A brief silence stretched between them, awkward and thick, as if the room itself was at a pause. The loudest sound was the ticking second hand of the wall clock, slicing through the tension. Drogo’s eyes didn’t leave her; her gaze stayed fixed on him, unflinching, with a calm smile playing across her lips.
Finally, he broke the ice. “How’s your arm?”
“Fine, actually,” she replied, the same smile still present, as though nothing had happened, as though the previous day’s chaos had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
With her welcoming expression and calm demeanor, the beauty of her attire was amplified; although it was merely a plain shirt tucked in straight pants, the gold endowment of her jewelries and her sharp midnight makeup tone made her presence both bold and enchanting.
Drogo blinked twice, before letting out a slow exhal. “Okay… If you say so.”
“I am fine, thank you for asking.” She gave him a subtle bow, as if hus question was about a mere bruise.
“Anyways…” Drogo leaned back slightly in his chair, adjusting his posture, before clearing his throat. “I’ve already told my lawyer to draft your contract letter. But in the meantime, I’ll go over a few basic rules and regulations you should follow, as well as some documentation, so you can acclimatize. Know how things are done here.”
She nodded.
He then opened his drawer and began rifling through papers, the sound of rustling filling the room. Karen’s gaze never wavered; he could feel it — keen and precise — as if she were measuring every movement he made.
Finally, he pulled out a document, flipping through it, still speaking as he sorted the papers. “First, when welcoming guests, be polite, professional, and discreet. Everything that happens during a therapy session is confidential. Payments are handled in front with reception. And anything that occurs within these walls is not to be shared outside this clinic.” He paused briefly, as if seeing her smile made the words feel almost surreal. “These are basic ethics… basic conduct. You’ll start working with clients, and these are things you must always keep in mind.”
Her calm, unbothered expression remained, until she suddenly asked, “Why do you always wear a turtleneck?”
Drogo looked at her. “Because I want to.”He said withouta thought.
He returned to the document, flipping through the next page to resume his explanation. “Now, as part of the documentation, you’ll need to familiarize yourself with—”
“Why do you only wear a turtleneck?” Karen cut in again, softer this time, but persistent.
His calm eyes narrowed, and his mouth set in a thin line. “Ms. Benjamin, You don’t see me asking why you came to my house and pointed a gun at yourself, threatening for the job here. So, I expect the same discretion regarding my personal choices.”
Her smile remained perfectly composed. “Okay.”
She reached over and took the document from him, scanning the pages quiet but attentively. Drogo watched her for a moment, then returned to the drawer, sorting through more papers. This story is hosted at novelping dot com.
A few minutes passed. Then, unexpectedly, she looked up again. “Why are your windows nailed shut?”
Drogo’s patience frayed. He leaned forward slightly, his voice firmer but at the edge of a warning. “What is happening here, Ms. Benjamin? You are here as my assistant, not an investigator or a journalist. I expect every question you have to be restricted and limited to the job and its requirements. You have your employment, the endorsement on your resumé, the professional recognition you wanted. There is no need to dig further, understood?”
Karen only nodded silently, and returned her attention to the document, flipping through it on her own.
Drogo exhaled and returned to his previous explanation. “As for ethics and working in a mental clinic… Every action, every interaction, is guided by confidentiality, respect, and professionalism. You will observe, assist, and act only within these boundaries. Any deviation is unacceptable, for the safety of the clients, and the integrity of the clinic…”
He continued, explaining the finer details of client handling, documentation, and workflow, while her calm smile lingered quietly across from him, a constant reminder of the storm he had narrowly survived yesterday.
Later that afternoon…
Karen moved slowly through the office, the papers in her hand rustling softly as she scanned them, her eyes tracing the words in the handbook Drogo had given her.
The light from the window fell across the pages, catching the edges of the ink, making the lines almost dance. She lingered near the shelf, the window just behind her, letting the quiet hum of the city filter through the glass.
After a while, Karen glanced up. Their eyes locked.
His glare had been on her since before, and he didn’t seem to want to hide it. She then offered him a small, teasing smile, just enough to be noticed.
Drogo didn’t respond nor did his expression change. Just looked. She let the corner of her lips curve a little more, then returned to the pages, watching the faint crease between his brows even from the corner of her eye.
Drogo’s attention shifted back to the document in front of him. His pen moved smoothly across the paper, deliberate. Karen let him work, letting her own curiosity wander as she read, occasionally flipping a page, fingers grazing the edge of the crisp paper — Her left arm still immobilised to her chest.
Then, a quiet beep cut through the room. She looked up, noticing him glance at his phone. He exhaled, long and heavy, the weight of it dragging across the room.
Closing the documents, he slid them back into the drawer with a firmness that made the wood clack sharply. Karen’s ears picked up a subtle, almost imperceptible beep as the drawer locked. Her brow lifted. Digital.
Of course — her brown eyes shifted to his being. Of course he had an automated drawer in a room full of analogue.
Drogo straightened, hands clasped in frontof him, eyes briefly meeting hers. “Ms. Benjamin?”
“Yes?”
She tilted her head slightly, lips twitching. “Okay,” she said calmly — almost too calm — a little amusement dancing in her tone.
He paced carefully to the door, his hands grasping the knob before a pause. He gazed over his shoulder.
“And don’t snoop around.”
“I’ll try my best.” Her smile widened.
He turned and walked out of the office, his footsteps fading. She waited until the door clicked shut, then, curiosity nudging at her in an instant.
She went straight to the drawer — her fingers pressed along the handle. Locked. Electrically locked. She tapped it once, twice.
A frown imprinted on her lips.
Her eyes then drifted up to the sticky note stuck casually on the table beside it: “I told you not to snoop around.”
She smirked. A small, almost rueful smile.
Well, at least he was intelligent enough not to trust her alone.
The faint hum of the city outside seemed louder suddenly, more insistent.
She leaned back slightly, eyes scanning the room. Drogo was gone but leaving traces everywhere — from the deliberate tidiness and organized layout —his control and strict discipline was well read in his work environment. Like an aura of its own.
It was like the whole office was telling her in the quiet: Behave.
And for a moment, she let herself wonder…
“What kind of psychopath is he?…”