The conference room on the thirty-second floor smelled of coffee and ambition. Leah stood near the end of the long table, laptop open, notes ready. Around her, senior analysts murmured in quick, clipped tones, the sound of practiced confidence. She wasn't supposed to speak—just record the minutes—but the tension in the air made even breathing feel intrusive.
Adrian Voss entered five minutes late. Conversation stopped instantly. He didn't apologize. His presence rebalanced the entire room like gravity reasserting itself.
"Let's begin," he said.
Charts flashed on the screen. Leah typed, her hands steady until a voice across the table sliced through the quiet.
"Who compiled these projections?" asked Mr. Hanley, the director of operations. His tone had that polished cruelty of someone who enjoyed testing weakness.
Leah glanced up. "I did, sir. Based on the quarterly data from Finance."
Hanley leaned back, smirking. "You're new, aren't you? These numbers are off by nearly two percent. You realize that kind of error can tank an entire report?"
Her pulse jumped. "With respect, the variance came from incomplete data submission from the branch office. I flagged it in the notes—"
He cut her off. "Excuses. If you can't handle precision, you shouldn't be in this building."
A few people looked away. No one spoke.
Adrian's pen stilled. "Hanley."
The man hesitated. "Yes, sir?"
Voss didn't raise his voice. "The discrepancy you're referring to came from your department's delay in updating the branch inputs. Miss Morgan corrected it last night."
The silence that followed was surgical.
Hanley swallowed. "I wasn't aware—"
"You weren't," Adrian said evenly. "Because you didn't read the attached documentation. Which she wrote."
Leah stared at her keyboard. Heat burned behind her eyes.
"Next time," Voss continued, "try reading before you speak."
He returned his attention to the screen as if nothing had happened. The meeting rolled on, but no one interrupted again.
When it ended, people scattered quickly. Leah gathered her laptop, fingers trembling slightly. As she turned to leave, she felt a shadow fall across her desk.
"Stay," he said.
The door closed behind the last analyst. The room was suddenly too quiet.
Leah stood frozen, unsure what to expect.
"Do you always let people speak to you like that?" Adrian asked.
She blinked. "I didn't want to escalate things."
He leaned against the table, arms folded. "Deference isn't virtue. It's surrender."
Her breath caught. "I was trying to be professional."
His gaze flicked up. "Professional doesn't mean invisible."
She looked down at her hands. "I've learned it's safer that way."
For a moment, the air shifted. Something in his expression softened—almost imperceptibly.
"You shouldn't have to learn safety here," he said.
Before she could respond, his phone buzzed. The moment dissolved. He straightened, composure restored. "Send me the revised file tonight. And Morgan—"
"Yes, sir?"
His voice lowered. "Next time someone questions your work, correct them before I have to."
She nodded, unable to trust her voice.
He left the room without another glance.
That night, Leah sat at her desk long after everyone had gone, the city's glow seeping through the glass. She redrafted the report twice, every keystroke echoing with his words.
When she finally shut her laptop, she saw her reflection in the dark window—still small, still uncertain, but no longer bowed.
Somewhere across the city, Adrian Voss stared at his own reflection in his penthouse window, jaw tense. He didn't know why her silence had unsettled him. He only knew it had.