Another call—misdirected again. Lena winced.
She hadn't meant to send it through, but Vivian's intimidating tone always got the better of her. And after Ethan had just complimented her on her organization skills, this mistake felt ten times worse.
Eyes glued to his office door, she braced for impact. Surely, he'd lash out or summon the head of staff to serve her a final warning before the week ended.
But... silence.
The door creaked open quietly. Ethan stepped out, eyes scanning the room—everywhere but her. That alone made Lena squirm in her seat.
Just as she relaxed slightly, he turned.
"Have Christian come to my office in ten minutes," he said.
"Yes, sir," Lena answered quickly.
"And..." He paused. "The nightmare isn't over. I might be expecting someone soon. Make her comfortable. She can bite."
Lena let out a nervous chuckle. Was that... a joke? But his face remained stone-cold.
"Right away, sir," she replied, trying not to show her confusion.
She dialed Christian, then checked the time: 2:50 p.m.
Almost lunch. Ethan usually took his break around 3 p.m.—same with the nearby staff. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Still no sign of Ethan or Christian.
Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she hadn't eaten all day. Audrey's morning check-up had drained her time and energy. She couldn't wait anymore.
She grabbed her bag and made for the elevator.
Just as the doors began to close, she saw him—already inside. Ethan.
Reflexively, she stepped back, but he held the door and gestured. "Come in."
She hesitated, then obeyed. The air felt tense, the confined space too quiet. He was glued to his phone again, endlessly scrolling but not really doing anything. Lena stole a glance at his face now and then—so cold, yet his eyes... strangely warm.
Suddenly, a strange sound rattled through the elevator.
"What's that?" he asked, looking up at her.
"I… I don't know," she stammered, scanning for the source.
The elevator jolted. Then stopped.
Panic surged. Lena hit every button, tried prying the doors open, anything to undo this nightmare. Stuck. In an elevator. With her intimidating boss.
Ethan watched in silence.
Eventually, she slumped against the wall, catching her breath.
"You done?" he finally asked.
"It's stuck," she whispered.
"Yeah. Nothing else." He leaned back casually. "We're stuck."
A beat of silence.
"And if no one notices soon," he added, "we might be here for a while."
"Why?" Lena asked, frowning.
"This elevator? It's the staff one. Comes and goes. Rarely used. I don't usually take it—but... here I am."
---
Lena leaned back against the opposite wall, heart pounding. Of all the scenarios she'd imagined for her second day on the job, this wasn't one of them.
She folded her arms, more to steady herself than anything else. "Do you think someone's noticed by now?"
Ethan gave a soft scoff. "Doubt it. You said you called Christian, right?"
She nodded.
"He won't even come looking until I send a follow-up message," he said, lifting his phone and showing the blank screen. "No signal in here."
Lena's eyes widened. "You're kidding."
He shrugged. "Does it look like I am?"
The silence stretched again, heavier this time. Trapped in a tiny metal box with a man who never smiled, rarely blinked, and just might fire her on the spot—it was suffocating.
She fidgeted with her fingers. "I didn't mean to forward that call earlier… it was a mistake."
"I figured."
"I'm sorry," she added quickly, needing to say it. "I've only just started, and I promise I—"
"Lena," he cut in, his voice low but not sharp. "Breathe."
She blinked at him. That one word—it wasn't dismissive. It was… calming?
"I'm not mad," he continued, this time meeting her eyes. "People mess up. Just don't make a habit of it."
That stunned her more than the elevator jolt. A small nod was all she could manage.
Then, after a moment, he looked her over—not inappropriately, but with subtle curiosity.
"You're a student, right?" he asked.
"Final year," she replied, surprised again. "Psychology."
"Explains the quiet," he said. "Most applicants talk too much."
"I wasn't trying to impress you."
"That's new."
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth—small, fleeting, but real. Lena stared, unsure what surprised her more: the elevator or the almost-smile from Ethan O'Martins.
The silence after that wasn't so heavy anymore. Not warm, not friendly, but... something else. Something she couldn't define yet.
