Under his control

CHAPTER 4 The First Late Night

Location: Open Space, 24th Floor

The building emptied gradually, like a body withdrawing its vital forces for the night. Footsteps thinned out. Voices disappeared. Lights shut off one by one, leaving the twenty-fourth floor in a strange, almost intimate silence.

I was still there.

The laptop screen burned my eyes, yet I didn’t dare close it. Project K stretched across my monitor in charts and notes that were beginning to blur together. My neck ached. I needed a break.

And yet something kept me glued to the chair.

I knew what.

My gaze drifted—unwillingly—toward his office. The light was on. The door was open.

He hadn’t called me. Hadn’t asked for anything. But knowing he was there, only a few meters away, made the air feel heavier. As if his presence dictated my rhythm without words.

I checked the time. 21:43.

“I’ll leave in five minutes,” I told myself.

A small, comfortable lie.

“Still here?”

His voice caught me off guard. I flinched slightly and turned. He was leaning against his office doorway, jacket tossed over the back of his chair, shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Relaxed. As if the night belonged to him.

“Yes,” I said. “Just checking something.”

He looked at my screen from a distance, then back at me.

“You haven’t checked anything in ten minutes.”

Heat rushed to my face.

“I was analyzing.”

“Overanalyzing is a form of avoidance,” he said calmly.

He stepped out of his office and approached. His footsteps were nearly silent on the carpet. He stopped behind me, close enough that I felt him there—without being touched.

“Why are you avoiding leaving?” he asked.

I hesitated.

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he said quietly. “You finished what you had to do. And yet you’re still here.”

A shiver ran up my spine. The way he read me so easily was unsettling.

And exciting in a way I refused to acknowledge.

“Because…” I started, then stopped.

“Because?” he pressed, moving slightly closer.

His breath brushed near my ear. My hands tightened around the edge of the desk.

“Because I want it to be good,” I said finally.

He let out a short laugh—not mocking.

“That’s what you always say.”

“‘You’?” I asked.

“People who want to impress,” he replied. “People who think their value increases with every extra hour spent here.”

He leaned slightly, bracing one hand on the desk beside me. I felt the shift in my body.

“And it doesn’t?” I challenged.

“It does,” he said. “But not like this.”

I looked up at him. His eyes were dark. Focused.

“Then how?”

“Through clarity,” he said. “Through limits.”

The word hit me with quiet irony.

“You just asked me to be available anytime,” I reminded him.

“Professionally,” he corrected. “Don’t confuse things.”

His gaze dropped briefly to my lips, then lifted again. My stomach tightened.

“Although…” he added, “people tend to confuse things anyway.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Charged. I suddenly needed distance. I stood up.

“I think I should go,” I said.

“I think you should,” he agreed.

But he didn’t move.

I passed by him, feeling his body only inches from mine. His warmth lingered a fraction too long. I held my breath until I reached my bag.

“Tomorrow,” he said as I gathered my things, “I want a clear report. No soft edges.”

“Alright.”

“And one more thing.”

I paused.

“Don’t get used to staying late for me,” he said calmly. “I don’t want you confusing things.”

I turned toward him.

“I’m not confusing anything.”

His smile was slow. Knowing.

“Not yet.”

I left the open space with my heart beating far too fast for an ordinary work night. The elevator descended slowly, and my reflection in the mirrored walls looked… different.

Tired. Lit from within. Disturbed.

And somewhere behind those glass doors, I knew he was still there.

Watching.