Seraphina's Point Of View
Hours later, the world outside my office had softened into a blur.
Time didn't move in minutes anymore. It moved in pages. In paragraphs highlighted. In numbers circled, crossed out, rewritten in the margins with a firm hand.
The first document had been easy.
Too easy.
I skimmed, eyes scanning line by line, brain clicking into that familiar rhythm… the one that felt like home. Projections. Targets. Feasibility. Risk assessment.
My pen paused.
I frowned.
"No," I murmured, tapping the page once. "This won't work."
I leaned closer, elbows on the desk, rereading the section. The proposal was flashy, pretty words wrapped around weak substance. Inflated promises. Vague timelines. No real data to back the confidence.
I exhaled through my nose, uncapped my red pen, and wrote neatly but decisively across the top.
DISAPPROVED. REVISE AND RESUBMIT.
My heart didn't even hesitate. Work wasn't about feelings. It was about standards. I slid the file to the left pile and pulled the next one toward me.
Click. Scroll. Read. Analyze.
This one was better.
My fingers moved faster now, jotting notes, flipping pages, comparing figures. I felt it… that quiet thrill when something was done right. When effort showed. When someone had clearly stayed up late, just like I was now, making sure their work could stand on its own.
"Yes," I whispered, almost smiling. "This is good."
I approved it, signed my name, stamped it cleanly.
The right pile grew.
The hours slipped by like that.
Read. Think. Decide.
My phone buzzed at some point. I ignored it.
The office lights hummed softly overhead. Outside the glass walls, coworkers passed occasionally, their footsteps muffled, their voices distant. It felt like I was in a bubble… just me, the desk, and the quiet satisfaction of competence.
After a while, my lower back started to complain.
"Alright, alright," I muttered, pushing my chair back.
I stood, stretching slowly, spine popping in relief. I grabbed a document and began pacing the length of the office, barefoot steps light against the carpet.
Walking helped me think.
I read aloud under my breath, lips moving silently as I crossed the room, turned, crossed back. Numbers made more sense when I wasn't sitting still. Ideas aligned better when my body moved.
A knock came.
"Still alive?" Rose's voice floated in.
"Barely," I called back. "Come in."
She entered holding a tray like an offering… coffee, a small plate of pastries, and a bottle of water.
"You're three hours in," she said, setting it down. "And you haven't blinked since I last checked."
"I blink," I protested, reaching for the coffee. "Just… internally."
She laughed softly. "Eat something. Please."
I took a bite absentmindedly, eyes still on the page.
"This section here," I said suddenly, pointing. "Do you see how they padded the timeline?"
Rose leaned in. "Oh wow. That's sneaky."
"Lazy," I corrected. "If you're going to cut corners, at least be smart about it."
She shook her head in admiration. "Remind me never to submit nonsense under your watch."
"Good plan."
She collected the finished files… approved on one side, disapproved on the other, and left me to it again.
More hours passed.
The sun shifted outside, light changing from bright to muted, shadows stretching across my desk. My legs ached. My butt definitely hurt. I alternated between sitting, standing, leaning against the desk, pacing again.
Rose popped in every so often.
"You okay?"
"Yes."
"Coffee refill?"
"Yes."
"Need a break?"
"No."
She smiled every time, shaking her head like she couldn't believe me.
And maybe she couldn't.
Because even I was surprised.
Somewhere between the third coffee and the fifth stack of papers, something inside me steadied. The noise in my head… the guilt, the anger, the regret, all faded into the background.
Here, I was sharp.
Here, I was in control.
I rejected what didn't meet the quota. I approved what deserved it. I didn't compromise. I didn't hesitate.
This was mine.
Finally, much later, Rose came in again, collecting another batch. She looked at the desk. Then at me. Then back at the desk.
"…Wow," she said softly. "You're amazing, ma'am."
I glanced at the remaining documents.
Only about a quarter of the pile was left.
