Avery arrived earlier than usual the next morning, partly because she wanted a quieter start, partly because she didn’t want to walk into the office at the same time the mystery lunch might appear again. The thought had kept her awake longer than she cared to admit. She’d tried to tell herself it didn’t matter, that it was all in her head, but she couldn’t shake the sense that something about the situation wasn’t normal.

The lights on the fourteenth floor were still half-dimmed, a soft ambient glow replacing the usual bright office glare. A few early risers sat scattered across the space, headphones on, sipping coffee with an intensity that suggested survival rather than enjoyment. Avery slipped into her seat, set her bag down, and took a slow breath. Just work. She could do work. Work didn’t involve guessing the motives of anyone she had never spoken to.

She clicked through her inbox, responding to small requests, organizing training folders the way Jenna had shown her. She was deep in a spreadsheet when a shadow crossed her desk.

She looked up.

Another white box. Same size. Same seal. Same printed label with her name.

Her stomach tightened.

She checked the office—again, no one looking her way, no one acting like this was unusual. She pressed her fingertips lightly against the lid, as if confirming it was real.

“Morning,” Jenna said, passing by with a notebook. “Your meal’s here again.”

Avery managed a sound that wasn’t quite a word. “Right.”

“You really don’t need to look so alarmed,” Jenna said. “Someone wants you to have fuel. Let them.”

The casualness of it only made the situation stranger. Avery waited until Jenna walked away before opening the box.

Today’s meal looked even more intentional—salmon, quinoa, greens tossed in a citrus dressing, a small side of fruit. She’d never eaten anything like this on a weekday morning in her life.

She lifted the fruit cup, checked again for any kind of explanation. Nothing.

When she finally took the first bite, she told herself she would just enjoy it. No spiraling. No theories. Just food.

But theories had a way of slipping in anyway.

Someone upstairs has to approve it.

Jenna’s voice echoed from yesterday.

Someone wants you functioning at your best.

It made no sense. She was a new hire. She had no track record, no special responsibilities, no reason to stand out. If anything, she was trying very hard to be unnoticed.

Her chat pinged.

Jenna: Quick question—after lunch, can you join the 1:30 meeting? Just to observe.

Avery typed back: Yes, of course!

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Then: Thank you.

She closed the chat and pushed the box a little to the side. At least she wouldn’t be hungry later.

Around eleven, someone tapped lightly on her cubicle wall.

She turned.

It was the same Reed Dining staff member from yesterday, tablet in hand.

“Hi. Just confirming delivery. Any issues with today’s meal?”

“No,” Avery said. “It was… good.”

He nodded, tapping his screen.

“Just so you know,” he added, tone almost conspiratorial, “your program was flagged as high-priority. If the meals ever don’t arrive, let us know immediately.”

Avery blinked. “High-priority?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She opened her mouth to ask more, but he was already moving down the hallway, checking a list that didn’t seem to include anyone else on her floor.

High-priority.

She sat down slowly, pulse fluttering again. Her first instinct was to check if this was some kind of mistake, but if two meals had arrived in two days—if someone had actually flagged her—then it… wasn’t.

She reached for her phone and typed to Riley.

So I got another one.

Riley: Another WHAT? A raise? A boyfriend? A mysterious billionaire sugar-daddy?

Avery sighed.

A meal.

Riley: …okay. And???

Avery: It’s supposedly part of some “program.” But no one else on my floor gets it. And the delivery guy said mine is high-priority.

Riley: Girl. GIRL. This is not normal office behavior.

Avery: That’s what I’m afraid of.

Riley: Or excited about 👀 depends who’s sending it.

Avery: Definitely not excited.

Riley: Uh-huh. And who EXACTLY did you see yesterday on the 17th floor?

Avery’s breath caught.

Avery: Riley. No.

Riley: Just saying rich man. rolled sleeves. intense eyebrows. You know.

Avery set her phone face down, cheeks heating even though no one could see the conversation.

It wasn’t him. Obviously it wasn’t him. CEOs did not select random employees for meal plans. They didn’t know who new hires were. They didn’t have time to know.

She spent the next hour trying very hard to redirect her thoughts to numbers, deadlines, and the list of upcoming training modules.

At one thirty, she followed Jenna into a glass conference room. A handful of managers and analysts were already seated, laptops open. Avery chose a chair in the corner, quiet and unobtrusive, exactly where she felt safest.

She was opening her notebook when the room shifted, subtly, like air responding to gravity.

Someone had stepped in.

Avery didn’t have to look to know who it was. She felt it more than saw it—the sudden focus, the silent straightening of backs around the table. She forced herself to lift her eyes.

Alexander Reed entered without announcement, holding a tablet, expression unreadable. He greeted the room with a curt nod, then took the seat at the head of the table.

Avery’s pulse thudded once, hard, before settling into a jittery rhythm.

He didn’t look at her. Not once.

Which made it worse somehow.

The meeting proceeded efficiently. Alexander spoke clearly, concisely, with the kind of precision that made every sentence feel intentional. Avery tried to follow along, taking notes she wasn’t sure she’d understand later.

About halfway through, Jenna leaned slightly toward her and whispered, “Don’t worry. He’s always like this.”

Avery nodded, though she wasn’t worried about his demeanor.

She was worried about the tightening feeling in her chest—an awareness she didn’t ask for, didn’t want, didn’t know how to interpret.

When the meeting ended, chairs scraped back, people gathered papers, conversations resumed. Alexander stood, scrolling his tablet.

And then—

He paused.

Barely a second. Barely a shift.

His eyes lifted. They swept the room.

And for a fraction of a moment, they passed over her.

Not recognizing.  

Not questioning.  

Just… landing there.

Avery froze, breath caught somewhere between her ribs.

Then he looked away and walked out the door.

She let the air out slowly, quietly, hoping no one noticed.

Back at her desk, she sat down and told herself not to overreact. Don’t assign meaning. Don’t assume anything. Don’t build stories out of coincidences.

Except…

The meal box sat on the corner of her desk.

High-priority.

Not a mistake.

Not random.

Not automated.

She swallowed hard.

Something was happening.

And she was the last person in the entire building to understand what it was.