Just as she opened her mouth to speak again, the lights flickered and the elevator hummed back to life. It began to move.
Back to reality.
When the doors finally opened, Ethan stepped out first, then turned halfway toward her. "Let Christian know I want a new elevator schedule. You'll handle that, yes?"
"Yes, sir."
"And Lena?"
She paused.
"You're not bad under pressure."
He walked away.
Lena stood there, mouth slightly open, heart racing—but this time, not entirely from fear.
My afternoon break was a blur, swallowed by nerves and half-eaten lunch. I had barely sat down before I overheard a few staff whispering. Their words weren't meant for me, but they stung all the same.
"She works that close to him already?"
"He gave her a compliment? Ethan? That's rare."
"He's unpredictable. Smiles at you in the morning, fires you by noon."
My fingers tightened around the edge of the table. Everyone had a story about Ethan O'Martin. Some called him the cute devil—the man who could smile and scowl at the same time. Others referred to him as the unfeeling boss, always calm, never shaken. They said he didn't shed a tear when his father had a stroke. Didn't miss a single day of work. Even when his mother passed… nothing. Just silence.
It made me wonder: was he numb or simply trained to hide it all?
I shook the thoughts off and hurried back to my post. As expected, Ethan didn't miss a second of his routine. At exactly 3:20 p.m., he summoned me to his office. My pulse quickened.
Stepping in for the first time felt like entering a different world. His office was triple the size of my bedroom—bright, sleek, intimidating. Every surface gleamed like glass, and his name—Ethan O'Martin, CEO—was engraved on the front of his black glass desk. Behind him, a massive floor-to-ceiling window showcased the city skyline. But my eyes kept drifting to the framed picture on his desk: a woman. Beautiful. Elegant. Almost a mirror version of Ethan, only softer.
"Done looking around?" he said flatly, pulling me back.
"Sorry, sir," I muttered.
He handed me a file. "Have Christian sign this. And next time, don't wait until lunch has passed to eat. We run on time here."
I nodded quickly, hugging the file to my chest.
"I have a meeting shortly," he continued, glancing at his watch. "Would've asked you to come, but you're not dressed for it."
I blinked, taken aback. I'd worn what I thought was perfectly fine office wear.
"It's not terrible," he added, almost to himself, "but looks matter in those rooms."
I bit the inside of my cheek, unsure how to respond.
"And if Vivian comes, tell her I already left."
"Right away, sir," I said, turning to go.
But curiosity tripped me. "Sir… I have a question. Maybe it's out of line."
He narrowed his eyes. "Then don't ask it."
"I was wondering… the photo on your desk. Is she your sister?"
He let out a short breath—half sigh, half laugh. "Vivian? God no."
"No, the other woman." I pointed gently. "She looks like you."
His expression changed slightly, just enough to feel a shift in the room.
"They said she's my mother," he replied flatly.
"She's… beautiful," I said softly.
"She was." That was all. No flicker of emotion. Just silence.
I left his office with a million thoughts bouncing in my head. The woman in the photo. His tone. They said she's my mother? Did he not know for sure? Or did he just prefer distance?
He seemed to carry the weight of a storm—calm on the outside, thunder inside.
I sat at my desk, staring at the clock as minutes crawled toward the end of my shift. When Ethan reappeared, his stride was more purposeful.
"Vivian's not coming," he said. "Christian will join me at the meeting instead. Hand over the files."
I passed them to him quickly, and he took his time going through them, flipping each page like it held secrets. Then, just as he turned to leave, he paused.
"You can go home, Lena. There's nothing left for today."
I nodded, grateful but confused by his sudden shift in tone.
"And Lena," he added, looking at me for the first time since morning. His voice lowered slightly, almost thoughtful.
"Don't believe everything you hear about me."
He smirked—something between a warning and a promise—and walked off.
I stood frozen, heart still racing.
What exactly did he mean by that?
And why, for the first time since meeting him, did it feel like I was just beginning to scratch the surface?
---