Avery arrived earlier than usual the next morning, hoping—irrationally—that coming in before everyone else would make the day feel normal. Or at least quieter. She had spent the night replaying too many conversations she wished she hadn’t overheard.

“She must’ve caught his attention.”  

“It’s definitely her.”  

“He looked at her first.”

She buried her face in her hands at the memory.

It wasn’t that anyone had said something cruel. They hadn’t. But curiosity was its own kind of pressure, heavy in a way she didn’t know how to carry.

When she stepped onto the fourteenth floor, the lights were still waking up. Only a handful of monitors were on. The silence was comforting—briefly.

Then she saw it.

Her lunch box.

Waiting for her.

Perfectly placed. Delivered even earlier than she was.

Avery stopped in her tracks. The sight should’ve made her feel reassured. Instead, today, it made her feel exposed. Like the box itself was a spotlight aimed directly at her.

She sat slowly, setting her bag down carefully, as if moving too loudly might draw attention that wasn’t even here yet.

She didn’t open the lunch. She couldn’t.

Not when her mind kept circling around the same thought:

If everyone already thinks something is happening… why does it still feel impossible that anything actually is?

A notification pinged on her screen. A Calendar hold.

—Meeting: Variance Review  

—Time: 10:00 a.m.  

—From: A.Reed

Her stomach tightened.

He never added a hold just for her.

The title wasn’t unusual. The sender wasn’t surprising. But him scheduling it like this—quiet, direct, unmistakably personal—was new.

Avery took a slow breath, steadying herself as the office gradually filled. Conversations began picking up. Chairs slid. Coffee machines hummed.

Then came the moment she had been dreading.

Two associates walked past her desk, talking softly but not softly enough.

“I heard she’s going up again today.”  

“Obviously. Reed practically has her on a dedicated route.”

Avery felt her face heat.

She forced herself to focus on her spreadsheet until her vision stopped blurring around the edges.

Around nine-thirty, Jenna approached her desk.

“Collins. Reed’s team confirmed the meeting. He wants the final draft by ten, and he said you’ll bring it.”

Avery’s throat tightened. “Okay.”

Jenna hesitated, tapping her knuckles lightly on the desk. “If people start saying things… remember you can redirect anything to me. You don’t deal with that alone.”

Avery blinked. “People are saying things?”

Jenna’s expression answered the question for her.

Avery lowered her eyes. “Thank you. Really.”

“Just keep doing your work,” Jenna said gently. “The rest sorts itself out.”

Avery wished she believed that.

When she finished the draft and printed it, her hands shook just slightly. Not enough for anyone else to notice—but she noticed.

In the elevator, she tried to calm her breathing. She smoothed her blouse twice. She told herself over and over that this was just like every other day.

But when she stepped onto the CEO floor, the quiet hit her differently. More intense. More observant.

She reached the analysis room and knocked softly.

“Come in,” Alexander said.

She entered, closing the door behind her. He stood by the large digital display again, but turned the moment he recognized her steps.

“Avery.”

Her pulse jumped at how quietly he said her name. As if he’d been waiting to say it.

“I brought the variance draft,” she said, keeping her voice steady.

“Good. Set it here.”

She placed the packet on the table. Alexander opened it, scanning with the focus she had come to recognize—the way his brow relaxed slightly when something aligned with his expectation, the faint tension when something didn’t.

“You adjusted the anomalies from the vendor transition,” he said.

“Yes. The dates lined up with the revised contracts.”

“Smart.” He turned to the next page. “You caught the allocation shift.”

“I wasn’t sure if it mattered.”

“It does,” he said instantly. “It tells us where the pattern breaks.”

She swallowed.

He flipped another page. “Your consistency is rare.”

The words hit her with quiet force. Avery lowered her gaze, unable to hold his.

He noticed.

“Avery.”

Her head lifted involuntarily.

“You don’t have to downplay your work,” he said softly. “Not with me.”

She felt the air shift between them—small, but undeniable.

Before she could respond, a shadow passed by the glass wall. Two people walking, voices faintly audible.

“Is that her again?”  

“Yeah. That’s her.”

She stiffened.

Alexander’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Ignore it.”

“I’m trying,” she whispered.

He set the packet down, stepping back slightly—giving her room, even if he didn’t want to.

“There’s a meeting at two again,” he said. “Your insights will be useful.”

She nodded. “Do you… want me to prepare anything?”

“No.” His gaze met hers, steady and unyielding. “Just bring what you see.”

Her chest tightened.

As she turned to leave, he said her name again—low, deliberate.

“Avery.”

She paused.

His voice dropped. “If anything—anything—crosses a line, you come to me.”

Her breath caught. “People aren’t being unkind. They’re just… curious.”

“That’s enough,” he said. “You don’t handle it alone.”

He was repeating himself, and she realized it wasn’t because he thought she didn’t hear him.

It was because he thought she wouldn’t believe it.

She nodded slowly. “Okay.”

His gaze softened—barely, but she felt it.

“Good.”

When she stepped out, she felt warm and unsteady at the same time.

She took the elevator down, clutching her notebook like it might hold her together.

By lunchtime, more whispers circled her.

“She’s always on forty.”  

“They meet every day now.”  

“Reed never calls anyone up this often.”

Every time she heard something, her chest tightened another notch.

She opened her lunch mechanically, though she barely tasted anything. The food was good—always was—but she couldn’t process it today. Not when every bite felt like an acknowledgement of something she couldn’t say aloud.

Around two, she walked into the meeting room.

Every head didn’t turn, but enough did to make her stomach knot.

Alexander entered moments later. His eyes flicked to her—so fast anyone else would’ve missed it, except someone didn’t.

“Did you see that?” someone whispered under their breath. “He always looks at her first.”

Avery’s heartbeat stumbled.

The meeting continued, and she tried to focus. She gave a short explanation when asked. Alexander referenced her work more than once. Each time, the room shifted subtly—not in judgment, but in curiosity. Quiet, collective curiosity.

When the meeting ended, people left slowly, some glancing between her and Alexander.

He waited until most were gone before speaking to her.

“You did well,” he said.

“I didn’t say much.”

“You didn’t need to.”

He paused, then added quietly, “Don’t let noise get to you.”

She exhaled shakily. “I’m trying.”

“I know.” His voice softened again. “You’re not alone in this.”

Her heart stuttered.

She left the room before she forgot how to breathe.

On her way back to the fourteenth floor, she heard someone in the hallway murmur:

“There has to be something going on.”

She kept walking.

She didn’t know how to explain the truth—that nothing had happened, not in the way people assumed. But something was happening. Something real. Something she wasn’t ready to face, yet couldn’t deny anymore.

Back at her desk, she stared at her lunch box again. It wasn’t just a box. It wasn’t just a kindness. It wasn’t just routine.

It was a line.

A line she hadn’t drawn.  

A line she wasn’t sure she understood.  

A line everyone else already saw.

She closed her eyes and let out a breath she’d been holding all day.

Maybe the problem wasn’t that people noticed the line.

Maybe it was that she did too.