(Elara POV)
The joke lands behind me before I realize it's about me.
I'm halfway down the corridor outside the conference rooms, folder tucked under my arm, when Marcus's voice carries loud, unbothered, already smiling at his own cleverness.
"I mean," he says, "if I looked like that, I'd get people bending rules for me too."
Laughter follows.
I stop walking.
For a second, I consider pretending I didn't hear it. That's my instinct keep moving, don't react, don't give them the satisfaction.
Then someone adds, "Careful, Marcus. She might hear you."
Marcus laughs again. "Relax. I'm complimenting her."
I turn.
The group is gathered loosely near the break area Marcus leaning against the counter, coffee in hand, three others half-listening, half-amused. Tessa stands just to the side, arms folded, watching with open interest.
Marcus grins when he sees me.
"There she is," he says, eyes sweeping over me in a way that makes my skin prickle. "Speak of the devil."
My throat tightens, but my voice comes out steady. "Is there something you need?"
"Nah," he replies easily. "Just saying you've got presence. Must make things… easier."
Easier?
The word sticks.
Tessa tilts her head, lips curving into something sympathetic. "Marcus, stop. You're being inappropriate."
She sounds amused.
He raises his hands in mock surrender. "What? I'm just noticing. Guys notice."
His gaze flicks pointedly down the corridor toward Alex's office.
Something cold slides into my chest.
"I don't appreciate being talked about like that," I say quietly.
The laughter fades slowly. The discomfort starts to take over me.
Marcus studies me for a moment, then shrugs. "Hey, don't get defensive. I'd kill for that kind of attention."
I turn away before my face can betray me.
Behind me, Tessa's voice floats out, soft and thoughtful.
"She is very… magnetic."
That afternoon, the story mutates.
It doesn't stay a joke.
By the time I'm back at my desk, it's a whisper.
By mid-afternoon, it's a pattern.
I hear my name too often cut off mid-sentence, spoken softly, paired with glances that slide away when I look up. People stop by my desk less. When they do, they keep the conversation strictly professional, eyes flicking around as if they don't want to be seen lingering.
At one point, I pass the small meeting room and hear Tessa's voice through the glass.
"I'm not saying she does not do it on purpose," she's saying, tone gentle, reasonable. "You know men tend to… respond.."
Someone hums in agreement.
Another voice adds, "Especially when you stay late."
My stomach twists. I speed up my walking pace before i could hear anything else that i could not bear
Later, in the copy room, Marcus corners me casually, blocking the exit with his body like it's a joke between friends.
"Hey," he says, dropping his voice. "Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable earlier."
I nod stiffly. "Then don't."
He smiles, slow and unapologetic. "Hard not to notice."
I step around him without responding.
When I return to my desk, there's a notification sitting on my slack.
From Tessa.
Quick Clarification
Hey Elara,
Just wanted to give you a heads-up. A few people have been asking… questions. I tried to shut it down, but you know how it is. Maybe be a bit more mindful of boundaries? It might help.
I stare at the screen.
Boundaries?
As if I've crossed one.
By five, the office feels hostile in a way that's difficult to name. No one is openly cruel. No one confronts me.
But something has shifted.
I see it when someone moves their chair slightly farther away from mine.
When a male colleague reroutes an email through Tessa instead of replying to me.
When a woman I've eaten lunch with before doesn't meet my eyes.
Alex's door opens sometime after six.
I look up instinctively.
He steps out, speaking quietly into his phone, expression focused. When he hangs up, his gaze lifts and meets mine.
Just for a moment.
There's something there.
Awareness.
Then Marcus says something loud behind me, and Alex's attention shifts away.
I realize, suddenly and sickeningly, that even silence can be interpreted now.
Anything can.
By the time I leave the office, the narrative has already settled.
Not that I'm incompetent.
Something worse.
That I'm the kind of woman people explain away.
And I know — with a clarity that makes my chest ache —
This kind of attention doesn't fade.
It stains.