Just as I was about to slip away, Yoel suddenly asked, "When you came in, did you see a girl around your age?"

I forced a laugh. "Mr. Gilmore, there are enough young women coming and going in this building every day to fill the elevator lobby. How could I possibly notice?"

He clenched his fingers tightly, staring down at his phone as the light in his eyes dimmed. "Very well. Go on ahead."

"Got it. See you tomorrow, Mr. Gilmore!" I exclaimed as I turned and sprinted away.

From the door's slight opening behind me, I caught the softest stifled sniffle.

The next morning, Irene bombarded me on WhatsApp. "Mr. Gilmore isn't in, but Mr. Maxwell is here to sign. Bring the documents upstairs without delay!"

I snatched up the printed proposal and sprinted to the 36th floor.

My heartbeat pounded in my ears. I pushed open the heavy wooden door and plastered on a cheerful grin. "Good morning, Mr. Maxwell! Here's the revised proposal…"

The smile froze on my face, as if glued there.

In the big executive chair sat Yoel.

Whatever weariness he had shown last night was gone. His shirt collar was crisp, and his sleeves were neatly rolled up, radiating pure elite confidence. Behind his rimless glasses, his eyes were as cold as blades pulled from a freezer.

"You don't seem happy to see me, Ms. Grayson," he said, staring at me coldly.

"Good," he said, methodically opening a drawer and lifting out a stack of papers. "Carry on. Present your proposal."

I dared not glance at him and hunched over the glaring laptop screen.

After just a few sentences, my throat felt painfully dry.

He said nothing, letting his eyes roam over me like a cold, focused beam. A shiver ran down my spine, and my hands grew clammy.

He never interrupted, but I felt movement under the table, as if he were fiddling with something. Then my phone vibrated in my pocket.

I flipped a page and reached to mute it. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him glance at me.

Three rapid vibrations jolted my phone like tiny alarms. I faked a sip of water and tried to act natural, praying he hadn't seen.

After 20 minutes, I wrapped up my proposal and asked, "All done. Mr. Gilmore, is there anything that should be revised?"

He closed his laptop, removed his glasses, and stood. "There's no coffee here. Let's head downstairs for one."

I scrambled to pack my laptop and instinctively reached for my phone, wondering who would be messaging at this hour. Who would spam this early, and why do it during work hours?

The screen lit up with messages from Mr. Y.

I yanked my hand back and shoved the phone deep into my pocket, like hiding a live grenade.

At the door, he stopped and turned. His gaze locked onto me. "Your phone wallpaper looks familiar."

My heart leapt. I forced a calm smile, lightly tilted the phone, and beamed. "Oh, that's my boyfriend! The picture came out nicely, right? You must have mistaken him for someone else."

I wasn't nervous. Instead, he should be the nervous one.

His brow creased slightly, as if something was lodged in his throat. "You have a boyfriend?"

"Yes," I answered instantly, without the slightest hesitation. "We've been in an online relationship for three years. We got engaged three months ago, and our bond is very strong."

The lie sounded completely natural, almost like the truth itself.

He froze, and the color slipped from his face, leaving it ghostly pale.

After a long pause, he whispered, "Is that so?"

The words were barely more than a breath, as if he were seeking proof of a final truth.