CHAPTER 3

Under His Supervision

The official notice arrived at 9:02 a.m.

Placement: Office of the CEO.

Direct Supervision: Mr. Patlom Vareesin.

It looked innocent on paper.

It felt like a public execution.

The whispers started before Pafon even folded the document.

“Office of the CEO?”

“That’s impossible.”

“He must have connections.”

“Or blackmail.”

Pafon kept his expression neutral, but inside—

If only you knew.

Connections?

Yes.

Unfortunately, horizontal ones.

He pressed his lips together.

This is work.

Just work.

Nothing else.

—

His first task came without ceremony.

Patlom stood beside the long conference table, flipping through a file.

“You’ll prepare a consolidated financial summary for the Q2 projections.”

Pafon nodded automatically.

Then Patlom added calmly:

“I want it tomorrow morning.”

Pafon blinked.

Tomorrow?

That report normally took senior staff at least a full day with assistance.

Patlom’s eyes lifted.

“Don’t disappoint me.”

Not loud.

Not threatening.

Just heavy.

The kind of sentence that stayed in your spine.

“Yes, sir.”

And just like that—

The test began.

—

By 8:47 p.m., most of the building was dark.

By 10:13 p.m., the cleaning staff had passed twice.

By 11:02 p.m., Pafon was questioning every life decision that led him here.

He stared at spreadsheets until numbers blurred.

He rubbed his temples.

“This is just work,” he muttered.

He was not doing this to impress Patlom.

He was not proving anything.

He definitely was not trying to show that he wasn’t weak.

Absolutely not.

His mind betrayed him anyway.

You left without saying goodbye.

Why did that line replay so clearly?

Was this punishment?

Or was he being evaluated like a… candidate?

He straightened in his chair.

No.

He would not fail.

Not because of pride.

Not because of history.

But because he earned this internship.

And he would survive it.

—

From the glass corridor above, someone watched.

Patlom stood with one hand in his pocket.

Silent.

Observing.

Pafon didn’t notice.

He was too focused — brow slightly furrowed, sleeves rolled up, lips pressed together in determination.

He looked tired.

But he didn’t give up.

A subtle shift crossed Patlom’s expression.

Approval.

He left without being seen.

—

Morning came too quickly.

Pafon placed the completed report on the CEO’s desk with steady hands.

He had triple-checked everything.

Twice.

Patlom reviewed it without expression.

The silence stretched.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Pafon considered fainting for dramatic effect.

Finally—

“It’s acceptable.”

Acceptable.

Not amazing.

Not terrible.

Just… acceptable.

Which, coming from him, felt suspiciously like praise.

“Thank you, sir.”

As Pafon turned—

“Coffee.”

He froze.

Not a request.

An instruction.

“Yes, sir.”

Five minutes later, he returned with a cup placed precisely the way Patlom liked — though he had no idea how he knew that.

He set it down.

Their fingers brushed.

Just slightly.

Barely contact.

But electricity doesn’t require permission.

Neither pulled away immediately.

Patlom’s gaze lowered briefly to their hands.

Then lifted.

“Do you regret that night?”

The question landed directly.

No warning.

No preparation.

Pafon’s throat tightened.

This is work.

This is an office.

Why are we discussing this?

He hesitated.

And that hesitation said more than any answer.

Patlom leaned back slowly.

“I don’t like people who lie.”

“I’m not lying,” Pafon replied quickly.

“Good.”

Silence again.

Patlom didn’t push further.

He was studying.

Measuring reactions.

Testing emotional fault lines.

And Pafon could feel it.

—

The duality began to confuse him.

In meetings?

Patlom was ice.

Precise. Detached. Untouchable.

His voice cut through discussions like a blade.

No warmth

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