Vivian's POV:

The following morning arrived far too quickly.

Rogers Press held a planning meeting that felt as if it would never end. Seated among designers, surrounded by glossy sketches and product models, I struggled to concentrate on the creative director's presentation. Numbers kept swirling in my thoughts—forty thousand dollars. That sum echoed inside my head, relentless and loud, drowning out every idea or inspiration anyone tried to offer.

Leo's hopeful face drifted into my thoughts, clouding the blueprints and numbers scattered in front of me. My attention wandered, drawn to the window where the city's sharp lines blurred, replaced by the image of my boy's pale cheeks and anxious eyes. Even the muffled traffic outside faded, replaced by the phantom rhythm of the hospital's heart monitor. How was I supposed to gather the money we needed? Every valuable thing was already gone, every loan request turned down, and every friend or relative had been called.

Out of nowhere, I became aware of Carlos Rogers—my boss—watching me with sharp, measuring eyes. His gaze wasn't angry—just uncomfortably perceptive, as if he was quietly unraveling my every thought.

Unease prickled up my spine. What reason did he have to focus on me—a newcomer, hardly noticeable? Was he about to call me out for missing days at work? Would I lose my job before I even passed probation? I simply couldn't let that happen.

"Vivian, isn't it?" he said, snapping me out of my thoughts as the meeting ended. "Join me in my office, please."

Crossing the hallway, I felt as if I was walking to my own sentencing. Each step made my heart thump louder, mirroring the fear I felt for Leo. When I sat down across from Carlos's imposing desk, my hands were clammy with sweat.

"You seemed a million miles away today, Vivian. Is everything alright here? Are you unhappy?" Carlos observed, propping his chin in his palm.

Lying was pointless, and I couldn't afford to risk my job by hiding the truth. I took a shaky breath and told him everything: Leo's illness, the desperate need for surgery, the endless nights awake, and the impossible forty thousand I needed to save my child. My voice shook here and there, but I pushed through, sharing the weight I had been carrying alone. Finally, I asked the question that wouldn't stay silent any longer.

"Is there any way the company could give me a salary advance, or maybe offer a small loan?"

Carlos took in every word I said without uttering a sound. When I finished, he stared at the painting on his office wall, letting the silence stretch between us until it felt unbearable.

"Vivian, I'm truly sorry about what you're facing with your son." He finally spoke, his voice quieter than before. "But you must understand how things work here. Since you're still on probation, the finance department wouldn't even consider approving an advance or loan that large. It's just not possible under company policy."

Another door had slammed shut.

Disappointment surged through me, bitter and heavy. Deep down, I had known the answer all along. I lowered my head, blinking hard to keep the tears from falling, but something inside refused to let go.

A wild determination took hold. I stood, legs trembling but voice clear. "I understand, Mr. Rogers. But... is there any way you could help me, personally? Just the two of us—no paperwork, no official channels. A private agreement."

The room seemed to freeze. I realized I had crossed into forbidden territory, making a plea that mixed business with desperation. My cheeks burned, but I refused to look away. At this point, pride no longer mattered. There was nothing left to lose.

Carlos didn't move for a long time. Shock flickered across his features, the mask of professionalism slipping as he studied me. He looked for pretense, for some hint of manipulation, but found only a mother's raw desperation.

Something softened in his expression. His shoulders dropped, and the tension in the air eased a little.

"Take a seat, Vivian," he said at last, his tone warmer than before. "Let's figure this out together."

Carlos's POV:

The gentle hum of the air conditioning at Rogers Graphics had become the ever-present backdrop to my workdays. From my vantage point, I could survey the whole office—a hive of creativity, where the design teams churned out ideas and projects that had brought Michael Robinson and me a kind of success we had once only dreamed of.

These days, though, my attention kept drifting to a particular corner. Vivian Nelson, our newest architect, had only just joined the team, but something about her presence quietly pulled at me.

