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The office felt different the moment I stepped in.
It wasn't loud.
If anything, it was quieter than usual but not the comfortable kind. Conversations were shorter. Keyboards paused more often. Even the air conditioning seemed louder against the strange undercurrent humming through the floor.
I slowed near my desk, setting my bag down carefully.
Something was definitely up.
"What's going on?" I asked the girl in the next cubicle, keeping my voice low.
She didn't even pretend not to know what I meant.
"You seriously didn't hear?" she whispered, leaning closer.
My fingers hovered over my keyboard. "Hear what?"
Her eyes lit up. "The CEO is supposed to come today."
My stomach dipped before I could stop it.
Evren Kael.
I kept my expression neutral, but my grip on the mouse tightened slightly.
"Oh," I said.
Apparently not neutral enough.
"You met him during interviews, right?" she continued, voice dropping conspiratorially. "People are saying he personally reviewed the last batch. That almost never happens."
I gave a small shrug, forcing my shoulders loose.
"Just briefly."
But the truth was, my chest had already gone tight.
The morning stretched longer than it should have.
Every time footsteps echoed down the hallway, people straightened subtly in their chairs. When the elevator dinged, half the row looked up at once before pretending they hadn't.
I tried to focus on my screen.
Tried to keep my thoughts where they belonged.
But the atmosphere made it difficult.
By noon, the anticipation had started to wear thin.
By two, quiet disappointment crept in.
By four
"He's not coming," someone muttered behind me.
I leaned back slowly, exhaling through my nose.
For some reason, the tension under my skin didn't fully leave.
It should have.
It didn't.
Work piled up toward the end of the day.
Small corrections turned into full revisions. One file became three. Three became a stack that kept me pinned to my desk long after most of the floor had started shutting down.
By the time I finally closed my laptop, the overhead lights had dimmed into evening mode.
I checked the time and winced.
Ziven was probably already home.
The thought came automatically.
Unwelcome.
Familiar.
I packed quickly, slinging my bag over my shoulder as I headed out.
Night had fully settled by the time I reached the house.
I slowed halfway up the path.
Ziven was standing just outside the door.
Phone pressed to his ear.
Something in my chest tightened immediately.
Even from a distance, his posture was wrong.
Too rigid.
Too sharp.
"…I said I'll handle it," he was saying, voice low and edged in a way that made my steps slow further. "Stop repeating yourself."
I paused near the gate.
For a second just a second I considered waiting until he finished.
But before I could decide, his gaze lifted.
Locked onto me.
Mid-sentence.
Something unreadable flickered across his face.
"I'll call you back," he said abruptly into the phone.
The line went dead.
And then
He just looked at me.
No greeting.
No question.
Just that steady, assessing gaze that always made it feel like he was three steps ahead of whatever I was about to say.
"…You're still outside?" I asked carefully.
Ziven didn't answer.
He turned.
Walked past me.
Opened the door.
And went inside without a word.
The quiet that followed him in felt heavier than if he'd snapped.
I stood there for a second longer than necessary before stepping inside myself.
Dinner was… strange.
Not cold.
Not openly tense.
Just off in a way I couldn't quite put into words.
Ziven didn't come out.
Not once.
His door stayed closed the entire evening.
I told myself it didn't matter.
Told myself I wasn't paying attention.
But by ten, the silence had started to feel too loud.
By eleven, I caught myself staring down the hallway longer than I meant to, eyes settling on the thin strip of darkness beneath his door.
My jaw tightened.
If he was irritated, he could at least say something.
Right?
…Right.
I turned away first.
But the unsettled feeling followed me back to my room anyway.
Sleep didn't come easily.
I shifted once. Twice.
The house was too quiet.
Or maybe I was just too aware of it.
At some point past midnight, I heard faint movement down the hall — the soft creak of a floorboard, the almost-silent sound of the kitchen cabinet opening.
Ziven.
For a second, I considered getting up.
I didn't.
The moment passed.
Silence settled again.
Morning came with a dull weight still sitting in my chest.
And for the first time since I'd moved back into this house
I couldn't tell if the quiet between us was temporary.
Or the start of something that wasn't going to smooth itself over so easily.
Either way…
Something had shifted.
And this time
I wasn't sure either of us knew how to pretend it hadn't.