. Nothing else.
And yet, deep down, I knew work was not the only thing I was carrying with me in this building.
Ethan's Pov
Most days in the office blurred together. Meetings, reports, phone calls that dragged longer than they should. People trying to impress me, people pretending not to be afraid of me while clearly being afraid. It was routine. Efficient. Predictable.
And then there was her.
Tracy Alcott.
At first, I had not paid her much attention beyond the necessary pleasantries. She was polite, quiet, the type to keep her head down. When she bumped into me at the elevator on her first day, I had dismissed her apology with little thought. She was just another assistant in a company full of them.
Or so I assumed.
That morning, I had been walking past Nathan's office when I heard his voice. He was speaking to her, his tone lighter than usual. Curious, I slowed my steps, leaning against the doorway without announcing myself. Nathan did not see me at first.
"Can you have these organized before my call?" he asked, handing her a stack of documents.
"Yes." she said simply.
I expected hesitation. I expected her to look lost, maybe overwhelmed by the size of the task. Instead, she sat down, straightened the papers with practiced ease, and immediately began working. Her fingers moved quickly over the pages, eyes sharp and focused.
Within minutes, she was not just sorting the documents— she was annotating them, flagging sections with sticky notes, her notes precise, her handwriting neat. She worked with a kind of rhythm, the kind you only develop after years of knowing exactly what you are doing.
I felt myself pause.
Nathan noticed too. When she handed the finished folder back less than half an hour later, neatly arranged and summarized, he raised his brows.
"You did all that already?" he asked.
"Yes." she said, her tone modest but steady. "I highlighted the parts I thought you'd want to skim quickly. The rest are in order of importance."
Nathan let out a soft laugh of surprise. "Efficient. I like that."
She gave a small smile, but there was no pride in it. No need to flaunt herself. She just went back to her desk like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.
I should have moved on then. But I did not. I stayed a moment longer, watching.
Most people in this company scrambled when given a task, desperate to prove themselves. She didn't scramble. She did not hesitate. She just… did it. Calm, precise, confident. Not the nervous girl I thought she was when we met.
Something stirred in me then, something I hadn't felt in a long time. Interest.
It was not just that she was capable. It was the quiet way she carried it, as if competence was simply part of her, not something she needed to advertise. She did not demand attention, but she had mine anyway.
I forced myself to leave before Nathan noticed me lingering. Back in my office, I found myself unsettled.
Why her? Why now?
I had met countless women— at galas, at business meetings, at dinners my parents arranged. Women with polished smiles and carefully chosen words. None of them had held my attention beyond the surface. I had trained myself to tune it all out, to avoid the distractions.
But here I was, thinking about an assistant who was not even trying.
I leaned back in my chair, pressing a hand to my temple with a quiet sigh. This was dangerous. Distractions had no place in my world. Especially not here, not now.
And yet, even as I told myself to forget it, the image of her— focused, efficient, quietly competent— lingered stubbornly in my mind.