The warning

The warning didn’t come dramatically.

No whispered threat in a dark hallway.

No anonymous note slipped into my bag.

It came over coffee.

I was still thinking about Adrian’s words—It already has—when Lila appeared at my desk the next morning, a paper cup in each hand.

“Hazelnut latte,” she said, placing one beside my tablet. “You looked like you could use it.”

“I didn’t order—”

“I know,” she said lightly.

I stared at the cup.

“Thank you,” I said after a moment.

She lingered.

That alone was strange.

Lila was efficient in the way people were when they didn’t have time to be curious. She moved fast, spoke faster, and never hovered. But now she leaned against the edge of my desk, eyes flicking briefly toward Adrian’s office before returning to me.

“You survived your first dinner,” she said.

I blinked. “You know about that?”

Her mouth curved into a knowing smile. “Everyone knows.”

“That was private,” I said.

“Nothing here is,” she replied gently.

The words settled uncomfortably between us.

She sipped her coffee, then lowered her voice. “How are you finding him?”

The question felt loaded.

“Professional,” I said carefully.

Lila hummed. “That’s one word.”

I glanced at her. “Is there another?”

She hesitated. Just a fraction too long.

“Adrian is… precise,” she said. “If he’s paying attention to you, it means you’re useful.”

“And if he stops?” I asked.

Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Then you’re invisible.”

That didn’t comfort me the way it probably should have.

Before I could ask more, Adrian’s office door slid open.

Lila straightened instantly. “Duty calls.”

She walked away without another word.

By noon, I felt it again—that subtle recalibration that happened whenever Adrian moved through the floor. Conversations shifted. People made space without being asked.

He stopped at my desk.

“Walk with me,” he said.

It wasn’t a request.

We moved side by side through the corridors, glass and steel stretching endlessly around us.

“You were quiet this morning,” he observed.

“I’m working,” I replied.

“Work doesn’t preclude speech.”

I chose my words carefully. “I was thinking.”

“About?”

I met his gaze briefly. “Boundaries.”

He stopped walking.

So did I.

The hallway emptied around us, people rerouting instinctively.

“Boundaries,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

He studied me like a problem he hadn’t yet decided how to solve.

“Do you feel yours have been crossed?” he asked.

“I feel like I didn’t know where they were,” I said.

A pause.

“That can be corrected,” he said. “If you’re clear about what you want.”

The answer sounded reasonable.

Too reasonable.

“I want clarity,” I said.

He nodded once. “Then ask better questions.”

And just like that, he resumed walking.

The rest of the day unfolded without incident.

Too smoothly.

By late afternoon, my unease had sharpened into something more focused. A sense that I was missing a piece of information everyone else already had.

It came back to Lila.

I found her in the break room just before six, stirring sugar into her coffee.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

She glanced at the door. “Make it fast.”

“People keep saying things,” I said. “Half-things. Like I’m supposed to know them already.”

Her stirring slowed.

“Adrian doesn’t like gossip,” she said.

“I’m not asking for gossip.”

She met my gaze. “Then what are you asking for?”

“The truth.”

She exhaled quietly.

“People don’t leave him,” she said.

The words were simple.

They hit like a bruise.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I mean,” she said carefully, “no one just… moves on. Assistants transfer departments. Executives resign. Partners disappear.”

“That’s normal,” I said. “High-level companies—”

“You’re not listening,” she interrupted softly.

I stopped.

“They don’t leave him,” she repeated. “They leave the building. The city. Sometimes the industry.”

My mouth felt dry. “Why?”

She shrugged, but there was tension in her shoulders. “Depends who you ask.”

“Who should I ask?”

Her eyes flicked to the ceiling. To the glass walls. To the unseen surveillance I was suddenly acutely aware of.

“No one,” she said. “That’s the point.”

A chill slid down my spine.

“Then why tell me?” I asked.

She studied me for a long moment.

“Because you’re different,” she said finally. “And because he’s noticed.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“It’s not meant to be.”

She tossed her cup into the trash and turned to leave, then paused.

“One more thing,” she said without facing me. “If you ever feel like something’s off… trust that feeling. It’ll be the only warning you get.”

Then she was gone.

That night, I stayed late.

Not because I was asked to.

Because leaving felt… premature.

Adrian’s office light was still on.

I finished organizing the next day’s materials, triple-checked schedules, and shut down my tablet. As I stood, the glass wall dimmed.

“Come in,” his voice carried through.

I hesitated.

Then stepped inside.

He looked up from his desk. “You’re still here.”

“So are you.”

A faint smile touched his lips. “Fair.”

I stood awkwardly, unsure why I’d come in.

He noticed.

“Sit,” he said.

I did.

“You’re unsettled,” he said. “Why?”

I swallowed. “People talk.”

“People always do.”

“They say no one leaves you.”

Silence.

It wasn’t long—but it was heavy.

Adrian leaned back slowly.

“And does that frighten you?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said honestly.

His gaze sharpened—not with anger, but focus.

“Good,” he said.

My breath caught. “Good?”

“Fear encourages attention,” he said calmly. “It keeps people from making careless decisions.”

“That sounds like control.”

“It is,” he replied without hesitation.

The admission stunned me.

“I don’t cage people,” he continued. “I give them reasons to stay.”

“And if they want to go?”

He held my gaze.

“Then they shouldn’t give me reasons to want them to remain.”

My pulse roared in my ears.

“That’s not comforting,” I whispered.

“It’s honest.”

I stood abruptly. “I think I should go.”

He didn’t stop me.

As I reached the door, his voice followed—quiet, precise.

“You’re safe here,” he said. “As long as you understand the rules.”

I turned back. “What rules?”

He met my gaze, unreadable.

“The ones you haven’t asked about yet.”

The door closed behind me.

As I walked into the night, Lila’s words echoed in my mind.

People don’t leave him.

And for the first time since signing the contract, I wondered—

What would it cost me if I tried?