Azael's POV
I should have ended this yesterday. Closed the system, erased the footage, and returned to what matters. That would have been logical. Efficient. Controlled. Instead, I am here again, sitting in the dim quiet of my office, watching a set of screens that should not concern me. Multiple camera angles. Multiple floors. And yet, every path leads back to one place. One person. Mira. Her name no longer feels unfamiliar. It lingers. That alone is a problem.
She is early today. That is the first thing I notice. She stands near her assigned desk, holding a file too tightly, scanning the room like she expects to be corrected for simply existing. Her movements are hesitant but deliberate. She adjusts her chair, sits, stands again, then sits properly this time. A small exhale escapes her, like she just accomplished something significant. My fingers rest still against the desk. Why am I watching this? There are meetings waiting. Decisions that shape entire markets. Men who would beg for a fraction of my attention. And yet, I am watching her learn how to sit.
Pathetic.
She places the file neatly in front of her and smooths its edges. Careful. Intentional. She remembers yesterday. The mistakes. The embarrassment. And instead of avoiding it, she adjusts. Improves. My gaze sharpens slightly. That is not how most people function. They justify failure. Shift blame. Protect their pride. But her—she simply tries again. No resistance. No hidden irritation. Just effort.
A man enters the department. I recognize him immediately. Senior staff. Efficient but unpleasant. He stops beside her desk. "You're the new intern?" Mira stands too quickly. "Yes! I mean—yes, sir." Her voice is unsteady but honest. No performance. No manipulation. He glances at her file, then at her face. "Late yesterday." Her gaze lowers slightly. "I'm really sorry, I—" "Don't explain." He cuts her off. Sharp. Dismissive. My fingers tap once against the desk. She nods immediately. "Yes, sir."
That… irritates me.
"Sort these." He drops a stack of files onto her desk harder than necessary. Papers shift unevenly. She flinches, barely noticeable, then steadies them with both hands. "I will." He lingers for a moment, watching her. My gaze darkens. I do not like the way he is looking at her. He leaves.
Mira exhales softly once he is gone. "…okay…" she whispers, like she survived something. And then she begins.
Mira's POV
Okay. This is fine. Mira stares at the stack of files in front of her. There are too many. Definitely too many. But she nods to herself anyway. "You can do this." She picks up the first file and opens it carefully, reading each line as if it might disappear if she rushes. Her brows knit together in concentration. She flips a page, pauses, then flips it back. "…wait." She tilts the file slightly. "…okay." It makes sense now. Progress.
A small, almost invisible smile touches her lips before she buries herself back into work. She moves slowly at first, careful with every detail, double-checking each section before placing it aside. She doesn't want to make another mistake. Not here. Not again. Minutes pass. Then more. Her pace is steady but slow.
"Still not done?" Her head snaps up. The same man stands beside her desk again. Her chest tightens. "I—I'm almost—" "You're too slow." The words land heavier than they should. "I'm trying—" "Trying isn't enough." Her fingers tighten slightly around the edge of the file. "…I'll do better." Her voice is soft, not defensive. Not hurt. Just… sincere. He scoffs. "Let's see if you last a week." He leaves again.
Mira stays still for a moment. "…okay." She takes a breath. "Work faster." She nods to herself and continues.
Azael's POV
The pen in my hand cracks. A sharp sound cuts through the silence of my office. I look down at it, broken cleanly in half. I do not remember applying pressure. My gaze lifts slowly back to the screen. She is moving faster now. Not better. Faster. Her hands rush through the files, her careful rhythm gone. She almost places one in the wrong section—stops just in time. "…no, no, slow down…" she whispers. But she doesn't slow down.
My jaw tightens. Why is she changing for him? He is irrelevant. Insignificant. Unworthy of influence. And yet, his words altered her behavior. That is unacceptable. I stand abruptly. Enough.
Mira's POV
Her hands are moving too fast. Mira can feel it now. The mistake almost happened. Her chest tightens slightly. "I'm not that slow…" she whispers. But the words linger. You're too slow. Her fingers tremble slightly as she picks up another file. She doesn't notice.
Azael's POV
The hallway falls silent the moment I step into it. It always does. People shift, move, lower their gaze. But today, I don't register them. My focus is singular. Her. I enter the department. The air changes instantly. Tension tightens across the room. Everyone stands. Except her. Mira is still seated, completely absorbed in her work.
"…wrong section." The words leave me before I consider them. She freezes. Then slowly looks up. "…sir—!" She stands too quickly. "I—I'm sorry—" "You're sorting incorrectly." She blinks, checks the file. "…oh." A pause. "You're right." No excuse. No denial. Just acceptance. My eyes narrow slightly. "…fix it." "Yes, sir."
She sits again. Slower. More careful. Her movements return to precision. Better. I turn and leave.
Mira's POV
Her heart is racing. "…why is he here…" Her hands move slower now. Careful. Controlled. Because he noticed. Because he corrected her. "…he helped again…" The thought is quiet. She shakes her head. "No. Focus." But the feeling doesn't leave.
Azael's POV
I close the door behind me. Silence returns. But it does not settle. My thoughts remain with her. I walk to the window, staring at my reflection. Cold. Controlled. Unchanged. A lie. Something is shifting.
A knock interrupts. "Enter." The same man steps inside. "Sir, about the intern—" My gaze sharpens. "What about her?" He hesitates. "She's inefficient. I recommend we reassign—" "No." The word is immediate. Final. "She stays."
He leaves quickly.
Silence.
This has crossed a line. This is no longer observation. No longer curiosity. This is interference. And worse—I do not regret it.
My gaze drifts back to the monitors. "…Mira." Her name settles differently now. Something closer. Something claimed.
If someone tries to break her—I will stop it.