"Close the door behind you," Peter said the moment Caro stepped into his office, his voice calm but carrying an edge that made her stop mid step. He did not look up immediately, his attention fixed on the file in front of him, but his tone alone made the air feel heavier. "We are not leaving this conversation halfway today."
Caro obeyed quietly, closing the door with careful hands before moving closer to the desk. "If this is about yesterday's mistake," she said softly, trying to steady her breathing, "I already went through everything twice. I corrected it. I checked it again before sending it."
Peter finally looked up at her, his gaze steady and unreadable. "That is exactly why I called you," he replied. "Because you corrected it… but you almost created a second problem while fixing the first one." He paused slightly. "Tell me, Caro. Why do you rush when you are under pressure?"
Caro's fingers tightened together in front of her. "Because pressure in your world does not wait," she answered honestly. "You expect precision in seconds, Peter. Not mistakes. No hesitation." She swallowed. "I am still trying to match that pace."
Peter leaned back slightly in his chair, studying her carefully. "I never asked you to become perfect," he said quietly. "So why do you keep acting like one mistake will make me erase you?"
Caro gave a faint, tense laugh that held no humor. "Because I have seen what happens when people disappoint you," she replied. "You do not repeat yourself twice, Peter. You replace people."
His expression changed slightly at that, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "You think I replace people for one mistake?" he asked slowly.
Caro hesitated, then nodded faintly. "Isn't that how your world works?"
Peter stood up from his chair, walking slowly around the desk until he was standing closer to her. "No," he said firmly. "That is how people outside my world imagine it works." He stopped in front of her. "I do not lose trust because of mistakes. I lose it because of lies."
Caro looked up at him, her throat tightening. "Then what am I supposed to do?" she asked quietly. "Because every time I make a mistake, I feel like I am walking on a line I cannot afford to cross."
Peter's gaze softened slightly, but his voice remained firm. "Stop walking like you are waiting to be punished," he said. "And start thinking like someone I chose."
Caro blinked slightly. "Choose?" she repeated.
"Yes," Peter said calmly. "You are still here, Caro. That should tell you something."
Caro looked away briefly, her voice lowering. "It tells me I have not failed badly enough yet."
That answer made silence fall between them.
Peter stepped closer again, his voice quieter now. "Why do you always assume the worst about yourself when I am not even saying it?"
Caro's lips parted slightly, but she hesitated. "Because your silence feels heavier than your words," she admitted. "When you go quiet, I do not know if I am still safe here or one step away from being removed."
Peter studied her for a long moment. "You think my silence is rejection," he said slowly. "But it is not."
Caro frowned slightly. "Then what is it?"
Peter's gaze did not leave hers. "Observation," he replied. "I am watching how you handle pressure. Not judging you. Not waiting to discard you."
Caro exhaled shakily. "It feels like judgment," she whispered. "Every single time."
Peter's expression tightened slightly. "Then you are projecting fear onto me," he said. "Not reality."
Caro shook her head faintly. "It is easy for you to say that," she replied. "You are not the one standing here feeling like one mistake will erase everything I have worked for."
Peter stepped back slightly, his voice firm but controlled. "Then stop calling it my expectation," he said. "Because I did not give you fear. You built that yourself."
Caro looked at him for a moment, then said quietly, "Maybe I built it because I care too much about what happens when I fail you."
That sentence landed between them like a shock.
Peter went completely still for a moment. Then he repeated softly, "Fail me?"
Caro quickly shook her head, realizing her mistake. "That is not what I meant," she said hurriedly. "I mean failing the company. Failing the work. Everything depends on precision here."
Peter did not respond immediately. His eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger, but in thought. "You always correct yourself too quickly," he said quietly. "Like you are afraid of what slips out."
Caro's heartbeat quickened. "Peter, please do not read too much into everything I say," she replied softly. "I am just tired."
Peter turned slightly, picking up the file on the desk. "Let us focus on this instead," he said, his tone returning to business. "You reviewed it earlier, correct?"
Caro nodded quickly. "Yes. Twice."
Peter opened the file and slid it toward her. "Then explain that clause."
Caro leaned in immediately, her eyes scanning quickly. Her expression changed almost instantly. "This is not the version I saw," she said, confused. "This clause was not there before."
Peter watched her closely. "Exactly," he replied.
Caro looked up sharply. "So someone changed it?"
Peter did not answer immediately. Instead, he reached for his phone. "That is what I am confirming," he said quietly. "Because this document was accessed last night."
Caro felt her stomach tighten. "Last night?" she repeated softly.
Peter nodded. "At the exact time you were alone in this building."
Silence dropped heavily in the room.
Caro stepped back slightly. "You think I altered it?" she asked, her voice breaking slightly.
Peter did not answer immediately, and that silence was worse than words.
Finally, he said, "I do not know yet."
Caro shook her head quickly. "I did not touch that file," she said firmly. "I swear to you."
Peter studied her face for a long moment. "Then someone used your access," he said quietly.
Before Caro could respond, his computer screen behind him suddenly lit up with a notification.
Both Peter and Caro turned toward the screen at the same time, the sudden alert lighting up the dim office like a warning siren. Peter did not speak immediately, but his posture changed instantly, his calm presence tightening as his eyes locked onto the message. "Unauthorized access detected," he read aloud slowly, his voice controlled, but now carrying a sharper edge beneath it.
Caro shook her head almost instinctively, stepping forward as if the words could be corrected by proximity alone. "That is impossible," she whispered, more to herself than to him, her voice thin and unsteady. "I never accessed anything outside what you gave me. I swear, Peter, I did not touch that system."
Peter did not answer right away. Instead, he took one slow step closer to the screen, as if confirming what he was seeing with his own eyes. The silence in the room deepened, heavy and suffocating, before the second notification appeared, brighter and more final than the first.
"Access traced to internal account: C. Beri," Peter read aloud, each word landing with deliberate weight. His jaw tightened instantly, and the air between them seemed to freeze. "Caro," he said slowly, his voice dropping lower now, no longer calm but dangerously restrained, "explain this to me."
Caro's body went still. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes flicked from the screen back to him. "I… I don't understand," she stammered, shaking her head quickly. "That is not my doing. I swear to you, Peter, I did not access anything. Someone is setting me up."
Peter finally turned fully toward her, his gaze no longer soft or questioning, but sharp and searching, as if he was trying to see past her words into something deeper. "Someone," he repeated quietly, almost dangerously calm. "Or you, Caro." He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What exactly are you hiding from me?"
The question hung in the air like a blade suspended between them. Caro opened her mouth, her hands trembling as she tried to find words, but nothing came out. For the first time since she had met him, since she had entered his world, since everything had begun…