The week began with spreadsheets and ended with silence.
Leah had grown used to the rhythm of Voss Tower—the constant hum of conversations, the tap of shoes on marble, the elevator's faint chime marking every hour of the day. But lately, there was something different about the floor she worked on. Something quieter. As if the whole department had learned to hold its breath.
It started after the quarterly audit review. Her report—her version—had been the one Adrian Voss took into the boardroom. He hadn't said much about it publicly. No praise, no reprimand. Just one clipped statement afterward: "Your structure was sound."
But everyone noticed.
People had begun to glance at her differently. With calculation. With questions they didn't ask aloud. Some assumed she was the new favorite. Others assumed worse.
Leah learned quickly to lower her gaze, to say less, to keep her focus on numbers that didn't talk back.
That Friday morning, she reached her desk early, the city still shaking off the dawn haze. She was halfway through adjusting a logistics spreadsheet when Adrian's shadow appeared beside her cubicle.
"Meeting in five," he said simply. "My office."
She looked up. His expression was unreadable, as always. Gray suit, dark tie, watch aligned perfectly on his wrist. But his voice carried a weight she couldn't name.
"Yes, sir," she replied, closing the document and following him down the hall.
The conference room door clicked shut behind them. Papers were spread across the table—charts, graphs, her audit report from earlier in the week. He didn't sit immediately. Instead, he stood by the window, looking out at the skyline.
"You changed the reporting order in section four," he said.
Leah straightened. "Yes. I thought it was clearer to start with the regional losses before—"
"I know why," he interrupted. "It worked."
She blinked. "Then—"
"But it was a deviation from standard format."
Leah inhaled quietly. "I followed the data flow, not the precedent."
Now he turned. His gaze found hers. "That's what worries me."
The words landed like a quiet blow. "Worries you?"
He moved closer, each step deliberate. "You think outside instruction. That can be… dangerous here."
"I wasn't trying to overstep," she said softly. "Just make it clearer."
"I know." His tone softened—just barely. "You're efficient. But efficiency without caution draws attention."
She understood the warning. In this building, attention could be either currency or poison.
He reached across the table for the report, their hands briefly near each other. "You remind me of someone," he murmured.
She looked up. "Who?"
He hesitated. "Someone who learned too late that being right doesn't always mean being safe."
Leah's chest tightened. He didn't explain further, and she didn't ask. The air between them had shifted again—like gravity redistributing itself in small, invisible ways.
Finally, she nodded. "I'll follow the standard order next time."
"Good." He stepped back, mask sliding neatly into place. "Send the finalized sheets to Finance before noon."
She gathered her notes quickly, eager to leave before the silence thickened again. But as she reached for the door, he said quietly, "Morgan."
She turned.
"You don't have to dull your edges," he said, not meeting her eyes this time. "Just learn when to hide them."
Her pulse faltered. It wasn't advice—it was confession.
"Understood," she said.
When she left the room, she could still feel the echo of his words in her chest.
Adrian's POV
He watched her go, her calm steps carrying more restraint than most people's apologies.
Leah Morgan was too composed for this place. Too precise. He had seen people like her—smart, moral, quietly stubborn—and he'd watched this industry chew them alive. He told himself that was why he kept an eye on her. To protect the efficiency of the team. To prevent her from becoming a liability.
But lately, his reasoning sounded like an excuse.
He rubbed a hand over his jaw, the city's reflection cutting through the glass behind him. Since that audit meeting, his department had started to whisper again. Not to his face—they wouldn't dare—but he could sense it: eyes flicking toward Leah when he entered a room, sentences breaking off mid-conversation.
He'd built an empire on precision, control, and silence. Now one woman's integrity was threatening the balance.
By noon, he called another meeting. Leah arrived on time—always on time—with her documents arranged in exact order. The others trickled in after, some feigning disinterest, others watching her with thinly veiled curiosity.
He noticed every glance.
"Let's begin," he said, his tone colder than intended.
They discussed budgets, losses, forecasts. Routine. But every time Leah spoke—clear, confident, factual—he saw how the others reacted. Some nodded; others rolled their eyes subtly. And when she corrected a senior analyst's miscalculation with quiet precision, the tension deepened.
He ended the meeting abruptly. "That'll be all."
As people filed out, murmuring, he said without looking up, "Morgan, stay."
She froze, then nodded. When the door closed, he leaned back in his chair.
"You're too visible right now," he said.
Leah frowned. "I'm just doing my job."
"I know. But others see something else."
Her voice was steady. "Then let them."
He looked at her fully then—her posture straight, her expression calm, but her hands clasped too tightly in front of her. There was fire there, buried under restraint.
"You think this is about gossip," he said. "It's not. It's survival."
She met his gaze. "I've survived worse."
That caught him off guard. A flicker of something—past, pain—crossed her face before she masked it again.
Adrian's jaw tightened. "You don't have to prove anything here."
"I'm not proving," she said softly. "I'm existing."
He almost smiled at that—almost. But smiling would have been a mistake.
Instead, he said, "You'll report directly to me for the next few weeks."
Her breath hitched. "Directly?"
"It'll limit interference. And allow me to monitor consistency."
She nodded slowly. "If that's what's required."
"It is."
The words came out sharper than he intended. He saw her flinch before she caught herself.
"Understood," she said, collecting her folders.
As she turned to leave, he added, "Leah."
She froze at the use of her first name.
He looked down at his desk. "Don't let them corner you. You're not here because of anyone's favor."
Her reply was quiet but firm. "I know."
When she was gone, he sat in silence for a long moment, staring at the door she'd just walked through. Control—that was what had kept him untouchable for years. But control had limits, especially when the threat wasn't defiance, but sincerity.
Leah's POV
That night, she stayed late again, pretending it was for work.
But the truth was simpler—she didn't want to go home yet. The apartment felt too empty, too quiet, too full of thoughts she couldn't name.
Her computer screen glowed faintly in the dimmed office. Numbers, cells, formulas—safe things. Predictable. She focused on them until the world outside faded.
A soft knock on her cubicle frame broke her concentration.
"Still here?"
Adrian stood there, jacket off, tie loosened. The sight made something flutter low in her stomach.
"I wanted to finish the reports," she said. "They're due Monday."
He checked his watch. "It's Friday."
"I like to stay ahead."
He exhaled softly, a sound halfway between a sigh and a chuckle. "You'll burn out if you keep that pace."
She smiled faintly. "So will you."
That drew his eyes to hers again—direct, steady, unguarded. For a moment, neither spoke. The hum of the city outside seemed to fade into the silence stretching between them.
Then, as if remembering himself, he said, "You're dismissed, Ms. Morgan."
She nodded, saving her work. "Good night, Mr. Voss."
As she passed him in the corridor, her shoulder brushed his arm lightly. A tiny, accidental contact, gone in an instant. But it left her pulse uneven.
Behind her, he stood still for a few seconds, expression unreadable, before walking the other way.
That weekend, Leah dreamed of ink stains and glass towers. Of voices she couldn't quite hear. And through it all, the echo of his warning repeated in her mind—You don't have to dull your edges. Just learn when to hide them.
She woke before dawn, heart beating too fast, unsure whether it was fear or something far more dangerous.