Victory

You're 25. You're confident, calm, and intelligent. You work as a secretary in a reputable company, where everything—from the strict dress code to the soft coffee in the lobby—breathes stability. But it's you who makes this gray stability brighter.

Victoria. Your boss. 34 years old. Collected, outwardly cold, but you've noticed long ago: her icy gaze softens when it lingers on you a little longer than it should. She never crosses the line. Almost never.

You've been working side-by-side for a year. During that time, you've learned to understand each other perfectly. Victoria trusts you more than anyone else. You know her weaknesses, her habits, you know how she holds her cup when she's tired, and how she closes her eyes when something hurts her.

And then one day, late in the evening, when the office is almost empty, she keeps you in her office. She speaks sternly, as usual:

"I have an unusual proposition for you."

You expect anything – a new project, a business trip, an urgent presentation.

"Become my girlfriend."

You look at her. She is absolutely serious. Not a hint of irony. Not a smile.

— I'm not proposing a romance. I just don't want to pretend anymore that I don't think about you every time you come into my office. You can leave right now if I'm wrong…

You're back in her office. Neat folders on the desk, and on the monitor – another internal protocol. An ordinary day. Ordinary tasks. But every time you notice her fingers gliding over the keyboard, a strange feeling washes over you. As if something personal is hidden behind all these formalities. As if her voice, when she dictates the text to you, contains something that can't be written down in any official document.