The traffic light turned red.
The car stopped.
For a long moment, there was only silence and the low hum of the engine. Jabco leaned back in his seat, eyes closed, head tilted slightly to the side. Riyana thought he had fallen asleep.
Then he spoke.
“How was your date?”
His voice was calm, too calm. Almost careless.
Riyana’s hands stiffened on the steering wheel. Her chest tightened. For a second, she forgot to breathe.
So he saw her.
He saw her with John.
She turned her head just a little, enough to look at him, then quickly looked back at the road as if the traffic light was the most important thing in the world.
“It was good,” she said slowly.
That was all.
There was no reason to explain. No reason to tell him it was not really a date, that she went only because she was tired, because she wanted to forget things for a few hours. He was her boss. Nothing more.
Jabco’s jaw tightened. The muscles in his face hardened, as if something inside him had snapped. His breathing became heavier. He closed his eyes again and said nothing.
Riyana glanced at him from the corner of her eye. His face looked calm, but she knew him too well. This silence meant anger. Or something worse.
The rest of the drive passed in a strange, heavy quiet. The kind that pressed on the chest and made every second feel longer than it was.
When they reached his house, Riyana parked the car in front of the gate. She unfastened her seatbelt and stepped out, walking around to his side. She opened the door.
“Sir, we’re home.”
Jabco let out a long breath and stepped out, but his body swayed the moment his feet touched the ground. Riyana reacted without thinking. She rushed forward and wrapped her arms around him to keep him from falling.
“Let me help you,” she said softly.
For a second, they were too close.
He looked down at her. His eyes were heavy, unfocused, but full of something raw. Even drunk, his eyes held her like he was refusing to let go.
The smell of alcohol filled her nose. Strong. Sharp. It was like he had soaked himself in it. He was far drunker than she had expected.
She looked away quickly and slid his arm over her shoulder, holding him firmly as she led him inside. She could feel his gaze on her face the entire time.
“You look beautiful with your hair down,” he murmured. “I never knew.”
Her steps slowed, just a little.
“You don’t know many things about me, sir,” she replied quietly, keeping her voice polite, controlled.
“Then tell me,” he said. His voice was low, rough from alcohol. “I want to know.”
“I’m only your secretary,” she said. “You don’t need to know.”
She pushed open the main door and guided him inside.
“No,” he said suddenly. “You’re special. I want to know you better.”
Riyana stopped.
Her heart began to race, fast and uneven. She turned to look at him. He was staring at her, completely serious.
Special?
That word echoed in her head.
What was he saying?
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