We quickly let go of each other.
The person I least wanted to see walked into the office.
Chak's mother.
The sharp click of her heels echoed across the floor, slicing through the silence like a blade. Her gaze darted from Chak to me, and for a brief, terrifying second, our eyes met.
"What," she began, her voice cold and deliberate, "were you doing so close to my son?"
My throat went dry. I felt the heat rush to my cheeks as I instinctively stepped back, my fingers tightening around the edge of the desk. Chak straightened immediately, his calm exterior returning in an instant—but I could feel the tension beneath it.
"I asked you a question," she continued, her eyes narrowing at me. "Are you his assistant or something else?"
I swallowed hard and forced a polite smile. "Nothing, ma'am," I stammered. "I was just… cleaning something off his desk."
Her expression didn't soften. If anything, she looked even more displeased. Her gaze swept over me from head to toe, as if trying to find more reasons to disapprove.
Chak finally moved between us, his tone clipped but controlled. "Mother," he said firmly, "you came at the wrong time. What are you doing here?"
"I came to check how the company is doing," she replied curtly, her chin lifting slightly. "And I can see you don't have much work if your staff has time to stand this close to you."
"Mom, please," Chak said quietly but with clear irritation beneath his calm tone. "Go home. This isn't a good time."
Her eyes flashed. "So now I need your permission to visit my own son?"
He took a slow breath, his patience clearly thinning. "No, but I would appreciate it if you told me beforehand. That way, I can make time for you properly."
Her lips tightened, but she said nothing.
Chak turned to me then, his voice softening. "It's time," he said.
I nodded quickly, keeping my tone respectful. "Goodbye, madam," I said, lowering my head slightly before leaving the office.
As the door closed behind me, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. My heart was still pounding.
Even through the door, I could still hear her voice—sharp, demanding, echoing faintly in the hallway.
I'd met many people since starting at Love Food — arrogant investors, rude suppliers, even competitive coworkers — but none of them had ever made me feel as small as she did.
The way she looked at me… like I didn't belong there. Like I was something that needed to be erased from her son's world.
For a moment, I wondered if she saw through us — if she somehow knew what was really between me and Chak. The thought alone sent a chill down my spine.
The door opened again. Chak stepped out, his face calm but his movements sharp, precise — the kind he made when he was holding himself back from saying too much.
"Pim," he said, his voice steady.
She looked up from her desk. "Yes, sir?"
"Come with us."
Pim blinked, clearly surprised. "Now?"
"Yes. We're going downstairs," Chak replied shortly. His tone left no room for questions.
As she stood and joined us, I glanced at him, searching for some hint of what he was thinking. He didn't look at me — just kept walking, his jaw tight, eyes fixed straight ahead.
Even without a word, I could tell: he was angry. Not at me — but at the situation, at his mother, maybe even at himself.
And yet, despite the tension that surrounded him, all I could think about was how much I wanted to reach for his hand. Just to remind him — and maybe myself — that we were still on the same side.
But I didn't. Not here. Not where eyes could see.
So I followed in silence, the air thick with everything we couldn't say.
When we reached the elevator, Chak finally exhaled and leaned against the wall, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "She never changes," he muttered under his breath, his voice low and tired.
"Pim," he said then, straightening up. "After the conference, you'll handle the press. Make sure they don't find out when I leave the office."
"All right, sir," Pim nodded quickly. Her tone was respectful, but I could sense she was just as tense as I was.
Chak looked at her again, a flicker of concern crossing his eyes. "I hope my mother didn't say anything to you."
"She just said, 'I see you're still here,' " Pim replied with a faint, uneasy smile.
I froze for a moment, unsure whether to laugh or feel hurt.
"I… I guess she doesn't like me very much either," I said quietly, trying to sound lighthearted but failing. My voice came out softer than I intended.
Chak turned his head toward me. For a second, his cold composure melted — his eyes softened, full of something protective, almost tender.
"It's not just you, Niran," he said. "She doesn't like anyone who might interfere with what she thinks is right."
He paused, looking straight ahead as the elevator lights shifted above us. Then he added, even quieter,
"Don't take it personally. She doesn't know you like I do."
When we stepped out of the elevator, the air felt different — heavier, quieter. The hallway was lined with reporters waiting for an update from the conference, but their attention shifted immediately when they saw Chak.
Rattan and Suraphom were already standing near the entrance to the hall, talking to Anamarija, who was scanning her phone. The moment her gaze lifted, her blue-gray eyes landed on us — and then briefly on Chak's hand, which was still resting on my shoulder.
"Finally," Rattan said with a relieved sigh. "We thought you wouldn't make it in time."
"We had a little... delay," Chak replied calmly, his expression unreadable.
Anamarija tilted her head, that familiar mysterious half-smile forming on her lips. "Delay? Or maybe a private meeting?" she teased softly, but her tone carried something else — curiosity, maybe even a hint of challenge.
