The clock on the corridor wall of the forty-fifth floor showed exactly two o’clock in the afternoon. Clara straightened the front of her blazer, picked up a small notebook and pen from her desk, and stepped out of the consulting team’s office.
Her measured footsteps echoed softly across the gleaming marble floor as she headed toward the thick teakwood door at the end of the hall. Before knocking, Clara drew a deep breath—not to calm her nerves or her pounding heart, but to make sure her professionalism remained completely unshaken.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Come in,” a deep voice called from inside.
Clara slowly pushed open the heavy wooden door. Rayhan’s private office had changed little from what she remembered. It was expansive, dominated by dark colors and sturdy teakwood furniture. The scent of sandalwood and the faint trace of Rayhan’s masculine cologne immediately filled her senses. Once, that fragrance had always made Clara’s heart flutter with joy.
Now, it was nothing more than a combination of chemical molecules that meant absolutely nothing to her.
Rayhan sat behind his massive desk. He had removed his suit jacket, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled to his elbows. He appeared to be reading a document when Clara entered, but his gaze immediately shifted entirely to her.
“Good afternoon,” Clara greeted him calmly, standing at a very safe distance in front of the desk. “I’m here to retrieve last year’s physical financial report documents, as you instructed.”
Rayhan leaned back in his oversized leather chair. His eyes traveled from the top of Clara’s head to the tips of her toes. There was no homemade coffee cup in her hand. No lunch box decorated with a little ribbon. And of course, there was no longer any eager sparkle in those dark brown eyes.
“The documents are over there.” Rayhan pointed toward the coffee table near the seating area. “The subsidiary assets and accounts payable and receivable details are compiled in two black binders.”
“All right. Thank you,” Clara replied curtly.
Without wasting any time, Clara turned and walked toward the coffee table. She bent slightly to inspect the stack of binders, carefully checking the labels on each one.
Rayhan watched Clara’s every gesture from his chair. That familiar tightness crept back into his chest at the sight of how independent she had become. Clara used to be the kind of woman who asked him for help with trivial things—just so she would have an excuse to talk to him.
“How have you been?”
The question slipped from Rayhan’s mouth, breaking the silence in the room. His voice sounded quieter, stripped of the firm edge characteristic of a company leader.
Clara’s fingers, which had been flipping through the binder pages, paused for the briefest moment. It was almost imperceptible before they began moving again, straightening the documents.
“Are there any other files?” Clara asked.
It was clearly a question deliberately spoken to change the subject.
Clara had done it on purpose, and Rayhan knew it. He clenched his hand on the desk. Frustration began creeping through his mind.
Rayhan rose from his chair. His heavy footsteps carried him slowly toward the seating area, closing the distance between them.
Clara stood straight, holding the two thick binders against her chest, then turned to face Rayhan. Her calm yet ice-cold gaze locked directly onto his pupils, cutting his words off in midair.
“If there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave.”
Rayhan choked on his words. The man who usually held control over thousands of employees and business negotiations worth hundreds of billions suddenly found himself speechless.
Even after the door closed, Rayhan stood in silence. The cold emptiness suddenly felt even more suffocating.
The ego that had once towered as high as the sky now felt shattered across the marble floor of the room. For the first time in his life, Rayhan realized a terrifying truth. Clara Anindita had truly moved far beyond him, while he was now trapped alone in a past that could never be turned back.