Chapter 4

Avery’s POV

The late afternoon sun filtered through the blinds in my corner office, casting long stripes of shadow across the polished floor. My expansive desk—the command center of my life—was a mess, a battlefield of unloved duties.

Contracts lay unsigned, proposals remained scattered, and a forgotten coffee cup sat in the corner, a monument to neglect. The hum of the air conditioner filled the silence, a metallic reminder that the world outside moved on while I sat buried under the weight of responsibility.

I leaned back in the leather chair, the material protesting, and rubbed my temples in frustrated circles. My existence felt torn between two worlds.

First, the world of work—a cycle of numbers, meetings, and rigid appointments that demanded my cold presence. Second, the world of service—the pull of charity, the chaos of the orphanages, the hopeful faces of children who needed care.

Between these conflicting worlds, the second one tugged harder at my heart. That was the moment a knock broke the silence.

It was authoritative, delivered with a cadence I knew well. “Come in,” I called, voice muffled, not bothering to lift my head from my hands.

The door creaked open, and Grace stepped inside. She was my assistant, my confidante, and my closest friend.

There was an anchor-like quality to her presence, a blend of efficiency and mischief that calmed the storm around me. She held a crisp, white envelope in her hand, her lips curved into a smile that put me on guard.

“Here,” she announced, placing the envelope in the center of my desk. “The names of all five aspirants for the Director of Operations position. I’ve gone through the selection process. Each candidate is nearly perfect on paper for the role. It’s your turn now, Boss.”

I glanced at the envelope and gave a deep, agonizing sigh.

“Grace,” I muttered, sinking lower into the chair. “You know me better than anyone. I am uninterested in this administrative stuff—the tedious work, the selection process, the final decision. That is why you are here; to handle all of this administrative nonsense for me. Why don’t you just appoint one of them? Whichever one you think can execute the job without my interference.”

Her eyes flickered with amusement, but she folded her arms across her chest, a posture of non-negotiation, and tilted her head.

“Oh, really? And what will I tell your intimidating mother when she inevitably asks, with icy specificity, whether you, the head of the company, reviewed and approved the final appointment?”

“Don’t you dare tell her anything of the sort,” I retorted, raising a warning finger as though warning her of danger. “Don’t you dare tell her I asked you to make this decision. Spare me that lecture, Grace. You know how it is—it’s always ear-deafening, long, and filled with dramatic, operatic flourishes. I swear, she could put professional opera singers to shame with the projection and volume her voice manages to achieve during those sessions.”

Grace burst into genuine laughter, covering her mouth with her hand to stifle the sound.

“Yes, I understand the analogy. I’ve seen the collateral damage after those lectures—you look like a tired soldier returning from a brutal, prolonged battle. But, Avery, she wants the best for your company, and for you.”

I rolled my eyes heavenward and sank even deeper into my chair.

“Wanting the best and torturing me for it are two separate things. This time, Grace, you are my shield. Take the final responsibility for the appointment, and spare my poor ears.”

She chuckled, shaking her head in exasperated fondness.

“You are unbelievable, Avery. Here you are, the heir and head, supposed to be running a multimillion-dollar company, and yet you want to run away from the simplest, most fundamental tasks required of you.”

“Simple for you,” I shot back, a smile playing on my lips. “Not for me. You don’t comprehend the depth of my allergy to this paperwork.”

Her laughter softened into a playful smirk. She tapped the envelope on the desk and delivered a wry jab.

“You know, sometimes I feel this entire company isn’t running because of your efforts at all. I suspect it’s running by the grace of God.”

I sat bolt upright in my chair, eyes widening in mock offense, and pointed a finger of correction toward her.

“No! Not by God’s grace! That is factually incorrect! It is running by Grace! You, my assistant, are the god of this successful company, and don’t you forget it!”

She flushed under the theatrical compliment, swatting at my arm in protest.

“Stop exaggerating my role, Avery, you know it’s not true.”

“I am not exaggerating at all,” I insisted, adopting a posture of theatrical seriousness. “You keep the walls from crumbling. You ensure the wheels don’t spin off the tracks. If anyone deserves the title of divine savior here, it is you.”

She shook her head, but the twitching at the corners of her lips betrayed her pleasure.

“Flattery, my impossible Boss, will not get you out of your fundamental responsibilities, you know that perfectly well.”

“Oh, but it always works on you,” I countered, my smirk widening into a grin.

Grace let out a dramatic sigh, though amusement lingered in her eyes.

“Anyway,” she said, straightening her posture and adjusting her tone into something professional and urgent, “about the aspirants. Out of the five candidates, there is one woman who stands out. She’s thirty-six, and her track record from her previous company is excellent, bordering on flawless. I believe she would be perfect for the role. Her name is—”

But before she could complete the name, I shot up from my chair with such speed that the wheels screeched against the floor.

“Grace!” I yelled, interrupting her, raising my hand in a defensive gesture to stop her from uttering something too dangerous to be spoken. “It doesn’t matter what their name is! It doesn’t matter! Just appoint who you think they should be. End of discussion. Please, just start the notification process without telling me their name.”

She blinked at me, her expression clouding with confusion and concern.

“But… why not, Avery? Why are you acting like this?”

