Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Olivia walked into Ethan Cross’s office with quick but cautious steps, trying to look confident despite the tension pressing against her chest like an invisible hand.

The air in the room was strangely heavy — silence filled it completely, and even the air itself seemed hesitant to move around his desk.

The office was spacious, elegant, and obsessively neat. Everything was in its place with almost clinical precision — papers stacked in perfect order, pens lined up in one corner like soldiers at inspection. Even the wall clock ticked so softly it felt afraid to disturb him.

Ethan sat behind his desk, brows slightly furrowed as he flipped through some documents with meticulous care. His features were sharp, sculpted — but his eyes carried something darker: exhaustion laced with anger, or maybe anger wrapped in control.

When he noticed her, he stopped moving. Slowly, he raised his head, meeting her gaze. His eyes were cold and steady — yet beneath that calm, there was something else. Tension. Thick and silent, like poison in the air.

His voice was low, measured, each word precise and stripped of any warmth.

— “What time is it, Olivia?”

She froze, heat rushing to her cheeks in embarrassment. She glanced quickly at her watch and whispered,

— “I’m sorry… there was traffic.”

He didn’t answer right away. He looked at his own watch, then back at her.

— “Traffic? Is that your usual excuse? Or is punctuality not one of your skills yet?”

Her chest tightened further. She opened her mouth to explain, but his voice cut through hers with quiet sharpness:

— “You’re new here, and the first thing I evaluate in anyone is respect for time. When I’m late, the company stops. When you’re late, you disrupt the order. Understand?”

She murmured weakly,

— “Yes, sir. It won’t happen again.”

He leaned back slightly, tone still cool and precise:

— “Since you’re late, you’ll make up for the lost time today. I want you to reformat the entire meeting schedule and add yesterday’s notes — before the end of the day.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “The entire schedule?”

But she didn’t dare protest. She just nodded quickly, lowering her gaze.

He continued, voice like glass:

— “And print it. Don’t send it by email. I want it on my desk — personally.”

The silence after his words was heavier than his tone. The calmness in his voice made the room feel colder. Then he picked up his pen again and gestured subtly toward the door:

— “You may go now.”

She nodded and slipped out quietly, careful not to make a sound.

When the door shut behind her, she exhaled deeply and whispered to herself with quiet bitterness,

— “Now I get why everyone’s afraid of him… He doesn’t yell — he makes you wish he would.”

She sat back at her desk, trying to refocus, but her mind was still trapped in that office — in his voice, his stare.

It wasn’t admiration she felt, but something harder to define — a strange mix of anger, curiosity, and reluctant respect.

That man wasn’t just strict — he was like a storm trapped behind glass, watching in silence, waiting for the moment the glass would finally crack.

---

Break time finally came, and the employees seemed to breathe for the first time all day. Most headed to the small coffee lounge, their chatter and laughter soft but alive — the stiffness of the morning starting to melt.

Olivia entered quietly, holding her paper cup, and sat by the side table. She tried to blend in, though she still felt out of place among the tired, familiar faces.

Emma, one of the senior staff, was talking animatedly, stirring her coffee as she said,

— “Did you guys see Mr. Cross’s face this morning? Someone must’ve pissed him off again!”

A few people laughed, and Maya — sharp-tongued and amused — added,

— “Pissed him off? Girl, that is his regular face. The man doesn’t need a reason to look mad!”

Laughter broke out, soft but genuine. A few glances turned toward Olivia, sitting quietly.

One of the employees joked, half serious,

— “Honestly, I’m surprised you’re still working with him. Most assistants don’t last more than two weeks.”

Olivia looked up from her cup and smiled faintly. Her tone was polite, though a little uncertain:

— “I guess it just takes getting used to… I try not to take things personally.”

Emma chuckled, shrugging:

— “Don’t even try to understand him — impossible! Mr. Cross doesn’t get angry or pleased. He just watches you till you screw up, then — boom! — you’re done.”

Olivia replied quietly, with a hint of defense,

— “Maybe he just values order.”

Maya leaned forward, smirking slyly:

— “Order? Call it whatever you want, honey. I bet he fires you before the month’s over.”

A brief silence fell, followed by uneasy laughter.

Olivia only smiled faintly and said nothing.

---

After the break, she returned to her desk and tried to refocus, but her mind kept replaying the morning — his voice, his cold expression, the way his eyes seemed to look right through her.

And Maya’s words echoed in her head like an annoying bell:

> “I bet he fires you before the month’s over.”

Olivia exhaled slowly, pressing her fingers against her temples.

No. She wouldn’t let that get to her.

She decided to double-check the meeting schedule — making sure everything was perfectly aligned. If it took her staying late, so be it.

But as she scanned the files, she noticed something odd.

Mr. Cross’s next meeting had been scheduled to start ten minutes ago.

She looked toward his glass office door. No movement.

The entire floor was unusually quiet, as if something unseen had swallowed the noise.

After a moment’s hesitation, she stood, grabbed her notebook, and walked carefully toward his office.

A gentle knock.

No answer.

She knocked again, a little louder.

— “Sir? The meeting’s ready.”

Silence.

She slowly turned the handle, her voice soft, uncertain:

— “Sir, may I—”

Her voice caught in her throat.

Ethan Cross was still at his desk, his body slightly leaning to one side, head bowed forward, pen still in his hand.

For a second, she thought he was simply reading something closely — but then she realized his chest wasn’t moving.

Cold ran through her veins.

Her eyes widened as she whispered hoarsely,

— “Sir…?”

No response.

And in that instant, she understood —

Ethan Cross was unconscious.