The silence that fell after her name was called was deafening.
Selina's heart thudded so loudly she thought the whole floor could hear it. The sleek glass door to the CEO's office loomed before her like a gateway to fate itself. For a moment, her hand trembled on the knob. She took a deep breath, straightened her skirt, and pushed it open.
The scent of expensive cologne and polished mahogany filled the air. The room was vast , the kind of office that spoke of power, wealth, and command. Floor-to-ceiling windows poured sunlight across the glass table, reflecting the tall, broad-shouldered figure standing by it. His back was turned, hands tucked neatly into his pockets as he stared out over the city skyline.
For a heartbeat, Selina froze.
That posture. That calm, poised stance. That very silence.
He turned.
Her breath caught.
It was him — Andrew Vele.
The man she thought she'd left behind in a chapter of her life she'd long since buried.
He looked the same, yet not the same sharper, colder, every line of his face etched with authority. Time had carved him into something stronger, almost unrecognizable.
Their eyes met for the briefest second. Selina's lips parted, but no words came. Andrew blinked once, expression unreadable, then turned his attention to the file on his desk as though she were nothing more than another applicant.
"Miss Selina Whyte," he said, voice calm, controlled but his tone carried an edge that sliced through the air. "Have a seat."
Selina swallowed hard and nodded, lowering herself into the chair opposite him. Her palms were slick with sweat. She tried not to look at him, but her eyes betrayed her. Every time he moved, every time his pen clicked, she felt it that old ache, that memory of something unfinished between them.
He flipped through her documents in silence, the only sound the faint hum of the city beyond the glass. When he finally spoke, it was in that same low tone, smooth but cold.
"You applied for the position of my personal secretary."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes, sir." Her voice came out barely above a whisper.
"Do you have any experience?"
"I — yes, sir. I worked as an assistant at—"
"I can read," he interrupted, eyes flicking up at her. There it was — that sharp, commanding gaze that could make anyone shrink. But beneath it, Selina caught something else. Recognition. Conflict. Something he was forcing himself to bury.
"Tell me, Miss Whyte," he continued, setting the papers aside, "what makes you think you're fit for this position?"
She hesitated, gathering courage. "Because … I'm dedicated, sir. I work well under pressure and — "
"Pressure?" he cut in again, taking a slow step around the desk. His shoes clicked softly against the floor. Selina tensed as he came closer, stopping just beside her chair. "Do you think you can handle the kind of pressure that comes with working directly under me?"
His nearness sent a chill down her spine. The scent of his cologne, the warmth of his presence it was all too familiar. She forced herself to meet his gaze.
"I can, sir," she said firmly, though her heart was pounding.
Andrew's eyes narrowed slightly, scanning her face as though searching for a lie. Then, unexpectedly, he leaned down, resting both hands on the edge of the desk beside her.
"Look at me," he said softly.
She did.
His eyes bored into hers, and for a second, the world tilted the room vanished, the noise faded, and all that existed was the storm between them.
"You've changed," he murmured, almost to himself. Then, straightening, his voice hardened again. "But don't mistake kindness for leniency, Miss Whyte. I don't tolerate mistakes in my office."
Selina clenched her fists under the table. "Understood, sir."
He walked back to his chair, the echo of his footsteps filling the silence. She exhaled quietly, her nerves strung tight.
For a while, he said nothing , only tapped his pen against the table, deep in thought. Then, with a faint sigh, he closed her file.
"Consider yourself hired."
Selina blinked. "Sir?"
"You heard me," he said, leaning back in his chair. "You start tomorrow. 8 a.m. sharp. Don't be late."
"But … sir, the other applicants — "
"I don't recall asking for your opinion," he interrupted smoothly, eyes never leaving her. "Do you want the job or not?"
Her voice trembled. "Yes … yes, I do."
"Good. Then we have an understanding."
He rose to his feet again, walking toward the window, hands back in his pockets. His reflection glimmered against the glass — powerful, distant, untouchable.
Selina stood up slowly, still stunned. She wanted to say something, anything, but the words tangled in her throat.
"Thank you, sir," she managed.
He didn't respond, just stared out at the skyline. "Close the door on your way out."
Her fingers brushed the doorknob when his voice came again, quiet, almost unreadable.
"Miss Whyte."
She froze. "Yes, sir?"
His tone softened not warm, but less sharp. "Don't disappoint me."
Selina turned slightly, meeting his gaze one last time. There was a flicker there , the ghost of the man she once knew — before he masked it again.
"I won't, sir," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
When she finally stepped out, the cool air of the hallway hit her like a wave. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm the furious beating of her heart. She couldn't tell if she was relieved or terrified.
Inside, Andrew stood still for a long while, staring at the door she'd just closed. His jaw tightened. He told himself it was nothing just coincidence, just business. But deep down, he knew he was lying.
Because no matter how much time had passed, the sight of her had shaken something loose — something he'd buried the day she walked away.