Avery felt the pressure the moment she stepped onto the fourteenth floor.

Not from anyone directly. No one looked at her the second she arrived. No one whispered her name immediately. But the *awareness* was there—like the air had shifted, like the building itself remembered every rumor whispered inside it.

She walked toward her desk with careful steps, hoping today might start quietly.

It didn’t.

Her lunch box.  

Her Protein box.

Both already waiting.

Both arranged neatly.  

Both untouched by anyone but the person who had sent them.

Avery’s pulse tightened. She sat slowly, wishing she could sink into her chair and disappear. She tucked her bag away, opened her laptop, and kept her eyes down.

But she felt it.

The glances.

Short, quick, pretending not to be glances at all.

She had just clicked open yesterday’s report when someone approached her desk.

“Morning, Collins,” a voice said—too light, too casual.

She looked up.

It was Megan from Accounts Review. She didn’t know Megan well, only enough to exchange polite greetings with her. Megan leaned against the edge of Avery’s desk like they were old friends, even though they weren’t.

“Busy morning?” Megan asked, sipping from her coffee.

Avery nodded cautiously. “Just getting started.”

“Right.” Megan tilted her head. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask…”

Avery stiffened.

Why did that sentence always come right before something she didn’t want to hear?

“…you go upstairs a lot, don’t you?”

Avery’s breath hitched.

“I—uh—sometimes,” she said softly.

“Sometimes?” Megan raised both eyebrows. “It seems like pretty much every day lately.”

Avery’s hands curled around her mouse. “I… I get assigned things.”

“Assigned.” Megan said the word like it tasted strange. “By him?”

Avery froze.

Megan lowered her voice, leaning in—not harsh, just nosy. “People are starting to wonder what you did to get on Reed’s radar so quickly.”

A cold wave broke across Avery’s chest.

“I didn’t… do anything,” she whispered.

Megan smiled in a way that wasn’t unkind but wasn’t kind either—curiosity sharpened at the edges.

“Relax. I’m not judging. I’m just saying… the rest of us have been here for years and never get asked for that kind of attention.”

Avery felt her throat tighten. “It’s just work.”

“Sure.” Megan shrugged. “Whatever you want to call it.”

Avery’s heart hammered. Her fingers shook. She kept her gaze fixed on her keyboard to hide the panic.

“Anyway,” Megan added, pushing away from the desk, “must be nice to be noticed.”

She walked off, leaving Avery sitting still as stone.

Must be nice.  

The words hit her harder than they should have.

She wasn’t enjoying this.  

She wasn’t asking for any of it.  

She wasn’t—

Her inbox pinged.

She already knew who it was.

—from: A.Reed  

subject: 10:00  

body: Bring the revised allocations.

Her breath caught.

Of course.

She gathered the documents with trembling hands. She prayed no one noticed the shake.

On her way to the elevator, she kept her eyes forward, but she still heard it:

“…told you, she’s going up again.”  

“Does she ever stay on this floor?”  

“Reed must really like her work.”

Avery wished she could believe that was all they meant.

When she reached the thirty-ninth floor, she inhaled slowly, letting the cooler air settle her nerves. She knocked.

“Come in,” Alexander said.

She stepped inside.

He turned immediately. Always.

“Avery.”

Her name came with a slight softening around his eyes—almost invisible, but she felt it.

“I brought the revised allocations,” she said.

“Good. Sit.”

She did.

He read the first page with calm concentration. She folded her hands tightly in her lap to stop them from shaking.

Alexander glanced up.

“What happened.”

Not a question. A statement. A recognition.

Avery looked down. “Nothing.”

“Avery.”

Her breath cracked.

“Megan…” She swallowed. “From Review. She made a comment.”

“What comment.”

“It’s not important.”

He waited. Silent. Steady.

“People think I’m going upstairs because… because of something else.”

Alexander’s jaw flexed.

“And what do *you* think?”

She froze. “Me?”

“Yes.” He held her gaze. “What do you think is happening here.”

Avery felt the floor drop beneath her.

“I don’t… know,” she whispered.

He didn’t look away. “You’re being asked for your work because I rely on it. Because I trust it.”

She stared at the table. “But they think I’m getting special treatment.”

“You’re getting my attention,” he said calmly. “Not special treatment.”

Her pulse jumped painfully.

She didn’t know what to do with that sentence.  

She didn’t know what it meant.  

She didn’t know how to breathe anymore.

She whispered, “I don’t want people to think I’m doing something wrong.”

“You’re not.”

“I don’t want people to think *you’re* doing something wrong.”

That made him pause.

For the first time in the conversation, something in his expression shifted—just slightly, but enough to make her chest tighten.

“Avery,” he said quietly, “you don’t protect me. I protect you.”

Her breath left her in one sharp exhale.

He continued, voice low, steady, dangerous in its certainty:

“If someone is out of line with you, I deal with it. You don’t.”

She couldn’t speak.

He set the packet down slowly, carefully—like grounding himself.

“Your work is strong,” he said. “Your judgment is dependable. That’s why you’re here.”

Avery nodded, but tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She blinked fast, trying to hide them.

Alexander noticed.

“Avery.”

She shook her head quickly. “I’m fine—I’m just tired.”

“You’re overwhelmed.”

She didn’t answer.

He leaned forward slightly. “Who said something to you.”

“No one directly,” she lied.

“Avery.”

She exhaled. “Just… comments. Questions. Things that make me feel like I’m doing something wrong even when I’m not.”

“You’re not.” His voice softened again. “Look at me.”

She lifted her eyes, slowly.

“None of this is your fault,” he said. “And if anyone is making it harder for you, I handle it. Not you.”

She swallowed. “I don’t want you to have to handle anything because of me.”

He held her gaze for a long moment.

“You’re not a burden,” he said.

Her breath shook. “I don’t want to be trouble.”

“You’re not trouble.”

She almost lost her composure.

He watched her—careful, quiet, protective—until she could breathe again.

When she finally stood to leave, he said her name.

“Avery.”

She turned.

“If anyone says something today—anything—you tell me.”

Her voice was barely there. “Okay.”

“And eat.” His tone softened. “All of it.”

She nodded, unable to think of anything else to do.

Back on the fourteenth floor, the whispers didn’t stop. They didn’t even slow.

“…I swear she goes up every hour.”  

“…she’s not even denying it.”  

“…how did she pull that off?”

Avery sat at her desk, heart tightening with every word, every glance, every assumption.

For the first time, she felt something heavier than embarrassment.

Something painful.

The fear that she was becoming a problem—  

for herself,  

for the team,  

for him.

But the only person who didn’t look at her like she was trouble  

was the one person she couldn’t allow herself to depend on.

And yet…  

he was the only one who made her feel steady.

The contradiction nearly broke her.