His office late in the evening. She's now his assistant (reluctantly), and they're the only ones left in the building. The atmosphere is quiet, just the hum of a city at night through the windows.

She's trying to pretend everything's normal, but she's clearly uncomfortable—shifting in her seat, pale, a little sweat beading her forehead. He notices, but instead of teasing her (as he once would have), he quietly disappears for a few minutes.

She thinks he's avoiding her—maybe annoyed—but he returns, unceremoniously tossing a hot water bottle, a wrapped chocolate bar, and a bottle of painkillers onto her desk. No eye contact.

She blinks. "What's this?"

He shrugs. "You're not exactly subtle. And I'm not a monster."

Her voice is soft, surprised. "Thanks... I didn't think you'd care."

He finally looks at her—more serious than usual. "Just because we hated each other doesn't mean I wanted you to suffer. Also, I have a sister. I know the drill."

A beat passes. She bites back a smile, warmth growing in her chest.

She mutters, "Still a jerk."

He smirks. "Yeah, but I'm a jerk with a hot water bottle."

She grabs her bag and stands up, stretching. "Well, I'm out of here. If I'm going to survive tomorrow, I need a good night's sleep."

He doesn't look up from his computer, tapping away at something. "Sure. Go ahead. I'm sure you'll survive. You're tough."

She smirks, tossing her things into her bag. "Oh, I'm so tough, you have no idea. Just don't miss me too much."

He looks up for a split second, raising an eyebrow. "I won't."

"Of course you won't," she says, a teasing glint in her eyes. "But hey, thanks for the fan and the—what was it?—caring hot water bottle."

He smirks back, not phased. "Don't get used to it."

"Yeah, I'll try not to. Wouldn't want you to get too soft," she teases, walking toward the door.

She's almost out when he calls after her, voice casual but with that slight edge again. "Hey, take care of yourself. Seriously."

She stops, looking over her shoulder with a raised brow, her hand still on the door handle. "Is that... an order?"

He pauses, then glances up at her for a second, his face unreadable. "No. Just... don't pass out on your way home."

She smiles, feeling a little warmth from his words despite how nonchalant he's trying to sound. "Got it. Wouldn't want to give you the satisfaction."

With that, she leaves, the door closing softly behind her.

He watches her go for a moment, then looks back at his screen. But there's a brief flicker in his eyes—something like concern—before he shakes it off and gets back to work.

The office lobby, past midnight. Most lights are off. She's walking out, drained, clutching her coat. The pain's dulled but not gone.

She pushes the glass door open—then hears his footsteps behind her.

"You're not walking alone at this hour."

She stops, glancing over her shoulder. "Didn't realize you were my bodyguard now."

He doesn't reply. Just moves past her, opens the front door wider, and waits.

She eyes him warily. "You don't even like me."

"I don't," he says flatly. "But you're still on my payroll. And I don't enjoy paperwork. Especially the kind that involves hospital reports."

Her eyes narrow. "Wow. Heartwarming."

He starts walking. Doesn't wait for her. She huffs and follows.

Outside, the air bites. She shivers. He notices. Of course he does.

Without breaking stride, he shrugs off his expensive, black wool coat and tosses it at her.

She catches it mid-step, startled. "What is this?"

"You're slow enough already," he mutters. "I'm not dragging your half-frozen corpse back inside."

She glares at his back. "You could just say 'thank you for working late' like a normal boss."

He scoffs. "If you wanted a normal boss, you applied to the wrong damn company."

They keep walking in silence. Tension thick in the cold night.

She pulls the coat tighter. It smells like his cologne—clean, sharp, expensive. Everything about him is sharp.

"You're hard to read, you know that?" she mutters, mostly to herself.

He finally glances at her, eyes dark, unreadable. "Good. That means I'm doing it right."

They reach her car. She unlocks it but hesitates. Turns to him.

"I'm fine now," she says. "You can go."

"I'll decide that," he replies, voice calm but steel-edged.

She tilts her head. "Control issues?"

He steps closer, just enough to feel dangerous. "Trust issues."

She swallows, her heartbeat loud in her ears—but she doesn't back away. "With me?"

He looks down at her, unreadable. "With everyone."

He turns and walks off into the night without another word.

The coat stays on.