Debug my heart

Chapter 4: The Recovery Period

If Abigail’s brain were a server, it would have been flashing a CRITICAL ERROR: 500 message the moment her alarm went off. Her head felt like it had been used as a percussion instrument for a particularly aggressive drum circle. As the morning light hit her eyes, memories of the previous night returned in grainy, agonizingly high-definition clips.

“Grandpa Shark, doo-doo, doo-doo-doo...”

Abigail groaned into her pillow, the sound muffled by the duvet. She had a First Class degree in Software Engineering, and she had spent her first social outing in Canada performing an interpretative dance for a man who controlled a multi-billion-dollar tech empire.

"I have to move back to Seattle," she whispered. "I’ll change my name. I'll become a sheep farmer. No computers. No Alexander Collins."

But the "First Class" pride that had carried her through university wouldn't let her quit. She forced herself into a cold shower, dressed in a sharp navy blazer that felt like armor, and swallowed a massive dose of ibuprofen. By 8:55 AM, she was standing outside the glass-walled boardroom, clutching her tablet like a shield.

The 9:00 AM stand-up was a masterclass in professional torture.

Abigail sat in the back, her face flushed a permanent shade of crimson. At the head of the table, Alexander was the picture of corporate perfection in a charcoal-gray suit. His skin was clear, his eyes sharp, and his voice was as steady as a heartbeat. He didn't mention the singing. He didn't mention the dancing. He didn't even look at her twice as he ran through the sprint goals.

In fact, he treated her with such clinical, detached professionalism that it actually stung more than a reprimand would have. To him, it seemed, she was just another line of code in the system—efficient, but replaceable.

"And finally," Alexander’s voice cut through her thoughts. "The legacy refactoring was completed ahead of schedule by Ms. Johnson. Excellent work. I’ll be assigning her to the Aegis Project front-end beginning today."

Maya kicked Abigail’s foot under the table and mouthed, 'Told you.' But Abigail couldn't even manage a smile. She felt like a "Junior Engineer" in every sense of the word—small, inexperienced, and invisible.

The silence of the afternoon was shattered at 2:00 PM when the elevator doors opened and a gust of expensive perfume and cold authority swept into the office.

Abigail looked up from her monitors as a tall, elegant woman in an ivory silk suit marched through the "Pod" area. This was Mary Collins, the "Iron Lady" herself. Behind her walked a woman who looked like she had been carved from marble: Cynthia. She was effortlessly chic, her hair a perfect blonde wave, carrying herself with the quiet confidence of someone who had never had to "apply" for anything in her life.

Bringing up the rear was a man who looked like a more relaxed, sun-kissed version of Alexander. This was Louise.

Mary didn't even glance at the developers. She treated the open-concept office like a hallway on her way to something important. Abigail watched as the trio walked straight into Alexander’s private office. Through the floor-to-ceiling glass, she saw the "Ice King" actually stand up. He didn't just stand; he greeted Cynthia with a polite, familiar nod that suggested years of shared history.

Abigail felt a sudden, sharp pang in her chest. Standing there in her off-the-rack blazer, surrounded by lines of code, she felt like a "nobody" compared to the French-educated socialite currently laughing at something Alexander said.

"Rough day?"

Abigail jumped, nearly knocking over her water. Louise was leaning against the breakroom counter just a few feet away, watching her with a clinical, yet kind, intensity.

"I'm... just focused," Abigail lied.

"You're over-clocked," Louise corrected, his voice warm. "And if I’m not mistaken, you’re suffering from a Grade-A Gastown hangover. I’m Louise, by the way. Alexander’s friend and the person who usually has to fix what he breaks."

He reached into his leather bag and pulled out a specialized, medical-grade hydration pack. "Drink this. It’s what we give surgeons after a thirty-hour shift. It’ll clear that 'Grandpa Shark' fog in twenty minutes."

Abigail froze. "You... you heard about that?"

Louise grinned, and for the first time that day, Abigail felt like she could breathe. "Liam has a very loud mouth. But don't worry—Alexander’s been a 'Grandpa' since he was twelve. Someone needed to tell him."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping. "Don't let my mother or Cynthia intimidate you. They’re all about the 'legacy.' But Alexander? He’s always been more interested in the architecture of a thing than the gold plating on the outside."

An hour later, after Mary and her entourage had left, the office returned to its sterile quiet. Abigail was deep into the Aegis code when she noticed a shadow on her desk.

She looked up. Alexander was standing there. He didn't say a word. He simply placed a cup from the "pretentious" coffee machine on her coaster. It was a latte, the foam swirled into a perfect, tiny silhouette of a shark.

He lingered for a second too long, his gaze dropping to her mouth—the mouth that had been singing nonsense just hours before—and for a fleeting moment, the "Junior Engineer" felt the "Ice King" melt.

Alexander said softly, his voice for her ears only. Enjoy your coffee and Get back to work, Abigail. We have a world to encrypt.”