Thursday came too soon.
The morning air hummed with routine — the buzz of printers, the smell of coffee, the faint echo of heels against tile.
Amara had stayed up late perfecting her presentation. Every slide double-checked, every chart aligned. She wanted it to be flawless.
She arrived early, clutching her laptop, her pulse steady but quick.
When she entered the conference room, several department heads were already seated. Kael stood at the far end, flipping through papers. Damian was there too, casual but focused, his expression unreadable.
"Good morning," Amara greeted softly.
Her voice carried just enough to reach Kael. He glanced up, his gaze lingering for a heartbeat before he looked away.
She began the presentation. Her tone was calm, her pacing smooth. The room listened — really listened — something that rarely happened before.
Until the second-to-last slide flickered.
A line of data disappeared from the graph.
It was a small error — technical, harmless — but Kael's voice cut through the air like glass.
"What's this?"
Amara blinked, startled. "I— I think the chart didn't load properly. I'll fix it right away—"
"So you didn't check it before presenting?"
Her stomach twisted. "I did, sir. It must have—"
"Must have?" His voice rose slightly. "That's not an acceptable excuse."
The room went still.
Every heartbeat in Amara's chest echoed painfully loud.
"I'm sorry," she said softly, bowing her head. "I'll correct it after the meeting."
Damian's calm voice broke the silence. "It's a minor issue, Mr. Navarro. The report she sent last night was complete."
Kael didn't even look at him. "Small mistakes affect credibility, Mr. Sinclair. I expect my team to be thorough."
Something in Amara snapped quietly — not anger, but fatigue.
Her hands trembled at her sides, but she held her ground. "Understood."
Clariss hid a small smirk, but it vanished when one of the senior managers spoke.
"With all due respect, sir," Mr. Ruiz said, his tone sharp, "that's unnecessary. It's clearly a technical issue."
Another voice joined. "Miss Castellanos has always been precise. You don't need to scold her publicly."
A murmur of agreement followed.
Kael's expression froze.
Damian leaned back, his tone deceptively light. "Seems your team disagrees, Mr Navarro."
The words landed like quiet thunder.
For the first time, Kael realized the truth — no one in the room supported him.
No one thought Amara deserved his anger.
The silence that followed wasn't fear anymore. It was disapproval.
Amara straightened her posture. "I'll fix the slide right away. My apologies, everyone."
And before anyone could stop her, she gathered her laptop and walked out — calm, dignified, untouchable.
The door closed softly behind her.
Kael stood frozen, throat tight, surrounded by the quiet judgment of his colleagues.
He had humiliated her again. And for what?
A glitch. A misplaced line.
A wound he couldn't admit came from jealousy.
That night, the city glittered beyond the glass walls of his office.
Kael sat alone, the lights of skyscrapers flickering like distant stars. His desk was empty except for a half-finished glass of whiskey.
He could still hear the whispers that followed him after the meeting.
"Kael went too far."
"Amara didn't deserve that."
"Even Mr. Sinclair looked ready to step in."
Each comment hit harder than the last.
He leaned back, eyes half-closed, and the taste of regret bitter on his tongue.
He hadn't meant to hurt her. He didn't even know why he did it.
It wasn't about the presentation. It wasn't about work.
It was about her.
About the way she smiled at Damian.
About the way she no longer smiled at him.
When had he become this petty? This cruel?
He pressed a hand over his eyes, exhaling sharply.
She hadn't cried this time.
She hadn't looked at him, hadn't pleaded.
She had simply walked away.
And somehow, that silence hurt more than any argument ever could.
He could almost hear her voice from that night at the door — calm, distant.
"I'm tired, Kael. Let's not do this tonight."
The words haunted him now, echoing in the quiet.
He stared at the city — bright, beautiful, and far away — and whispered, almost to himself:
"When did she stop looking at me like I was her world?"
The words hung in the air, unanswered.
Because the truth was simple.
Somewhere between pride and fear, he had lost her.
And by the time he realized it…
she was already gone.