CHAPTER 5

Whispers in the Hallway

The whispers were no longer subtle.

They had edges now.

Pafon felt it the moment he stepped into the office.

Conversations that had been flowing stopped mid-sentence.

Smiles felt stretched.

Eyes lingered a second too long.

Someone muttered just loud enough—

“Interns shouldn’t have special access.”

The words weren’t directed at him.

But they landed exactly where intended.

Pafon kept walking.

Back straight. Expression neutral.

He had trained himself not to react.

But neutrality didn’t stop the sting.

—

By lunchtime, the tension was undeniable.

An anonymous comment appeared in the internal feedback forum:

Transparency should apply to everyone. Including why certain interns receive exclusive exposure.

He stared at the screen longer than he should have.

This is dangerous.

For the first time, the thought formed clearly—

Maybe I should request a transfer.

He could move to another department.

Start over.

Work quietly.

Avoid attention.

Avoid him.

Because staying near Patlom wasn’t just complicated.

It was visible.

And visibility in a corporate structure like this could be deadly.

He didn’t want success wrapped in suspicion.

He wanted to earn it.

Alone.

—

Patlom noticed immediately.

Shorter responses.

Eyes that no longer met his.

A tone that had shifted from hesitant warmth to rigid professionalism.

“Yes, sir.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Noted.”

Too distant.

Too careful.

Patlom didn’t ask.

He observed.

He called his assistant.

He requested internal activity logs.

He gathered information.

By mid-afternoon, he knew.

Rumors.

Speculation.

A subtle smear campaign.

His expression cooled.

Not visibly.

But the temperature in his office dropped three degrees.

—

The department meeting was routine.

Until it wasn’t.

A senior manager cleared his throat.

“Sir, may I ask why an intern is included in strategic expansion discussions?”

The room stilled.

Eyes shifted subtly toward Pafon.

Patlom didn’t react immediately.

He placed his pen down with deliberate calm.

“I assign tasks based on competence,” he said evenly. “Not title.”

Silence.

“If anyone feels threatened by that,” he continued, voice still calm, “improve your competence.”

No raised voice.

No anger.

Just precision.

The message was surgical.

The room fell completely silent.

And for the first time—

Patlom defended him publicly.

Not as an intern.

But as someone who belonged there.

Pafon’s chest tightened unexpectedly.

—

Later, he entered the CEO’s office with something heavy in his chest.

Before he could speak—

“If you’re thinking of running again, don’t.”

The words were direct.

Sharp.

Not shouted.

But firm.

Pafon froze.

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

Silence stretched.

Frustration finally cracked through.

“I don’t want to be your weakness.”

The confession left his mouth before pride could stop it.

The room went very still.

For a split second—

Patlom looked almost offended.

Not by the emotion.

By the assumption.

“You’re not my weakness,” he said quietly.

A pause.

“You’re my decision.”

The weight of those words settled deep.

There was no teasing.

No dominance.

No strategic tone.

Just certainty.

Pafon’s breath felt unsteady.

This wasn’t manipulation.

It wasn’t a game.

Patlom had chosen him.

And that choice wasn’t fragile.

It was deliberate.

—

The jealousy came quietly.

A colleague from marketing leaned over Pafon’s desk later that afternoon.

“You’ve been under a lot of pressure,” the man said kindly. “If you need help, just ask.”

A hand rested briefly on Pafon’s shoulder.

Friendly.

Harmless.

From across the floor—

Patlom walked out of his office at that exact moment.

He said nothing.

Didn’t frown.

Didn’t interrupt.

But the air shifted.

The colleague removed his hand almost immediately without knowing why.

Later that evening, an internal memo was sent.

Marketing restructuring.

Immediate reassignment.

Coincidence?

Perhaps.

Perhaps not.

—

When work finally ended, Pafon gathered his things slowly.

The elevator lobby was nearly empty.

He didn’t expect footsteps behind him.

“I’ll walk you.”

Patlom’s voice was calm.

Rare.

Public.

They stood side by side in silence.

The elevator arrived.

Just before the doors closed, Patlom spoke quietly—

“I don’t like sharing.”

Not loud.

Not threatening.

But undeniably possessive.

The doors slid shut between them.

Inside the descending elevator, Pafon pressed a hand lightly against his chest.

His heartbeat refused to calm.

He should have been afraid.

Of rumors.

Of power imbalance.

Of consequences.

Instead—

Something far more dangerous had begun to take root.

He wasn’t scared anymore.

He was falling.

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