The sight of it sent a slow, pleased warmth through my chest. Not relief… no, relief was too weak a word. This was satisfaction. The kind that settled deep in your bones, heavy and earned.
I leaned back in my chair, letting my head rest against the leather, eyes drifting shut for just a second. Exhaustion pressed down on me like a weighted blanket, but it wasn't unpleasant. It was the good kind, the kind that said you did something today. Something solid. Something that mattered.
A small smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it.
I opened my eyes and glanced at the clock mounted on the far wall.
3:00 PM.
My eyes widened.
"What—" I straightened abruptly, blinking at it like it might be lying. "Three?"
I stared again. Same time.
"Oh my God," I breathed, then laughed under my breath, disbelief laced with awe. "I really spent all that time in here."
Hours. Entire hours swallowed whole by numbers, clauses, margins, judgment calls.
I shook my head slowly, still smiling.
"…Worth it," I murmured.
Absolutely worth it.
The knock came barely a second later, sharp and polite.
Before I could answer, the door opened.
Rose.
Of course.
She peeked in first, eyes doing a quick scan of the office… the stacks, the scattered sticky notes, the empty coffee cups, me looking like someone who had gone twelve rounds with productivity and won.
"There you are," she said, stepping inside. "I figured."
I arched a brow. "You figured what?"
"That time had ceased to exist for you."
"Time is a social construct," I replied solemnly.
She snorted. "Uh-huh. Well, social construct or not, you have a meeting in ten minutes."
I blinked. "Ten?"
"Yes. Ten," she emphasized gently, like she was talking to a stubborn child. "Executive review."
I exhaled, rolling my shoulders. "Alright. Thank you for telling me."
She smiled, soft but proud. "You did amazing today."
"Still not done," I said, nodding toward the remaining files.
"They'll survive," Rose replied. "You won't if you keep going at this pace."
I laughed quietly. "Point taken."
She gave a small nod and slipped back out, closing the door behind her.
The office fell quiet again, but it felt different now. Less cocooned. Like the bubble had popped.
I moved quickly, muscle memory taking over. Laptop shut with a decisive click. Files stacked neatly… approved here, disapproved there. I slid the unfinished pile to the side, already mentally bookmarking where I'd left off.
I grabbed my purse, fingers curling around the familiar weight of it, grounding.
Then I stood.
My body protested immediately.
"Wow," I muttered, wincing as I stretched. "You'd think I was ninety."
I rolled my neck, adjusted my blazer, smoothed imaginary wrinkles that weren't there. Presentation mattered, even when you were running on caffeine and sheer willpower.
I stepped out of the office.
Rose was waiting, leaning against the wall, tablet tucked under her arm.
She straightened when she saw me. "Ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
She glanced at my laptop. "Let me take that."
"I've got it—"
"Seraphina."
I sighed dramatically. "You're very bossy for someone who works for me."
"And yet," she said, holding out her hands, "you're handing it over."
I hesitated, then passed her the laptop. "Fine. But I'm holding my purse."
She nodded easily. "Wouldn't dare touch it."
We fell into step together, heels clicking softly down the corridor.
The building felt alive now—voices echoing, doors opening and closing, the low hum of people moving with purpose. The air smelled faintly of polished floors and coffee, that distinct corporate scent that clung to everything.
As we rounded the corner toward the meeting wing, I exhaled slowly, bracing myself.
Then, I collided with a solid wall of a chest.
The impact jolted through me, my shoulder knocking into his arm. Papers rustled. Someone cursed softly.
"Sorry…" I began, then froze.
I looked up.
Adrian.
Of course it was Adrian.
His eyes met mine, surprise flashing for just a second before something unreadable slid into place.
My stomach sank.
I stepped back instinctively, grip tightening around my purse, jaw clenching.
"Seraphina," he said, like my name tasted familiar. Too familiar.
I didn't even bother forcing a smile. I turned slightly away, muttering under my breath as I passed him.
"Great. A perfect day ruined."