After letting the silence envelop the room for hours, I finally decided to surrender to the exhaustion. The digital clock in the corner of my desk showed that it was well past midnight. Realizing that I had nearly spent the night at the office, I tidied the scattered files with mechanical movements—a futile effort to organize my own chaotic thoughts.
The moment I stepped out of my office, I froze.
There, amidst the rows of darkened desks, a single desk lamp still glowed. Adrian. He sat with his back straight, his fingers moving nimbly across the keyboard, while the slight creases at the elbows of his shirt indicated he had been there as long as I had. For some reason, a sense of self-consciousness mixed with a hint of admiration crept in; he didn't look like an employee chasing overtime for extra cash, but rather like someone standing guard.
I approached him, my high heels clicking against the silent marble floor. "Why haven't you gone home yet, Adrian? It's past operating hours," I asked, trying to summon back the authority that had briefly dissolved inside my office.
Adrian stood up calmly. There was no surprise on his face, as if he had been waiting for me to emerge. He explained his concerns regarding the vendor reports in a tone that was flat yet sharp.
I felt his report was reasonable enough, or perhaps I was simply too tired to argue. I moved closer to his desk, catching the faint scent of sandalwood and the lingering aroma of coffee hanging around him. "We've already locked contracts with three major suppliers, Adrian. Don't be so cautious that we lose momentum."
"Caution is a form of defense, Ma'am. Momentum without security is business suicide," he countered. He looked me straight in the eye, without hesitation, without fear.
We stood facing each other in that silent office space. It was quite irritating to see how boldly he corrected me, but beneath that irritation, I realized something: he was the only person in this building who dared to defy me without the intention of flattery or sabotage.
"We'll discuss this again tomorrow morning at eight. Bring your comparative data," I said, ending the debate, though in my heart I knew his logic was likely correct.
We walked toward the elevator together. I could see our reflections in the metallic walls around us. There, I looked like a woman made of cracked glass, while he stood beside me like an immovable pillar. Silence crept in. One second... two seconds... the silence felt heavier than our previous argument.
"You look tired," Adrian said just as the elevator chimed at the lobby floor. "I've ordered a warm coffee at the cafe across the street that's still open. Just coffee to accompany your drive home, so you don't fall asleep at the wheel."
I was stunned. That wasn't mere employee-to-boss etiquette. It was an observation. "Thank you, Adrian," I replied after a pause that lasted a bit too long.
The humid night air greeted us. Jakarta was still pulsing faintly in the distance, but in this area, there were only us and the streetlights reflecting on the asphalt. We walked side by side toward the cafe. Adrian took two cups of coffee from the barista; his long, sturdy fingers briefly brushed against my hand as he handed me one. The warmth spread instantly, as if he had just transferred a bit of his composure to me.
We walked slowly toward the parking area. I watched the way he moved—calm, orderly, as if his world was never shaken. The silence this time didn't feel awkward. Rather, it felt… stable. As if his presence was an anchor holding my thoughts from slipping back into the chaos I had hidden beneath the Pramatya mask since noon.
"You're too hard on yourself, Ma'am," Adrian said suddenly. He didn't look over; his eyes were fixed straight ahead, as if he were talking to the wind rather than to me.
I stopped walking, my heart beating a little faster. "What do you mean?"
He didn't answer. He only gave a fleeting smile—the kind of smile that suggested he knew more than he let on—before saying his goodbye and leaving.
Inside the car, the aroma of coffee filled the cabin. Warm. Soothing. Yet my mind was busy replaying his last sentence. For years, I believed that being firm, cold, and unwavering was the only way to survive. I buried my fears behind growth charts because I believed doubt was a crack. And a crack is the beginning of destruction.
But why, tonight, did Adrian's honesty make me realize that my own pretense was the very thing slowly destroying me?
The red light turned green. I pressed the accelerator slowly. The line of professionalism I had held so high suddenly felt blurred. Adrian was my subordinate, that was absolute. Excessive closeness would only become a weapon for people like Ginandra. However, his gaze in the elevator—calm and demanding nothing—continued to haunt me.
What if Adrian's courage wasn't a threat, but a mirror? A mirror showing the high price of loneliness I paid to be at this peak.
As I finally stepped into the large, silent house, I realized one bitter truth: I wasn't afraid of business failure. I was afraid of the possibility that I was starting to need someone simply to stand by my side.
And that fear was far more terrifying than any risk report.