Frederico Grey Volkov
The day passed with surgical precision.
Work was work, and I made sure of it. Liliana performed excellently — organized, sharp, and quietly efficient despite the obvious tension radiating from her body every time she entered my office. I kept our interactions strictly professional in front of others. No unnecessary words. No lingering touches. Just enough eye contact to remind her I was watching.
By 10 p.m., the executive floor was empty. The cleaning crew had come and gone. Only the low hum of the city far below remained.
A soft knock sounded on my door.
“Come in.”
Liliana stepped inside, tablet clutched to her chest like a shield. She looked exhausted but still unfairly beautiful — blouse slightly wrinkled from the long day, hair no longer perfectly neat, a fe
