CHAPTER 1

Dylan's POV

“I already sent the file.”

The words leave my mouth before I even fully sit down. My bag hits the desk with a dull thud, and my computer screen opens up in front of me. The office slowly comes to life around me with phones ringing, chairs rolling, and half-awakened morning conversations.

Ethan looks over the divider between our desks. “Good morning to you too,” he greeted.

I ignore him and open my email. The report is still where I left it last night, timestamped and untouched. My jaw tightens slightly.

“If they can’t find it,” I mutter, “that’s not my problem.”

Ethan snorts into his coffee.

There is a strong smell of burned coffee in the office. Someone near the accounting office is already arguing with the printer, and two interns run past carrying folders like the building is on fire. Every Monday mornings here always feel loud in the worst way possible.

“Did you stay late again?” Ethan asks.

I shrug and continue scrolling through my mails.

To be honest, I prefer staying late at the office. Work makes more sense after everyone leaves. No pointless small talk. No fake teamwork. No people asking questions they should already know the answers to.

Just silence and results.

Ethan looks at me for a second before leaning back in his chair. “One day you’re going to marry this company.”

Hearing this, I finally look at him.

Same messy curls hair. Same crooked tie and annoying smile. Ethan somehow treats every disaster like entertainment. I honestly don’t understand how we stayed as partners over the years and even became friends.

Then again, I don’t really understand why he keeps trying to know everything about me.

“Alright everyone,” our boss suddenly calls out across the office before I can say a word. “To the meeting room. Now.”

Some people groan quietly under their breath as they walk towards the meeting room.

I close my laptop harder than necessary and stand up. Ethan also stands up and grabs his coffee before following beside me.

“That tone means trouble,” he whispers.

“Everything here means trouble,” I replys.

The meeting room is in the middle of the office behind glass walls that are very transparent. The morning sunlight shines across the long table while the workers slowly settle into their seats.Of course, I go to my regular spot near the middle.

Our boss stands at the front smiling too much, which immediately puts me in a bad mood.

“We have an important update today,” he begins.

There it is. Important update. A corporate word for more stress.

“I’m pleased to inform you all that we’ve brought in a new transfer worker from another branch to join us here” he continues. “He had a strong performance record and excellent leadership skills.”

The meeting room door opens quietly and everyone turns towards it.

A man walks in with calm steps and straight posture. He carries a thin black folder under one of his arms and wears a dark suit without a wrinkle anywhere. He looks around the room once, his expression unreadable.

Like none of this impresses him and something about that immediately irritates me.

“Everyone, this is Fredrick Larsen,” our boss introduce.

Fredrick nods a little.“Good morning,” he greets in a low, controlled voice that everyone actually had to pay attention to hear him.

Whispers begin to spread around the room immediately.

“That’s him?”

“He looks intense.”

“No wonder management wanted him.”

I quickly look away from them before my irritation becomes obvious.

Of course people are impressed already.

Fredrick takes the empty seat directly across from me. He places his folder neatly on the table, adjusts the collar in a too composed and comfortable way.

People like that usually think they’re smarter than everyone else.

“Fredrick will be joining the strategy team,” our boss says proudly. “He will also help look over current proposals that are moving forward.”

I tap my pen once in my notebook. And across the table, Fredrick’s eyes lift briefly toward the sound.

Then he looks away again. That somehow bothers me more.

“Dylan,” my boss says suddenly. “Start with your proposal.”

Finally, he says something useful.

I stand up and connect my laptop to the big screen. The presentation opens behind me, charts filling the wall.

“This proposal focuses on reducing communication delays between the office departments,” I begin. “The current response gaps slow down project handling and create unnecessary—”

“By how much?” Fredrick’s voice interrupts.

The interruption lands cleanly in the middle of my sentence.

The room become still.

Slowly, I look across the table.

Fredrick is sitting in the same spot he was before, with one hand on the folder in front of him.

“The delays,” he says calmly. “How much are you reducing them by?”

My grip tightens slightly around the remote.

“We’re finalizing the timing,” I answers. “They’re being tested.”

Fredrick nods once. “You could reduce response time to twenty-four hours.”

His idea hits me instantly. Because that was already my plan. I just hadn’t reached that slide yet.

I can feel heat rising slowly up my neck. “That’s already included later in the proposal,” I say carefully.

“Good,” Fredrick says

I continue anyway, though the atmosphere feels wrong now. Every sentence coming out of my mouth sounds tighter than before. Across the room, a few people have already started looking at Fredrick instead of the presentation.

When I finish, silence hangs briefly over the room.

Then Fredrick stands up. He walks toward the screen beside me and looks at the chart for a moment.

“The structure itself could work,” he says. “But it’s overcrowded.”

I stare at him. He touches the screen. “This step should have been moved earlier,” he continues calmly. “The task confirmation should be separate from the response review.”

The room follows along immediately while he reorganizes my presentation, which is annoying.

“Yeah, that flows better.”

“That actually makes more sense.”

Everyone comments. My chest tightens slightly while I stare at the screen behind him.

This is my work. My idea. And somehow he’s standing there improving it in front of everyone like it were his now.

I set the remote down carefully before I mistakenly break it in half.

“You just changed my entire presentation,” I attack.

“No, I only clarified the structure,” Fredrick replies

A sharp pain shoots through my chest. Not because he denies my allegation but because people agreed with him.

Beside me, Ethan slowly put his coffee cup on the table after realizing the room had become too tense.

The meeting ends awkwardly some minutes later. As everyone stands up and tries to get away from the meeting tension, the chairs scrape loudly on the floor. Ethan grabs my wrist lightly when I shove my laptop into my bag.

"Dylan,” he calls out.

"I'm fine,” I reply, not looking at him.

Before he can say anything else, I jerk my arm from his grip and walk away.

As I walk out of the room, I see Fredrick walking calmly down the hall toward the elevators ahead of me.

That calmness gets under my skin immediately.

“Hey,” I call out.

He stops walking and turn to me

The hallway feels cooler than the meeting room. The other employees pass nearby carrying folders and coffee cups, though some of them slow down a bit when they notice the tension between us.

I walk up to him and stop directly in front of him.

“Do you always interrupt people,” I ask quietly, “or was I special?”

Fredrick watches me for a second. “I wasn’t interrupting you.”

“But you took over my presentation,” I shoot back.

“You were losing the room, so I have no choice but to step in.”

The words hit me harder than expected. I laugh once under my breath, frustrated.

“You really enjoy this, don’t you?” I asked.

“Enjoy what?”

“Walking into places acting like everyone else is stupid,” I reply.

Someone wanted to use the elevator behind us before but quickly changed direction after noticing the atmosphere.

Fredrick waits until the hallway quiets again. Then he looks back at me and says,“You care too much about being right, don't you?”

The words hit me right away because they are true. And I hate that he figured it out this quickly.

“No, you don’t know anything about me,” I deny.

“Yes I don't,” he agrees calmly. “But I know people who feel threatened when someone tries to correct them.”

My jaw tightens.For one second neither of us speaks. The silence feels heavier than the argument itself.

Then Fredrick steps slightly to the side, ready to leave.

Like the conversation is already over. Something inside me snaps right there. I move in front of him again.

“This isn’t over,” I declare and walks away.