CHAPTER 4

Crossing Professional Lines

Something had changed.

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t announced.

But the air in the office felt different.

Pafon noticed it first in the glances.

The way conversations softened when he passed.

The way eyes followed him when he exited the CEO’s office.

He was called in too often.

Stayed too late.

Spent too much time behind closed doors.

Whispers were no longer subtle.

“He’s in there again?”

“Does the CEO usually mentor interns personally?”

“Interesting.”

Pafon kept his head down.

He had never wanted attention.

He wanted to work quietly. Learn quietly. Leave quietly.

But Patlom—

Patlom kept pulling him into visibility.

—

“Your analysis lacks depth.”

The words were calm.

Sharp.

Controlled.

Pafon stood across the desk, fingers tightening slightly around his tablet.

“I reviewed the market projections thoroughly, sir.”

“You reviewed them,” Patlom corrected smoothly. “You didn’t challenge them.”

Silence.

“Think strategically,” Patlom continued. “Not emotionally.”

The critique wasn’t humiliating.

It was precise.

Clinical.

Every flaw pointed out like a blueprint for improvement.

It was demanding.

And exhausting.

But it wasn’t unfair.

And that made it worse.

Because Pafon couldn’t even justify resentment.

—

That night, frustration finally cracked through his composure.

Is this because of that night?

Is he punishing me?

Testing me?

Training me?

He didn’t want special treatment.

Didn’t want rumors.

Didn’t want to be “the intern close to the CEO.”

He wanted to deserve this.

Every bit of it.

—

Another late evening.

Another intense review session.

The office was quiet. The lights dimmer than usual.

Patlom closed the file slowly.

“Better,” he said.

Pafon exhaled quietly.

Then, before he could lose the courage—

“Why me?”

The question escaped before he could soften it.

It hung in the air.

Heavy.

Honest.

Patlom looked at him steadily.

No amusement this time.

No teasing.

Just seriousness.

“Because you can handle it.”

The answer was immediate.

No hesitation.

Pafon blinked.

That wasn’t what he expected.

“You don’t give up,” Patlom added calmly. “Even when you’re overwhelmed.”

That acknowledgment hit harder than any criticism.

For a second, Pafon forgot how to respond.

—

The silence shifted.

Changed texture.

Patlom’s gaze lingered longer than necessary.

“Are you avoiding me?”

The question wasn’t professional.

Pafon stiffened. “No, sir.”

“Lying doesn’t suit you.”

Patlom stood.

Walked around the desk.

Each step measured.

The distance between them shortened.

The air grew warmer.

“You can’t separate that night from now,” Patlom said quietly.

Pafon’s breath caught.

“Neither can I.”

The admission landed between them like something fragile.

For the first time—

Patlom wasn’t hiding behind authority.

There was no dominance in his tone.

Only truth.

Something deeper hovered at the edge of confession—

Footsteps echoed outside the office.

Instantly, the atmosphere snapped.

Patlom stepped back.

His posture straightened.

His expression cooled.

CEO mode.

Sharp. Untouchable.

“Revise the forecast projections,” he said evenly.

“Yes, sir.”

The shift was disorienting.

Pafon left feeling like he had imagined the crack in the wall.

—

Rumors intensified.

A senior employee approached him casually near the elevators.

“Careful,” the man said lightly. “The higher you stand, the harder you fall.”

It wasn’t advice.

It was warning.

Pafon swallowed.

He never asked to stand high.

He was just trying not to drown.

—

Later that afternoon, a marketing associate lingered at Pafon’s desk.

“You’re adapting fast,” the man smiled. “Impressive.”

They chatted briefly.

Light.

Friendly.

Normal.

Across the office floor, from behind the glass walls—

Patlom noticed.

His expression didn’t change.

His tone remained steady during the ongoing meeting.

But his pen stopped moving for exactly three seconds.

Later, without explanation—

“Pafon.”

“Yes, sir?”

“You’ll stay late tonight. We’re reviewing expansion proposals.”

The instruction was calm.

Routine.

But deliberate.

Possessiveness did not roar.

It adjusted schedules.

—

Night settled over the building again.

When Pafon finally left, exhausted, Patlom remained.

Alone.

The city lights reflected across the glass walls of his office.

He opened a drawer.

Pulled out an internship file.

Pafon Rattana.

He had seen the name before the welcome meeting.

He had approved the shortlist.

He had moved the file personally.

This was not coincidence.

It had never been.

His fingers rested lightly on the paper.

Deliberate.

Strategic.

Chosen.

“I don’t repeat mistakes,” he murmured quietly.

The first time, he had let Pafon walk away.

There would not be a second.

The professional line had already blurred.

And this time—

Patlom had no intention of pretending otherwise.

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