The Measure of Worth

The Introduction

The hum of office chatter filled the marketing department as Calliope walked toward her workstation. The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, blending with the subtle traces of perfume samples scattered across the desks. She sat down and powered on her computer, her fingers poised over the keyboard, ready to begin the day.

Today felt different. The tasks assigned to her had shifted from simple errands to actual responsibilities, and she could already feel the pressure settling in. The marketing head had given her a detailed report to analyze—sales trends from last week’s Celestique perfume launch. The entire team was monitoring the numbers closely, and as she scrolled through the data, she could sense the weight of it all.

The company's reputation was built on precision, strategy, and success. Every figure, every percentage, every minor fluctuation in sales mattered. She needed to ensure her reports were accurate, her observations useful. The thought alone was enough to make her shoulders tense.

Just as she was about to jot down her first set of notes, something—or rather, someone—pulled her out of focus.

A gaze.

Her eyes lifted, and she found herself staring straight into a pair of dark, unreadable eyes from across the room. The man sitting opposite her didn’t waver, his gaze steady and unwavering. He was composed, almost detached, and yet there was something piercing about the way he looked at her.

The chairman’s son.

Calli stiffened. She had seen him before, but they had never spoken. Unsure of how to react, she stood abruptly and lowered her head in a bow, defaulting to the politeness she had seen in other cultures.

The man— if she remembered correctly—let out a short, dry chuckle. His voice was smooth yet distant when he spoke.

“We don’t bow like that. A nod will do.”

She straightened immediately. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lee.”

At that, his expression shifted slightly, almost imperceptibly, before a hint of amusement crossed his face. “You know who I am?”

“Of course,” she replied flatly. “You’re the chairman’s son. Everyone knows you.”

He leaned back in his chair, watching her with a look she couldn’t quite place. “And yet, I don’t know you.”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she let his words settle in the air between them, cold and indifferent, before she finally responded.

“I’m just an intern.”

He exhaled slowly, as if he found something about this exchange mildly irritating. Then, with a slow shake of his head, he said, “Drop the formalities. Just call me Daiven.”

She hesitated. There was something about the way he spoke—casual, yet distant, as if he couldn’t be bothered with pretenses.

He extended a hand toward her. The gesture was effortless, but she noticed how he didn’t smile, didn’t force any warmth into it. It was simply a handshake, nothing more.

For a moment, she considered ignoring it. Not out of disrespect, but because she wasn’t sure if she wanted to entertain the familiarity he was trying to establish. But in the end, she reached out, her grip firm yet brief.

His hand was cold.

“And you are?” he asked, his tone unreadable.

“Calliope Montecarlos,” she answered with practiced neutrality. “Calli for short.”

“Calli,” he echoed, testing the name before nodding. “Alright.”

There was a pause, one that neither of them bothered to fill.

Then, just as quickly as he had appeared in front of her, Daiven turned and settled into an empty office seat nearby. He didn’t say another word.

Calli exhaled and returned to her work, her fingers gliding across the keyboard, her thoughts only slightly disrupted by the lingering presence of the chairman’s son sitting beside her.

---

She exhaled slowly as she leaned back against her chair, stretching her fingers after hours of typing, analyzing, and cross-referencing numbers. The morning had passed in a blur, and though she had managed to get through a bulk of her tasks, she still felt slightly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information she needed to process.

Break time had come and gone, and most of her colleagues had returned to their workstations. The office was back to its usual rhythm—a mixture of keystrokes, low conversations, and the occasional sound of printers at work.

She glanced at her monitor, scrolling through the latest sales data for Celestique’s newest perfume. The launch had been successful so far, but there were fluctuations in different markets, and it was her job to track and report them. Her head was starting to ache from all the numbers, but she pushed through.

Then, her attention drifted—unintentionally, of course—to the man sitting across from her.

The chairman's son.

He had been there for hours now, supposedly part of the marketing team, yet he hadn’t done much of anything. His posture was relaxed, one elbow propped on the armrest while his other hand scrolled lazily on his computer mouse.

Calli squinted slightly, trying to get a glimpse of what he was looking at. It wasn’t a report, nor was it an email. The formatting was different—too bold, too structured for corporate work.

She shifted slightly in her seat, just enough to get a better look.

A Muay Thai training guide.

Her brows furrowed. What?

She looked again. This time, it was a Taekwondo technique manual.

A small frown tugged at her lips. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. If anything, he seemed completely at ease, casually reading self-defense guides as if he had all the time in the world.

