CHAPTER 4

Dylan's POV

I look at the screen for a long time, but I don’t type anything back. My fingers become still, my chest feels tight and my head won’t slow down. I don’t like the question, and I don’t like how it feels too close to something real. So I close the laptop and push it away.

“I’m not answering that,” I mutter, standing up.

The room feels too quiet now, so I grab my jacket and walk away from the desk. I don’t want to think of anything right now and I don’t want to sit there anymore. If I sit there, I’ll open that message again, and I don’t want to do that. So it is better I leave it alone and go to bed.

The next morning, I wake up before my alarm rings, already feeling stressed. The gray light comes through the curtains while tiredness sits heavily behind my eyes. I stay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling while my head already spinning ahead toward work.

I drag myself out of bed and quickly get ready, hoping moving around will help ease the stress in my chest. But it doesn’t, it keeps increasing as I step out of the house and make my way to work.

The office is already busy when I get there. Phones are ringing. People are rushing. And coffee machines are running nonstop as usual.

Everyone looks stressed now that the deadline is close enough to feel real.

Ethan notices and raises one brow me immediately the I walk in, he look at me like he’s been waiting. I do as if I don't see him at first, because I know what he’s about to say.

“You look worse. Are you okay? He asks”

I put my bag down next to the desk and reply, “I’m fine.”

“You said that too yesterday,” he points out.

I ignore him and turn on my computer instead. Notifications fill the screen instantly while unfinished reports pile on my desktop.

Ethan leans back in his chair and looks at me. “You’re pushing this project too hard.”

“I’m simply working,” I correct him.

"No,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re fighting yourself. You should know that I know you better than anyone here.”

He is right. He knows me better than anyone here but I pretend like I don't not hear him.

Across the office, I notice Fredrik walking past carrying a stack of files in his hands with calm face like the pressure doesn’t affect him at all.

I immediately look back at my screen before Ethan catches me staring at him.

Before Ethan can continue on his nagging, our boss calls for another immediate meeting. That alone tells me today is not going to be easy too.

As soon as we walk into the room, the air feels different today.

Heavier.

Nobody wastes time chatting anymore. People just sit down quickly, their laptops already open, tiredness visible on almost every face in the room.

It seems like everyone is quiet because they know something is going to happen. I take my seat, and Fredrik is already there again, calm and still like always.

“Listen carefully,” our boss begins, standing near the screen. “The only reason why I called this meeting is to tell you guys that only one proposal will be approved concerning the ongoing project.”

The room goes silent immediately.

"And the best team will lead the next company expansion,” he continues. “You know what that means right? The loser steps back.”

Something shifts inside me at that moment. This project is not just work. It is personal now.

Ethan leans sideward towards me and whispers. “Things just got bad.”

“It was already bad the moment we were asked to work together,” I whisper back.

Fredrik on the other hand doesn’t react. Of course he doesn’t need to, he is always full of himself.

I just don't like how controlled he always seems.

"Dylan. Fredrik,” our boss calls. “I hope to receive good news from you guys soon.”

I nod, but I don’t look at him. Because I already know what this means.

The meeting ends early and everyone seems eager to get out of there. I go straight to my desk and open my files without waiting. My hands move faster, my thoughts sharper.

No breaks. No distractions. Just me working on numbers, reports and revisions.

Ethan tries twice to make me eat something before eventually giving up entirely. Even the coffee he get for me becomes cold beside the keyboard.

Soon I begin to make mistakes, though I correct most of them myself before sending them out, but my concentration keeps slipping anyway.

By afternoon when I'm still busy with work a voice interrupts me.

“Dylan, what is this?” someone question.

I look up to see who the person is. It’s one of my team members, holding a printed document.

I glance up tiredly. “What?” I ask.

“There’s a delay here,” he says, pointing to a page. “And this part doesn’t connect.”

I frown. “I won't call that a delay.”

I collect the document and look through it quickly. Around us, people start lowering their voice as they notice tension building again.

"We're already behind schedule," he says next. "This makes things worse."

I sit up straight, clearly annoyed now. “No, we’re not behind.”

"Then why is the timing off?" he ask further.

I open my mouth. Then stop because I don’t have a clear answer.

He leans towards me. “You rushed this part, didn’t you?”

Right away, I feel a sharp pain in my chest.

“I didn’t rush anything,” I reply.

He starts talking again, but this time he becomes louder, and his voice gets angrier as workers nearby start to watch openly.

Before I can say anything else, a voice cut in

“That’s not true,” the voice says.

I turn to see who the person is. It is Fredrik.

Fredrick moves closer with a new report in one hand. He does not look at me first. He keeps his eyes on the screen and calmly looks over the numbers.

"The delay is coming from the data input,” he says. “Not from the structure.”

The room goes quiet.

“What?” the guy asks.

Fredrik taps the screen. “This part was updated late. That's what caused the shift.”

I stare at him. He keeps going without looking at me.

“If you adjust this timing, the flow will become intact,” he says. “The issue isn't from Dylan’s section.”

Silence.

Then people start checking the reports themselves.

And just like that, the blame shifts away from me.

The employee beside my desk mutters something under his breath before walking off to another department.

Fredrik places the corrected file down beside my keyboard, then turns away like nothing has happened.

No dramatic moment.No smug expression.

Nothing.

And that bothers me more than anything.

Seeing this, ethan leans close and whispers. “He just saved your ass there.”

“I didn’t need his savings,” I breathe.

“You did,” he tease. “And you know it.”

I don’t answer. Because he is right.

The rest of the day feels off.

I keep working, but my focus keeps breaking. Every time Fredrick walks past my desk or answers someone’s question across the office, I notice.

And I hate noticing.

By evening, most employees have finally leave.

The office lights dim automatically while silence slowly replaces the noise from earlier. Outside the windows, the city glows against the dark sky.

I should go home but I don’t want to stop what I'm doing.

Then I see him.

Fredrik. He is still working too.

Before I can stop myself, I stand and walk toward his desk.

He looks up immediately when I stop beside him.

The screen light reflects softly on his face while he removes his glasses slowly.

“What?”

“Don’t do that again,” I caution

He stares at me. “Do what?”

“Step in like that,” I reply.

He pause a little bit then reply, “I only corrected a mistake.”

“That wasn’t your job to do,” I shoot back.

“But it clearly doesn't affect the work,” he replies.

“It affected me,” I snap.

For the first time, the silence between us stretches.

Around us, the nearly empty office hums quietly with distant printers and computer fans.

“You were going to let them blame you,” Fredrik says finally.

“I could handle it myself.”

“Could you?”

The question hits me harder than expected.

I step closer, standing in front of his desk now. “Next time you don’t get to step in like that,” I warn.

“I will if it is something I need to,” he declares.

The words lands cleanly between us.

Sharp. Controlled.

My chest burns immediately.

“There it is,” I mutter. “You always do this.”

“Do what?”

“Act superior just to embarrass me.”

Fredrik leans back slightly in his chair, watching me carefully now.

“If I wanted to embarrass you,” he says quietly, “I would’ve corrected you in front of everyone yesterday too.”

Those words stop me in my tracks. Because he’s right. And I hate that he’s right.

The office falls silent again around us.

For a second neither of us look away.

Then Fredrik speaks again, his voice lower this time.

“If you hate being corrected that much,” he says calmly, “stop making mistakes I have to fix.”

My hands clench at my sides immediately.