When Cindy finally got home that night, the silence felt louder than the office ever had.
She dropped her bag on the couch and stood there for a moment, staring at nothing. Her chest felt tight, her shoulders tense, as though she had carried the weight of the entire day on her back. She had never imagined that simply doing her job would lead her here—exhausted, afraid, and constantly looking over her shoulder.
Her phone buzzed faintly in her bag.
With trembling hands, Cindy pulled it out and opened the message again. The words stared back at her, cold and threatening. She swallowed hard and deleted it, convincing herself that once it was gone, the fear would leave too.
It didn't.
She locked her doors, checked the windows twice, and eventually crawled into bed. Sleep came in fragments—shallow, restless, filled with half-formed fears. Even in her dreams, she felt watched.
Sunday arrived too quickly.
Cindy stayed indoors all day, only stepping out in the evening when Adrian arrived to pick her up for the meeting. As she settled into the car, she forced a polite smile, but her body betrayed her. She sat stiffly, hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Adrian noticed.
Throughout the drive, Cindy barely spoke. Her eyes kept darting to the mirrors, to passing cars, to shadows. Her silence was heavy—unnatural. Adrian didn't push her, but unease settled quietly in his chest.
At the restaurant, the meeting went smoothly. The clients listened attentively as Cindy explained the contract in detail, breaking down both the gains and the potential losses with clarity and confidence. They were impressed—more impressed than Adrian had expected.
When the clients left, Cindy finally exhaled.
But the feeling of being watched didn't leave.
Her gaze swept the room repeatedly, her shoulders tense. When Adrian stepped away to take a call, she felt even more exposed. The moment he returned and lightly touched her arm, Cindy flinched sharply.
"Hey," Adrian said quickly. "It's me."
She realized what she had done and felt embarrassed. "I'm sorry," she murmured.
Adrian didn't miss it. The way her breath shook. The way her eyes scanned the room like she was bracing for something unseen.
"Cindy," he said gently, "are you okay? You seem… distracted."
"I'm fine," she replied, nodding too quickly.
He didn't believe her.
"You're stressed," Adrian said after a pause. "The workload at the office has been too much." His tone shifted—decisive. "Starting tomorrow, Flora will no longer assign you tasks unless I say so. You'll only work on what I give you. And from now on, you report directly to me."
Cindy hesitated for half a second, then nodded.
Part of her felt relieved. Protected.
Another part knew this would only attract more attention.
As they were leaving, Cindy missed a step and stumbled forward. Instinctively, Adrian caught her. For a brief moment, the world narrowed to the space between them. Their faces were inches apart. Cindy's hand rose unconsciously, resting against his cheek.
Adrian closed his eyes.
Just for a second.
Then reality returned. He helped her steady herself, said nothing, and walked her to the car. The silence between them was charged, heavy with things neither was ready to name.
The next morning, Cindy arrived at work early. She made Adrian's coffee, then went to her office to prepare for the day. As she adjusted her desk, she noticed a yellow card resting neatly on her table.
Her heart skipped.
She turned it over slowly.
"I am watching you. Remember."
The room spun. Cindy leaned against the wall, her breathing shallow and fast. Fear wrapped around her, tighter this time—closer.
When Adrian arrived, he immediately summoned Flora and warned her firmly to stop assigning work to Cindy unless instructed. Flora agreed outwardly, but her eyes burned with something unreadable.
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
Cindy was distracted, her usual sharpness dulled by fear. Adrian noticed. He said nothing, but his concern deepened. By evening, he informed her they would be closing late.
She didn't refuse.
When they finally finished, Adrian insisted on driving her home. Cindy realized then—with a quiet, sinking certainty—that the danger wasn't just following her.
It was pulling her closer to him.
And she didn't know which frightened her more.