Avery wasn’t late, but she wasn’t early either.

She walked into the office at a normal time—something she used to do without a second thought. But ever since the whispers began, "normal" had stopped feeling safe. It felt exposed, like walking into a room already mid-conversation.

The fourteenth floor was bright and busy, voices layering over each other. For a moment, she thought maybe today would be different. Maybe people had moved on.

Then she reached her desk.

Two containers again. Lunch and Protein.

Her breath stilled.

She looked at them as if they might vanish if she blinked hard enough. But they didn’t. They stayed exactly where they were, silent, deliberate, unmistakably meant for her.

Someone passed behind her.

“…yeah, that’s definitely new.”  

“He’s not subtle anymore.”

Avery’s stomach tightened so suddenly she had to grip the back of her chair to stay grounded.

She sat, setting her bag down with careful movements. If she moved too suddenly, someone might notice. If she moved too slowly, someone might notice. Everything she did felt like it came with an audience.

She reached for her mouse, trying to settle into emails.

Her inbox pinged.

—from: A.Reed  

subject: 10:15  

body: Bring projections. Room 39.4.

She inhaled, trying to steady the rush in her chest.

He always asked. She always went. That was the routine now. But it didn’t make the attention from the room any quieter.

As she prepared the packet, she heard two voices near the printer.

“She’s really milking it, isn’t she?”  

“Wouldn’t you? I mean, if the CEO’s giving her special treatment—”  

“Special? She’s basically being escorted to the top.”

Avery froze.

The paper she was holding slipped slightly in her hands.

Milking it.

Escorted to the top.

Those weren’t curious words. Those weren’t observations.

Those were accusations.

Avery set the papers down before they slid from her fingers. She didn’t turn. She didn’t want to know who said it.

Her pulse beat hard and uneven as she walked toward the elevator.

By the time she reached the thirty-ninth floor, she had gotten her breathing mostly under control. But her hands still trembled when she knocked.

“Come in,” Alexander said.

She stepped inside.

He was at the table, but he turned immediately—too quickly. The same instinctive reaction every time he saw her.

“Avery.”

Just one word, but her body reacted to it before her mind could catch up.

She handed him the projections. “Updated figures.”

“Good.” He took them. “Sit.”

She obeyed.

He scanned the first pages with quiet focus. She tried to look composed. Tried to slow her breathing. But he glanced up once, then again—small, quick looks she wished she could hide from.

“You’re tense,” he said.

Avery flinched. “Just a lot going on.”

He didn’t accept that. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” she said too quickly.

“Avery.”

Just her name, but enough to unravel her composure.

She looked down at her hands. “People are… saying things.”

He didn’t speak.

She continued, voice thin. “Not just watching. Not just guessing. Real things. About me. About why I’m being called up so much.”

Alexander’s jaw tightened. “What kind of things.”

She hesitated.

He waited.

The silence told her avoiding the answer wasn’t an option.

“…that I’m getting special treatment.”  

“That I’m using it.”  

“That I’m…” She swallowed hard. “Milking it.”

Alexander went still.

Not dramatically still—he didn’t slam the packet, didn’t raise his voice—but something in the air dropped, sharp and heavy.

His next words were low. Controlled. Too controlled.

“That won’t continue.”

Avery’s breath caught. “You can’t stop people from talking.”

“I can control what they think they can get away with.”

Her pulse stumbled. He wasn’t angry at her. He was angry for her. And somehow that made everything inside her twist tighter.

She shook her head. “You don’t have to—”

“Yes,” he said, quiet but absolute. “I do.”

She swallowed, throat thick. “It’s fine. I just… I don’t want people to think—”

“They don’t get to decide what this is.”

Avery froze.

What this is.

He didn’t correct himself.

He didn’t backtrack.

He just held her gaze for one long, unbroken moment—long enough that she forgot how to breathe.

Then he lowered his voice. “You’re not doing anything wrong. And you’re not asking for anything.”

Avery’s voice trembled. “But people think—”

“Let them think,” he said. “They’re wrong.”

She didn’t know what to do with the certainty in his tone. It felt too steady. Too personal.

He turned the page slowly, deliberately, as if grounding himself.

“Your projection adjustments are accurate,” he said.

The shift back to work was so sudden she almost didn’t follow. But his voice was gentler now, lower, as if calming a flame he had no intention of showing the world.

“You caught the supplier lag,” he continued. “And the rollover variance.”

She forced her voice to steady. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said quietly.

She looked up.

He was watching her carefully, like trying to read every unspoken thought on her face.

“You handle pressure well,” he said. “Even when it’s undeserved.”

“It’s… a lot,” she admitted.

“I know.”

Her breath stilled. He said it like someone who truly did know. Like someone who had been paying attention longer than she realized.

Someone walked by the glass wall. Avery stiffened instantly.

Alexander’s gaze flicked to the movement. Hard. Quick. Protective.

He lowered his voice. “Avery.”

She looked at him again.

“You don’t have to face this alone.”

Her heart pulled tight. “I’m trying not to let it get to me.”

“It’s getting to you,” he said softly.

The honesty of it made her throat ache.

She stood slowly, needing air. “I should—finish the Q2 cleanup before the afternoon meeting.”

“Avery.”

She stopped at the door.

He didn’t move toward her. He didn’t soften his posture. But his voice—quiet, steady, and painfully sincere—reached her anyway.

“You’re doing well.”

Her pulse stuttered.

“And if anyone crosses a line,” he added, “you tell me immediately.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Immediately,” he repeated.

Her fingers tightened around the door handle. “I will.”

She stepped out of the room before the pressure in her chest became too much.

The elevator ride back down felt too short. The moment the doors opened, she could hear the air shift around her. Conversations flattening. Pausing. Resuming in lowered tones.

“…she doesn’t even deny it anymore.”  

“…well, would you? With the attention she gets?”

Avery walked faster.

She sat at her desk and stared at her lunch boxes—both of them—feeling the sharp sting of something new.

Not anger.  

Not fear.  

Not embarrassment.

Something heavier.

The realization that no matter how much she tried to stay small…

People were going to decide their version of her anyway.

And the only person who seemed to see her clearly  

was the one person she wasn’t supposed to reach for.