"The next morning, the rain had stopped, leaving the city streets glistening under the weak sunlight, but inside Alexander Voss's office, the air felt heavier than ever. He stood rigidly behind his desk, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the HR coordinator who placed a crisp file neatly in front of him.
"This is your new personal assistant," she said, her voice polite, almost rehearsed, as if she knew exactly how tense he was. "She'll start today. Miss West."
Alexander didn't respond. His gaze remained locked on the file as though it were a live grenade. He didn't like surprises, and a new assistant felt like a breach in his carefully constructed order.
The coordinator shifted awkwardly. "Mr. Voss… you did request a reassignment of your previous assistant, correct?"
The word previous made his jaw tighten. It had been barely two hours since Cynthia Brooks had left the office — just hours — and already, the space she had filled with her presence, questions, and curiosity felt unbearably empty. He hated that he noticed it. Hated that the office felt colder, quieter, lifeless without her.
"Yes," he said finally, his voice low and controlled, like steel wrapped in ice. "Send her in."
The woman nodded, avoiding his gaze, and left. Alexander exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The office, stripped of Cynthia's nervous energy and bright presence, felt unnervingly sterile. Every corner that had once been filled with her restless habits — tapping pens, shuffled papers, little sighs of impatience — now seemed echoing and hollow.
Before he could dwell too long on it, the door opened, and a tall woman entered confidently, her posture perfect, her smile practiced but professional.
"Good morning, Mr. Voss," she said cheerfully. "I'm Lydia West, your new personal assistant."
Alexander's response was a stiff nod. "Sit," he said, voice curt but steady.
She lowered herself into the chair with the ease of someone used to authority, back straight, laptop at the ready. Everything was impeccable — the suit, the hair, the composure. Everything he normally appreciated in an assistant. And yet, something felt… wrong.
He handed her a neatly typed schedule. "This is your workload. You'll receive calls, manage appointments, and…" His voice faltered slightly, though he masked it immediately.
"Of course," Lydia said smoothly, cutting him off before he could finish. "I'm familiar with high-pressure environments. I'll be faster and more efficient than the last assistant."
Alexander froze mid-breath. The words, casual as they were, struck something in him — a protective, almost territorial instinct he hadn't expected to feel.
Lydia's lips curved into a small, confident smirk, thinking she had impressed him. "I reviewed her files. She wasn't… the strongest," she added lightly. "But don't worry, sir. I'll keep things running perfectly."
The shift in Alexander's demeanor was immediate. His posture stiffened, and the room seemed colder in an instant. He didn't raise his voice, but the tension in the air became almost physical.
"You will not compare," he said sharply, tone clipped, unyielding.
Lydia blinked, slightly startled. "Oh — my apologies, sir. I only meant
"Don't," he said again, tone clipped. "This job requires discretion, not commentary."
She swallowed and nodded quickly.
He dismissed her with a wave, and she left to get settled at Cynthia's old desk.
Alexander sat back in his chair.
But instead of focusing, his eyes drifted to the empty corner where Cynthia used to stand whenever she was nervous… where she used to tap her pen… where she used to ask a million questions he claimed to hate.
Everything looked sterile now.
Silent.
Unfamiliar.
A knock broke his thoughts.
Lydia peeked in. "Mr. Voss, there are a few documents that need your signature. Shall I—"
He cut her off. "Leave them on the table."
"Yes, sir."
The door closed again.
Alexander closed his eyes and exhaled.
This was exactly what he needed: distance. .