“Because,” I said, already stepping away from the desk and the white envelope, “I have to go. Right now. There is no time to waste.”

“Go?” she echoed, rising from the edge of my desk, her concern pronounced. “Where on earth are you rushing off to in such a hurry, Avery?”

I grabbed my dark coat from the stand and threw it over my arm, already moving toward the door.

“The orphanage,” I replied, the name settling the chaos. “You know how important it is to me, more than any meeting. I promised the kids that I’d be there today, to help with the new project, and that is not something I can delay for procedure. This—” I gestured toward the unopened envelope—”this can wait. That, Grace, cannot.”

Her expression softened, the amusement returning to dance in her eyes, replacing the confusion.

“You are impossible, Avery. Always running off to your charities, leaving me behind to manage everything.”

I paused at the doorway and looked back at her, a tired smile gracing my lips.

“Grace, some things in this life—like the sound of innocent laughter in an orphanage courtyard—are more important than the temporary power of rooms and titles. You, of all people, understand that core truth.”

She sighed, a sound heavy with concession, but smiled back warmly.

“Fine, Avery. Go. But I am giving you fair warning: don’t you dare blame me if your mother finds out about this, and decides to unleash her full, glorious lecture on you tonight.”

I laughed, opening the door and stepping into the corridor.

“I’ll take my chances with Mom.”

Her final voice followed me out into the silence of the corridor, ringing with gravity: “One day, Avery, you will realize that the choices you run from are often the choices that come back to you in the most unexpected ways.”

The car ride was quiet, a contrast to the intensity of the office. The city rushed by the windows with its chaotic evening symphony—the honking of cars, the blurred movement of pedestrians, the neon signs coming to life as the evening deepened.

But my focus was far elsewhere, settled with the children waiting for me. When I arrived at the orphanage, it greeted me with its warmth.

The building was old, its exterior paint peeling, a testament to its long life and limited resources, but the central courtyard rang with the sound of laughter. Children ran, their small bodies possessing an energy that could power the world.

The moment their eyes caught sight of me by the gate, their faces lit up, radiating a spontaneous joy that humbled me.

“Avery!” a little boy named Adams, the fastest runner, shouted, racing toward me across the yard.

Others followed, swarming around me, tugging at my coat sleeves, showing me drawings they made, or asking me to join their game of tag. I knelt, meeting them at their level, ruffling their hair, feeling the weight of my day’s troubles melt away in the heat of their joy.

Here, in this world, there were no white envelopes, no anonymous candidates, no long lectures to fear—only life in its simplest form. Inside the administration office, the caretaker, a kind woman named Fiona, thanked me for the latest round of donations and my support, but I waved off her appreciation.

“Please, Fiona,” I insisted, voice earnest. “I don’t do any of this for thanks. I do it because it’s the only part of my life that feels real and meaningful.”

For the next few hours, I stayed right there—playing games, helping with homework, listening to the stories the kids made up on the spot. Each unrestrained laugh, each trusting hug, felt like a piece of my soul being stitched back together.

And yet… even amidst the chaos, the murmur of Grace’s words echoed in the back of my mind. I didn’t know why I had run away from hearing her name spoken.

My responsibilities. Perhaps it was because I understood that names carry weight—they represent futures, lives, and responsibility.

Perhaps it was because every choice I made in that other world felt like a chain, pulling me away from the goodness that mattered most. By the time I returned to the high-rise that night, the place was dark and silent.

Most of the staff had left. The corridors echoed with the sound of my footsteps.

When I reached the sanctuary of my office, the lights were on. Grace sat at my desk, face illuminated by the desk lamp, diligently going through papers with her unshakeable calm.

She looked up, eyes bright and perceptive, as I entered. “Back already, Avery? Mission accomplished? Did you save the world again today?”

I grinned tiredly, accepting the jab.

“Not the entire world, Grace. Just a few small hearts that make mine feel bigger.”

She shook her head, a genuine, admiring smile on her face. “You never change your priorities, do you, Boss?”

I walked over to the desk, my eyes drawn to the white envelope still lying where she had placed it hours ago. It was unopened.

Grace had left it untouched, respecting my fear.

“You didn’t appoint anyone, then?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“No, Avery,” she replied, leaning back into my chair, her posture relaxed but watchful. “Because, for all of your frantic running and avoidance, I know that you would want to be the one to make that choice. You may dislike the paperwork, but important decisions like this one… they shape the future. Whether you accept the responsibility or not, this place is a foundational part of your life, a legacy you must uphold.”

I looked at her, taking in her unwavering belief in my capability, then shifted my gaze back to the envelope. Slowly, I picked it up, weighing its potential consequence in my hand.

The mystery of the candidate lingered, but for the first time that day, I felt a shift—I felt ready to know the name.

“Maybe tomorrow,” I said, positioning the envelope within easy reach.

Grace smiled warmly, without judgment. “Tomorrow, then, Avery. I will wait until tomorrow morning.”

In that moment, suspended between the laughter of the orphans echoing in my ears and the presence of Grace beside me, I realized something profound: my life wasn’t about choosing between my two worlds. The journey was about finding a balance between them, and understanding that one world must sustain the other.

I just had to stop running.