As soon as I stepped into Vincent’s office, I froze.

He wasn’t alone.

His deep voice filled the air as he stood near the CEO’s table, speaking with his assistant and one of the board directors. Papers were spread across the desk, charts projected onto the screen. He looked every bit the powerful CEO — sharp, calm, commanding.

When his gaze lifted and met mine, the room suddenly felt colder. The way his eyes narrowed — it was like I was some uninvited guest trespassing in his private world.

“I— I’m sorry,” I blurted out quickly, bowing my head. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll come back another time.”

He didn’t even soften. His voice was low, detached.

“There’s no need. Just stand there and wait till we’re done.”

My lips parted, but no sound came out. He had already turned back to his work, continuing the conversation as if I were invisible.

So, I stood.

Minutes turned to an hour.

I stayed there quietly, holding the lunch box close to my chest, watching as they discussed profits, marketing expansions, and company acquisitions. His tone was firm, confident — not the man who’d once smiled faintly when I burned a meal or forgot a meeting.

The board director finally rose to his feet with a satisfied grin.

“Mr. Markston, your strategy is brilliant as always. With this, KNT will remain unmatched.”

Vincent gave a curt nod. “We’ll proceed immediately. Keep me updated.”

They both shook hands, exchanged a few last words, and began heading toward the door. I quickly stepped aside, bowing slightly as they passed.

“Good afternoon, sir,” I murmured politely.

The director smiled, nodding in acknowledgment before leaving with Vincent’s assistant. When the door finally shut, silence returned — thick and heavy.

Vincent turned his full attention to me. His expression was unreadable, his tone sharp.

“What are you doing here?”

“I— I— I brought lunch for you,” I stammered, clutching the box tightly.

He gave a faint, humorless laugh.

“When you’re done talking,” he said coolly, “you can use the door.”

I swallowed hard, my voice trembling. “Please, Vincent, hear me out. I’m just trying to make things better between us.”

He looked at me then — really looked — but his words were colder than ever.

“First of all, it’s *Boss* to you, not Vincent. And second, I’m busy. I don’t have time to waste on… whatever this is.”

I bit my lip. *Whatever this is.* That’s what he called it now.

Still, I refused to give up. “You’ve been busy all day,” I said softly, trying to smile. “Why don’t you take a short break? Just five minutes. You haven’t eaten, have you?”

He paused. His eyes flicked briefly to the lunch box, then back to me. After a tense moment, he said simply—

“Sit.”

The single word startled me. My eyes widened. “W—what?”

“I said sit,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I hesitated before obeying, sitting down on the soft leather sofa by the side of the room. My fingers fidgeted nervously on my lap as I watched him return to his desk.

Then his next words made me blink.

“Now eat.”

“I— I’m not hungry,” I lied, shaking my head quickly.

As if on cue, my stomach betrayed me with a loud, embarrassing growl. My cheeks burned with mortification as I looked away, covering my face.

Vincent’s lips twitched slightly, though not enough to be called a smile.

“Your stomach says otherwise,” he said dryly. “Now eat.”

With no choice, I slowly opened the lunch box, releasing the familiar aroma of the meal I’d cooked earlier that morning. The scent filled the office, warm and comforting — a sharp contrast to the man sitting across from me.

I picked up the spoon and began to eat quietly. Each bite tasted like a mixture of home and regret.

“Hmmm,” I couldn’t help the small sound that escaped my lips. “Delicious,” I murmured softly without thinking.

Vincent looked up from his documents, raising a brow.

“Says the person who wasn’t hungry,” he remarked.

I glanced at him shyly, but he was already standing up, adjusting his cuffs as if the entire exchange meant nothing.

“Once you’re done,” he said flatly, “you can leave. And next time, don’t come to my office for such trivial nonsense.”

Before I could respond, he turned and walked out, leaving the door slightly ajar.

For a moment, I sat there frozen, staring at the space he had just vacated. My chest felt tight — not because of anger, but because I still cared too much, even when he clearly didn’t.

“This man is so annoying,” I muttered under my breath, stabbing another spoonful of rice. “So cold. So impossible.”

Yet I kept eating, because it was the first real meal I’d had in a while.

And even if he didn’t appreciate it, I knew deep down I didn’t bring the lunch for thanks. I brought it because I still loved him — even when it hurt.

I leaned back against the sofa with a tired sigh.

“Ahh… it’s been so long since I had real food,” I whispered to myself, staring at the empty container before standing up to leave.

The office was quiet again, just like it had been when I entered.

But this time, the silence didn’t scare me — it only reminded me how strong I needed to be.