Chapter 2

Ann Smith stepped into the office the next day wearing a long navy-blue dress with flat black shoes, clutching her worn leather bag like a lifeline. Her heart thudded in rhythm with the elevator's climb to the twentieth floor. She was thinking of going to apologize to Mr Knight again. She can't see herself out of employment knowing that she has bills to pay.

The elevator doors opened with a chime. The office floor was sleek, polished, and silent like a cathedral. Employees walked like shadows swift and invisible avoiding eye contact, especially near the glass fortress at the end of the hallway: Richard's office. Ann took a deep breath and walked to her desk, aware of the hushed whispers, the side-glances. She didn't blame them. She was the intern who managed to scorch the CEO with boiling coffee . She should've been fired immediately. But she wasn't. That terrified her more than if he'd screamed or snapped or ended her contract with a single stroke of his pen. No, Richard Knight did something worse he ignored her. Not just professional detachment but arctic silence too. He had walked past her three times this morning already, and each time, she felt the chill seep into her bones. Not a glance. Not a twitch of acknowledgment. Nothing. "Hey, intern," came a voice from behind. It was Jordan from the finance team smirking, loud, and annoyingly entertained by the drama. "You planning to wear your coffee today or save it for Knight's lap again?" Laughter rippled from a few nearby desks. Ann turned slowly. She didn't smile. She didn't flinch. "I was actually thinking of using it as cologne," she said coolly, "but I hear 'cheap cologne and insecurities' already has a face around here." Jordan blinked. Then his smug expression faltered. The laughter turned on him now, and he walked away muttering under his breath. Ann sat down, fingers trembling slightly. Her mother always said: People only laugh at the ones who flinch. So, she didn't. Even though every second in this place felt like balancing on the edge of a sword.

At 10:01, her office phone rang. "Intern," said the voice, deep and emotionless. "My office. Now." She stood, smoothed her dress, and walked through the glass doors. Richard Knight sat behind a desk that seemed carved from stone. His suit was flawless. His eyes were colder than marble. If there was any residual memory of the coffee stain that once marked his white shirt, it had been eradicated with the kind of efficiency only money could buy. "You're late," he said. She checked her watch. "It's 10:01." "You should've been waiting outside the door at 9:59." Ann tilted her chin. "Noted. What would you like me to do, Mr. Knight?" He didn't blink. "File these," he said, handing her a stack of folders that looked heavy enough to crush a hippo. "Alphabetically. Digitally. Cross-check every number. If you miss one decimal, you'll find the door on your own." She took the files. "Got it." "And Smith?" he added, just as she turned. She faced him. "Don't spill anything else," he said flatly. "Not even air." Her lips twitched. She didn't smile. "Understood, sir. Though I must warn you, breathing is kind of an involuntary action." His eyes narrowed. "Then I suggest you learn to control it." Ann left the room, her heart pounding. She didn't cry. Not in front of him. Not in front of anyone. She made it to her desk, opened the first file, and dove in.

For the next four hours, she worked like her life depended on it, because it kind of did. She double-checked every invoice, every client number, every signature. She didn't stop for lunch. She didn't look at her phone. She let her fingers bleed against the keyboard if they had to. And still, at 2:15, he returned. "This is incorrect," he said, placing the first folder on her desk. "I double-checked" "You triple-check nothing. This total doesn't match the original quote." She opened the file. Her eyes scanned the page. "You're right," she said after a pause. "It doesn't match. Because the client negotiated a lower rate via email two weeks later. The original quote was updated in the system, not on paper. The paper is outdated." Richard didn't move. Didn't speak. Just looked at her. Ann didn't lower her gaze. Finally, he said, "We don't keep interns for more than six weeks. No matter how many decimal points they count." "I'm aware," she replied. "Then what are you trying to prove?" "I'm trying to do my job," she said, voice steady. "If that threatens anyone, maybe the problem isn't the intern." That silenced him for a moment. His stare pierced her like frost. But for the first time, something flickered behind it. Curiosity? Amusement? She couldn't tell. He left without another word.

Over the next few days, the cold war escalated. Richard never praised her work but he never criticized it again, either. He started sending tasks that were far above intern level: investment research, vendor reports, even market forecasts. Each time, she handled it with quiet precision. He'd pass her desk and glance, only briefly. She'd meet his eyes with calm neutrality. The office watched like it was a gladiator ring waiting to see who'd flinch first. By the end of the week, she found an envelope on her desk.

"Meet me in the 35th floor boardroom. 6PM. Don't be late. –RK"

She read it three times. Her stomach flipped. The 35th floor wasn't for interns. It wasn't even for regular staff. That floor was for high-stakes meetings with billion-dollar clients. At 5:59, she walked in. The boardroom was empty except for Richard. He didn't look up as she entered. "Close the door." She did. "Sit." She obeyed. He finally looked at her. "You've been researching Simmons Global's bid, yes?" "Yes." "Then tell me,should we take the offer?" Ann blinked. "You're asking for my opinion?" "I'm asking for your analysis," he replied, leaning back. "If I wanted opinions, I'd go to Twitter." She hesitated only a moment, then pulled a folder from her bag. "They're offering above market, but their liquidity has been volatile. Last quarter, they dipped into emergency reserves to cover bonuses. Also, they're under investigation in Singapore for tax evasion. It's low-risk short-term gain with long-term volatility." Richard stared at her, fingers steepled. "And your recommendation?" "We reject. Politely. And wait for Bexley Holdings to counter." A pause. Then…. "You're not bad." Her brows lifted. "That almost sounded like a compliment." "It wasn't," he said flatly. "You're still reckless. You talk too much. You question authority." "I ask questions when the authority doesn't make sense." "You'll get burned." "Maybe," she said, rising from the chair. "But I won't freeze to death waiting for someone to notice me." She walked to the door. Paused. "Good night, Mr. Knight." He said nothing. But when the door clicked shut, Richard allowed himself one rare, fleeting smile. He had waged an office cold war. But it seemed… the intern had brought fire.