The day started fine. Better than fine, actually.
I had answered three calls without stuttering, organized Malik's meetings down to the last minute, and even got a subtle nod from him when I handed him his coffee; two sugars, no milk, just the way he liked it.
I was on fire. Until I wasn't.
By 1:47 p.m., I was tired but still holding it together. Malik had sent me a quick message on the office intercom:
"Forward the Kargan file to Mr. Yeung before 2. Time-sensitive."
Simple. Except… there were two files labeled "KARGAN."
One was a pitch deck. Harmless.
The other? A confidential internal report containing accusations of fraud tied to Yeung's own name.
I panicked.
I picked one.
I picked the wrong one.
Fifteen minutes later, my email pinged.
Then the phone rang.
Then Malik's office door opened; and he stepped out. No words. No fury. Just a calm that felt like silence before a hurricane.
"Mara," he said. "My office."
I swallowed hard and stood. My legs didn't feel like mine.
I walked in.
Closed the door.
And braced myself.
He said nothing for a moment. Then:
"Do you know what you just sent to a client who controls twenty percent of our overseas partnership?"
I blinked. "I—I thought—there were two files and—"
"You thought," he cut in, voice low and sharp, "and you didn't confirm. That file was internal. It wasn't meant to be seen by anyone outside this office."
My heart dropped. My face flushed. I wanted to cry, explain, rewind time.
But I didn't.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly.
He looked at me. Not angry. Not even disappointed.
Just unreadable.
"Get out," he finally said. "Before I say something I'll regret."
I nodded, turned,and walked out.
And the door didn't just close behind me; it slammed.