Leah woke before sunrise, the city outside still cloaked in a hazy quiet. Her apartment smelled faintly of rain from the night before, and her mind felt heavy — not from lack of sleep, but from everything left unsaid.
She'd replayed yesterday's moment in Adrian's office too many times. The stillness. The distance that wasn't really distance. The way he'd looked at her as if there was something he wasn't supposed to feel but couldn't stop acknowledging.
It shouldn't have mattered.He was her boss.And yet, her chest tightened each time she remembered the look in his eyes when he said you didn't need me to.
At work, she buried herself in numbers and reports, convincing herself that focus would drown it out. But the moment she saw him again, that fragile resolve cracked.
Adrian entered the office later than usual. His tie was slightly loosened, a rare imperfection that made Leah's stomach twist for reasons she didn't want to name. He gave her a polite nod as he passed her desk — professional, reserved — but there was a flicker of hesitation in his gaze.
They both pretended not to notice.
She handed him the audit summary for final approval. "All sections have been revised," she said. "I double-checked everything this morning."
He took the folder, fingers brushing hers — the briefest contact, the kind that shouldn't mean anything.But it did.
"Good work," he said, his tone even.
Leah managed a small smile. "Thank you."
When he turned back toward his office, she exhaled, realizing she'd been holding her breath. The words they never said hung like invisible threads between them — taut, waiting for something to snap.
By noon, whispers started to circle around the office again.
Two analysts by the printer, a secretary near the break room — small, harmless gossip about how "the boss seems to be favoring Leah Bennett lately."She tried to ignore it, pretending her focus was unshakable. But gossip had a way of finding cracks.
When she went to make copies, the conversation hushed.Her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted the papers on the tray.
Later, she found an anonymous sticky note on her desk: Lucky you, huh?No name. No signature. Just a reminder that people were watching.
Leah tucked it into her drawer, face blank, heart sinking.
She didn't need to wonder how it started. She already knew.Ever since that boardroom incident. Ever since he defended her. Ever since people started noticing that quiet, invisible thread neither of them could cut.
That afternoon, Adrian called her into his office again — the fourth time that week.
"Close the door," he said quietly.
She did, tension rippling through the air.
He motioned for her to sit. "There's talk going around," he said, not looking up from the report on his desk.
"I know." Her voice was calm, but her fingers twisted slightly in her lap. "I heard."
He finally looked up, gray eyes sharp. "Does it bother you?"
There were a hundred ways she could've answered.Of course it does.It's humiliating.I didn't ask for this.
But she swallowed it all and said, "I can handle it."
Something flickered in his gaze — frustration, maybe guilt. "You shouldn't have to."
She smiled faintly. "It comes with the job."
He leaned back, eyes studying her with that same unreadable intensity. "No. It comes with mine."
The words landed heavier than he intended.
Leah's heart stuttered. "You didn't do anything wrong."
"Didn't I?" His tone was quiet, almost to himself. "I defended you in a room full of people who see only what they want. Maybe I should've stayed silent."
She shook her head. "No, you shouldn't have."
Their eyes met — the space between them filled with everything neither dared to say.
"You've worked hard," he said, voice softer now. "You've earned every bit of credit. Don't let anyone make you question that."
She nodded slowly, trying to steady the rush of warmth that came from hearing those words — from him, of all people.But still, she could sense something shifting. He was drawing lines again — invisible walls to contain what neither of them could control.
"I'll handle the reports for the next client," she said, standing. "That should… lessen the talk."
He frowned. "That's not necessary."
"It's easier this way," she whispered.
She turned to leave, but before her hand touched the doorknob, his voice stopped her.
"Leah."
She froze.
He hesitated — for once, unsure of what to say. "You don't have to change how you work because of what people think."
She looked back at him, eyes soft but steady. "And you don't have to keep defending me."
For a moment, silence hung between them — heavy, suspended.
Then she smiled faintly, professional again. "Good night, Mr. Hale."
When she left, he didn't move. The door clicked softly behind her, leaving him alone with the echo of her voice and the tightening ache of something he couldn't name.
That night, as Leah walked home under the drizzle, she wondered what hurt more — the rumors, or the fact that she'd started caring too much about what he thought of her.And somewhere across the city, Adrian sat in his dark office, lights from the skyline reflected in the window, asking himself the same question.
They were both caught in a quiet storm.Not of words. Not of gestures.But of unanswered questions neither of them were ready to face.