Episode 3

The third day of work started at 7:42 AM, with Gael entering the room without greeting anyone, as he always did. He left his suit on the hanger, took off his watch, and extended his hand without looking.

"Coffee. No sugar. Now."

Thiago was already prepared. He handed over the cup even before the CEO finished the sentence. Still, he heard:

"It's too hot. Have you ever seen me burn my tongue with coffee? Do I look like an amateur?"

"You look human," Thiago muttered, unintentionally.

Gael stared at him with his usual expression: tense, irritable, somewhat bored. But there was something different at that moment. A spark. A small strangeness that shone through the usual coldness.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing. I'll adjust the temperature."

It was always like that. Orders. Long silences. Cutting replies. Glances that seemed like a constant evaluation. And Gael, with his impeccable suit and his mouth dry of kindness, never thanked for anything.

But Thiago wasn't one to back down.

In the meeting room, Gael dictated and Thiago typed with speed. The pace was insane. Gael changed his tone of voice frequently, demanded precision, hated repetitions, and had an astonishing memory. Thiago, despite doing well, heard phrases like:

"This is crooked."

"Do you always breathe like that?"

"If you don't pay attention, you won't last the week."

It was exhausting. And fascinating.

Because, as much as he hated to admit it, Thiago felt something every time Gael approached. Something that started in his stomach, went down his legs, and tightened his chest. Something he didn't want to think of as desire. But it was.

It was when Gael passed behind him, very close. When, unintentionally, his hand touched his shoulder when picking up a document. When his perfume – woody, sophisticated, brutal – invaded the air without permission.

And the worst part: Thiago didn't know if he wanted to run away or sink deeper into it.

During the break, he went to the pantry to get some water. He was sweating, even with the air conditioning at full blast.

"You're crazy, Thiago. He's straight. He has a girlfriend. He's your boss. And he's a jerk."

Even so, when he returned to the room and saw Gael standing, with his tie slightly loosened and his shirt sleeves rolled up, something inside him trembled.

Something that wasn't respect.

Something that wasn't fear.

It was something else. Something that, if it grew, could ruin everything.

It was the fifth day. Almost a week.

Thiago thought he was starting to get the hang of it. He had already understood the schedules, the emails that Gael wanted answered in less than five minutes, the verbal codes that Clarissa used to avoid explosions. Everything was... under control.

Until he messed up.

It was a detail. A damn attachment in the wrong email. A contract that should have been sent to the European partner and, due to a slip, went to the internal group of directors.

Chaos erupted in minutes.

Gael appeared in the room with a tense face and his cell phone in hand.

"Have you gone crazy?" he asked, throwing the device on the table forcefully. "Do you have any idea what it means to leak a confidential contract?"

Thiago froze. He tried to explain. "I reviewed it three times. It must have been a wrong click, a window..."

"Do you think I'm interested in your windows?!" he shouted. "This isn't a public school where you can make mistakes and take a note home! Here, a mistake costs money, reputation, and my patience!"

Clarissa entered the room with a frightened expression. Gael made a brusque gesture and she left, closing the door.

"I should fire you now."

The silence fell like a punch.

Thiago didn't respond. He stood, eyes fixed on a point somewhere behind Gael. His hands were trembling. His throat was burning.

But he stayed.

Gael ran his hand through his hair, impatiently. The silence was now strange. He looked at Thiago – and saw.

The eyes full of tears.

There was no plea there. No cowardice. Just a wounded pride struggling not to collapse.

"I'm not going to apologize," Thiago said, voice hoarse. "But I'll do better tomorrow. And the day after tomorrow. And every other day."

Gael didn't respond. His chest rose and fell, and for a moment, something in his gaze softened. Just a centimeter.

But it went away quickly.

"Get out of my office," he said, lower, drier. "Now."

Thiago left.

He entered the pantry, locked the door, leaned against the cold tiled wall, and let the tears fall, silently. Without sobs. Without drama.

He cried out of anger. Out of frustration. Out of exhaustion.

But he didn't think about giving up for a second.

Because there was something inside him stronger than the pain: the certainty that he belonged in that place. Not for being perfect. But because no one had fought so hard to be there as he had.

And if Gael thought he could destroy him with words... then he was about to discover that Thiago Andrade was much harder to break than he thought.

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