Vivian stood out in her own subtle way. She was beautiful, though not in any flashy sense. Grace seemed to follow her. Her hair caught the light every time she moved, and her eyes hinted at stories she had yet to share. Whenever that shy smile appeared, it seemed to brighten the whole office.

"That new hire, Vivian... there's something about her, Carlos," Michael said one afternoon, leaning across our shared workspace with a knowing grin. "I stroll past her area and suddenly I'm bursting with new ideas. She's got real spark."

I kept my tone reserved, careful not to reveal too much. "She's capable. Her perspective on the resort plans has already changed the way the team thinks."

Michael only chuckled, that trademark mischief lighting up his face.

"Capable, sure—very capable," he teased, making me shake my head.

Over the next several days, I caught myself watching Vivian more than was strictly appropriate. The way she bit her lip when deep in thought, how her voice carried a pleasant steadiness whenever she spoke to the others, her composure holding strong even during the most stressful moments. None of this escaped my notice.

It was a silent sort of admiration—one I kept locked away, mindful of the lines between manager and staff, especially with her still in the probationary period.

But today, my quiet observations hit a snag. Vivian's desk sat empty. At first, I assumed she was running late, nothing unusual. As the hours ticked by, however, her absence stretched on, and an uneasy feeling began to settle over me.

Michael breezed into my office without so much as a knock, his usual boldness on full display.

"Is your inspiration running dry now that the Muse has gone missing?" he teased, dropping into the chair across from me and making himself comfortable. "I heard she took two days off."

I tried to keep my voice even as I glanced down at the report in my hands. "She's your Muse, not mine. What's with the sudden time off? Vivian never struck me as the kind to skip work."

"No clue. The team just said she asked for leave because of something personal. If anyone knows more, it's probably Wendy." He shrugged, a note of curiosity in his reply.

Once he left, my curiosity refused to be ignored. I called for Gabrielle, my secretary, and asked her to get Wendy for me.

"Good morning, Mr. Rogers. Did you need something?" Wendy entered a moment later, clearly nervous.

"Yes. Have you heard anything about Vivian's absence?" I asked. "She hasn't shown up today."

Surprise flickered across Wendy's face. "I'm not sure. She didn't tell me anything. Yesterday, she seemed in a good mood—left early, even said she was getting ready for a party. Maybe she's sick or has family troubles?"

I gave a short nod and waved her away, telling myself to focus on the work piled on my desk.

The day crawled by. No matter how hard I tried to lose myself in client calls or budget spreadsheets, my thoughts kept circling back to Vivian. I found myself replaying her bright smile from her first day, the memory returning sharper than ever.

Even the next morning, knowing full well she wouldn't be at her desk, I couldn't help glancing over every so often. A mild curiosity had grown into something heavier—a silent ache laced with questions. Worry crept in, and I hated that her absence had managed to throw me off balance. I never used to get this invested in anyone.

***

By Wednesday morning, Vivian was back at the office, and the sight of her eased something tight in my chest. That relief didn't last long. The soft smile she usually wore was nowhere to be seen.

During the meeting, she barely spoke at all. Normally, her eyes tracked every concept and sketch with interest, but now they looked unfocused, drifting past the screen as if her thoughts were miles away.

"She's present, but she's somewhere else entirely, isn't she?" Michael leaned closer and spoke under his breath.

I didn't answer, though the concern in my chest deepened. From my seat, I watched her attempt to work. She lifted her pen, hesitated, then set it back down without writing a thing. A quiet heaviness clung to her, so stark it clashed with the lively energy filling the room.

Once the meeting wrapped up, I asked her to come see me.

Inside my office, she took the chair across from my desk and stared at her hands for a long moment. When she finally spoke, everything spilled out. She told me what had happened over the past few days and why she was desperate. Then she looked up and asked for help.

"I understand the rules, Mr. Rogers. But is there any way you could lend me the money yourself? Just between us, not through the company."

Her request caught me by surprise, though I masked it quickly. After a brief pause, I leaned back and met her gaze.

"Sit down, Vivian. Let's talk this through. Stay with me tonight, and I'll make sure you get the money. What do you say?"