By the third week, the role began to feel less like a test and more like a shape Val could inhabit.
Not effortlessly, nothing about it was effortless, but with a growing sense of rhythm. She learned which emails needed immediate replies and which could wait. She learned that meetings went better when she brought notes, that silence didn't mean she was failing, it often meant people were thinking. She learned how to read the building's energy: when to push, when to let something rest.
What surprised her most was not the workload, but how visible she felt inside it.
People came to her with questions now. Not tentative ones, either, real ones. Budget concerns. Scheduling conflicts. Ideas that needed shaping. She caught herself mid-conversation sometimes, thinking, Oh. They're taking me seriously.
It was exhilarating.
It was also tiring in a deeper way than she'd known before.
One Thursday afternoon, Mrs. Hart asked if Val had a few minutes to talk.
Val felt the familiar flicker of nerves, though quieter now, and followed her into the office. The window was open; autumn air drifted in, carrying the sound of traffic and distant voices.
"I wanted to check how you're doing," Mrs. Hart said, sitting across from her. "See how you're feeling."
Val hesitated. Her instinct was to say fine. To smooth things over. To just keep going.
Instead, she took a breath.
"I love the work," she said carefully. "I think I'm… still finding my feet. Some days I feel like I'm constantly one step behind."
Mrs. Hart nodded, unsurprised. "That's normal."
Val looked up. "It is?"
"Yes," she said simply. "You stepped into a role that didn't exist before. Of course there's a learning curve."
Something in Val's chest loosened.
"I worry I should already have it all figured out," she admitted.
Mrs. Hart smiled, not indulgently, but with recognition. "I'd be more concerned if you did. Growth doesn't look like certainty. It looks like questions, lots of them."
She leaned forward slightly. "You don't need to struggle in silence here, Val. If you need support, logistical, emotional, structural, you ask. That's part of the job, not a failure of it."
The words landed hard, in a way that felt almost physical.
Val blinked. She hadn't realised how tightly she'd been holding herself until someone gave her permission to set something down.
"I've been used to relying on myself. For a long time, I had no one," she said quietly.
"I know," Mrs. Hart said. "And you've done remarkably well. But this isn't something you have to carry alone."
They talked through specifics then. What could be delegated. Where timelines could breathe. What resources existed that Val hadn't known she could use.
When Val left the office, she felt lighter, not because the work had diminished, but because the weight had redistributed.
That night, as she sat on the sofa with Elliot, their knees touching, Val felt like the day had settled into that gentle evening hush she had come to treasure.
"She told me I don't have to struggle in silence," Val said. "That asking for help doesn't mean I'm failing."
Elliot nodded slowly, absorbing it.
"I didn't realise how much I was still running around like I had to do everything myself," Val continued. "Like if I leaned, even a little, something would collapse."
He was quiet for a moment.
"I think I've been the same," he said eventually. "I just… I only ever ask Noah."
Val turned to him. "He's a great friend. You trust him."
"I do," he said. "But I think I also used that as an excuse not to try anything for myself for a long time."
She studied his face, the thought clearly still unfolding in him.
"I don't think it's wrong," she said gently. "But maybe you're ready for more now."
He smiled faintly. "That's what scares me."
The idea stayed with him longer than he expected.
A few days later, on an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday, Elliot found himself standing across the street from the office building. Once his father's company, now his, operated from behind those glass walls. More than a hundred employees worked inside, with Noah serving as Chief Operating Officer.
He hadn't told anyone he was coming, not Noah, not Val. The decision had arrived quietly that morning, fully formed, without drama. He'd showered, dressed and left the house as though he had done it every day for years, before he had time to talk himself out of it.
The building was bigger than he remembered. It looked busy even from the outside. People moved in and out with purpose, coffee cups or water bottles in their hands, badges swinging from lanyards.
Elliot stood there longer than necessary, his hands in his pockets.
You can leave, a voice in his head offered.
You don't have to prove anything.
But another voice, quieter, steadier, answered back.
You've made it this far. You're ready for more.
He entered the building.
Inside, the lobby buzzed with movement and sound. The receptionist looked up with a smile as he approached.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm here to see Noah," Elliot said, heart pounding. "I didn't… I didn't make an appointment."
She nodded. "That's okay. I'll let him know."
While he waited, Elliot took in the space. The scale of it. The way people spoke in shorthand, moved with practiced confidence. He felt, briefly, like an intruder, not unwelcome. Just new.
Noah appeared a few minutes later, his expression shifting from surprise to delight.
"Elliot?" He broke into a grin. "What are you doing here?"
"I was in the area," Elliot said, then winced at the inaccuracy of the explanation. "I thought I'd… stop by."
Noah laughed softly. "You could've texted."
"I know," Elliot said. "I just... wanted to do this on my own."
Noah's smile softened. "Come on. Let me show you around."
They walked through open-plan offices, meeting rooms, break areas. Noah introduced him to people as they passed.
"This is Elliot," he said easily. "The CEO of Van Doren Enterprises."
People looked at him in awe. They shook his hand. Asked polite questions. No one treated him like an inconvenience.
Elliot felt something unfamiliar settle in his chest: he was OK. Not at ease completely, but not on edge.
In Noah's office, Noah handed him a coffee.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah," Elliot said. "Just… didn't realise how much bigger this felt in my head than it did being here."
Noah leaned back against the table. "You've always done that. Made things bigger before you let yourself approach them."
Elliot shrugged and let out a quiet laugh. "I guess."
"Still," Noah said, "I'm glad you came."
They talked for a while, not about work, not really. About Val. About life. About how things shifted when you weren't looking.
When Elliot left, he looked up at the building again. It didn't loom the way it had before. It was just a building. A place he could enter.
Back at home that afternoon, Elliot opened his journal.
He didn't try to write every day now. Only when something needed shape.
I went to the office today, he wrote.
Without planning. Without telling anyone.
He paused, the pen hovered over the page for a moment.
I thought independence meant doing everything alone, he continued.
But maybe it means choosing to step forward, even when you're afraid.
He thought of Val. Of the way she'd learned to ask without shrinking.
I'm learning more and more each day, he wrote.
Not to orbit fear. Not hers. Not mine.
He closed the journal and got up to cook, holding onto the quiet knowledge that growth didn't always announce itself with struggle.
Sometimes, it arrived as a door you finally let yourself walk through.