What exactly is he doing here?

Shouldn’t he be in a much higher position, considering he was the chairman’s son? He didn’t seem to have a specific role in the marketing department, nor did he appear particularly interested in the work.

She returned to her screen, pretending to focus on her work, but a small part of her remained distracted.

Why is he here?

---

Daiven sighed internally as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes flicking toward the screen in front of him.

His fingers idly tapped against the desk. His father’s assistant had told him to "observe and learn." But learn what, exactly? How to sit in front of a computer all day?

In the middle of his thoughts, for some reason, he found himself watching her.

She was completely focused, unaware of anything around her, eyebrows slightly furrowed in concentration.

Then, as if sensing his stare, she suddenly looked up.

And she quickly looked away returning to her business

---

Daiven smirked slightly, not sure why he found that amusing.

He exhaled and turned back to his own screen, opening a different tab. If he was going to be stuck here, he might as well do something that actually interested him.

His fingers moved over the trackpad as he scrolled through a Muay Thai guide. Fighting techniques, stance corrections, power drills—much more interesting than whatever sales report was being analyzed at the moment.

But before he could get too absorbed in his reading, he noticed something.

A subtle movement from the corner of his eye.

The intern was trying to sneak a glance at his screen.

His smirk deepened.

Without hesitation, he closed the tab, straightened his posture, and cleared his throat just enough to catch her attention.

She stiffened slightly.

Busted.

He turned toward her, amused. "What are you working on?"

She hesitated before answering, then launched into a detailed explanation—too detailed, honestly.

She talked about numbers, graphs, projected sales, marketing impact. She was saying a lot, but to him, it was just....

Boring.

His expression must have shifted slightly because she suddenly stopped.

"You don’t understand any of that? Do you?" she asked politely.

He tilted his head slightly and pretending he doesn't have an idea. “I don't understand it.”

"Do you need help with it? Maybe I can help a little" he asked, mostly out of politeness.

She shook her head immediately. "No. I can handle it"

Daiven didn’t push further. He could tell she was the type to take work seriously—maybe too seriously.

Just as the conversation faded, Ms. Estell, the head of marketing, suddenly called out to him.

From across the room, Ms. Estell Wong, the head of marketing, had been keeping an eye on them. He didn’t know if she had overheard their conversation, but something about her expression was telling.

“Since you have so much free time, you can assist in analyzing the latest sales reports.”

He resisted the urge to sigh. Free? Was that her way of saying since you’re doing nothing?

Ms. Estell handed him a thick stack of papers. “You’re part of the team now. And you’re expected to work, like everyone else.”

Daiven looked down at the thick pile of papers, then back up at Ms. Estell. His expression didn’t change, but there was something in his eyes—mild amusement, perhaps.

For a brief second, It wouldn’t surprise him if the chairman himself had told his employees not to give his son special treatment and that is exactly what he wanted.

Daiven, to his credit, didn’t protest. Instead, he let out a small breath and pulled the stack of papers toward

He worked quickly. Numbers, percentages, fluctuations—none of it was difficult for him. He had a sharp mind, and even if he didn’t enjoy this, he understood it easily.

Within barely an hour, he was finished.

Without hesitation, he stood up, walked over to Ms. Estell’s desk, and handed in his completed reports.

She flipped through the pages briefly.

"Good work."

That was it.

No complaints, no corrections.

Daiven turned, when he felt someone watching him.

He glanced sideways.

The intern—Calli Montecarlos.

She was staring at him, her expression unreadable.

He smirked. He could see the doubt in her eyes.

That made him smirk even more.

Turning away, he leaned back in his chair, stretching slightly.

She was interesting.

She took things too seriously, worked too hard, and probably thought too much.

But for some reason, he didn’t mind it.

And that, in itself, was something new.

---

Calli's doubtful thoughts

To her surprise, he got to work immediately. His movements were efficient, methodical, and—fast.

Faster than her.

It took him barely an hour to finish everything.

Calli stared as he stood up, gathered the documents, and walked over to Ms. Estell’s office to submit them. He didn’t say a word—just placed the files on her desk and turned away.

Ms. Estell glanced through his work, flipping through the pages.

Then, with a satisfied nod, she said, “Good work.”

That was it.

Calli frowned slightly.

Something about how quickly he finished made her skeptical. Either he’s incredibly smart, or he rushed through it.

She shook her head and returned to her work, but now, Daiven Lee was an even bigger enigma than before.