I quickly took a step aside, feeling a flush rise to my face. I didn't want to draw more attention to myself, especially not after what just happened with his mother.
Suraphom cleared his throat. "The media are already waiting inside. Rattan and I will handle the opening part, but we need you both to stay for the final statement."
Chak nodded. "Understood." Then he glanced at me. "Niran, stay close. You'll help me review the draft before we go out."
His tone was firm, but I could sense something else underneath it — a quiet reassurance, as if he wanted to make sure I stayed near him, protected from any more awkward encounters.
Anamarija crossed her arms. "You look tense, Chak. Did something happen?"
Chak's jaw tightened for a moment. "Nothing important," he said.
But I could see in his eyes that he was still thinking about his mother's words — and maybe about how close I had been to him when she walked in.
Rattan handed him a folder. "Here's the statement. Just a few minor adjustments left."
Chak took it, then turned slightly toward me. "Let's go to the conference room. Niran, with me."
As we walked, I could feel Anamarija's eyes on us again — calm, but probing, as if she sensed something that no one else did.
We walked into the conference room — and it was already packed.
Bright camera flashes went off in a rapid rhythm, reporters shifting forward in their seats, microphones lined up like weapons waiting to strike. The tension in the air was thick enough to taste.
I moved beside Anamarija, catching the flicker of nervousness in her blue-gray eyes. Her fingers gripped the hem of her beige blouse, and though she stood tall, her breathing had turned shallow. I could tell she wasn't used to this.
Chak stepped to the front, adjusting the microphone. He waited for the noise to die down. For a long moment, the only sound was the clicking of cameras and the faint hum of the air conditioning. Then he spoke — calm, controlled, but with a tone that carried weight.
"Good morning," he said evenly. "Today, I won't be talking about the company… but about a personal matter. A family matter."
The reporters went still, glancing at one another in confusion. Chak paused briefly, then looked toward Anamarija.
"Just a few days ago," he continued, his voice lower now, "I found out that I have a half-sister."
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then the whole room erupted into whispers — gasps, camera clicks, murmurs spreading like ripples across water.
"Did he say half-sister?" someone whispered in Thai.
"Who is she?" another voice asked.
Chak's gaze never wavered. "This is Anamarija," he said firmly. "I ask that you respect her privacy. She had no part in how our family history unfolded, and she deserves to be treated with dignity."
He turned slightly toward her, his eyes softening just a little — that quiet look of pride I'd seen before. He gave her a small nod.
Anamarija hesitated, then stepped forward. Her movements were graceful but uncertain.
"Hello," she said softly, her accent lilting and gentle.
The room immediately filled with whispers again, louder this time.
"Look at her eyes — she's definitely not Thai."
"She looks European."
"How long has Chak known her?"
Then came the barrage of questions, one after another:
"Where do you live?"
"How does it feel knowing Mr. Chak is your brother?"
"Did your family know about this before?"
The flood of Thai voices filled the room, sharp, fast, overlapping — and I saw Anamarija freeze. Her expression shifted; she blinked rapidly, her lips parting as if to answer but no words came out.
She didn't understand most of what they were asking.
Her eyes darted toward Chak, then to me, panic flickering behind her calm facade. She tried to smile, but it faltered.
"Calm down," Rattan said suddenly, stepping forward and raising his hand. His voice boomed over the noise. "One question at a time, please."
The crowd quieted slightly. But then, a young woman in the front row lifted her microphone.
"Are you from Europe?" she asked in English.
Anamarija's eyes softened with relief — finally, something she understood.
She gave a small nod. "Yes," she said quietly.
"How old are you?" another reporter asked.
"I'm twenty-five," she replied, her voice a little shaky.
A man raised his hand next.
"How does it feel knowing Mr. Chak is your brother?"
I saw the way she looked at Chak — help me, please.
A dozen flashes went off again, blinding and relentless.
Chak's jaw tightened.He placed one hand on the edge of the podium, his tone low but firm.
"That's enough for today," he said sharply. "We're done here."
He turned to her and spoke in Thai, his voice low but protective. "Let's go."
Anamarija hesitated — I could see the discomfort written all over her face. They were still speaking in Thai; she couldn't understand him. She gave him a questioning look, her brows slightly furrowed.
Watching him stand there, calm and proud, I realized how much I loved this side of him — the one that fought for others, even when the world was watching.
Chak exhaled and repeated in English, softer this time. "Let's go."
And just as they were about to step away, the heavy conference room doors swung open.
Everyone turned at once.
A young, breathtakingly beautiful woman stood in the doorway — the kind of beauty that made the air shift. Her long dark hair fell over her shoulders, her eyes bright and focused, and for a moment, the whole room fell into stunned silence.
The cameras froze, and Chak's steps halted mid-motion.
Even Anamarija stopped breathing for a second, confusion crossing her face.
I felt my chest tighten — I didn't know who she was, but something told me this was about to change everything.