She had to go.
After finally coming to a decision, he walked over to the bed. His steps were heavy, his thoughts heavier. His eyes slowly drifted toward the lump on the bed. He didn't say a word. He didn't move closer. He just stood there, gazing at it—silent, unmoving, eyes fixed. There was something deep in that gaze, something unreadable. But without another moment's hesitation, he turned away and lay down. Sleep claimed him not with ease, but eventually, it came.
Even though he had gone to bed late that night, his body didn't betray its routine. As if governed by an invisible switch, his eyes opened precisely on time. No grogginess, no delay—just a quiet awareness. He sat up almost instantly, the way someone does when sleep never truly took over. At six in the morning sharp, Stanley, already in his track suit, headed out for his usual jog.
The night hadn't been kind to him. He hadn't rested well—perhaps not at all—but he needed this jog. He needed to run, to breathe, to clear his head. Most of all, he needed to prepare himself to face the little traitor again.
Once back, he entered his room quietly. His eyes flickered toward the same lump on the bed, just briefly, before he walked past and went into the shower.
—
The next day at the office, there wasn't a single soul who hadn't heard the news. By now, everyone working at the company knew: Mr. Gosling, their stern and often intimidating boss, apparently had a chubby little daughter. Stories of their so-called "young miss" had already made the rounds.
Word spread fast. Yesterday in the lobby, more than a few had witnessed it—how the little girl had looked up at Mr. Gosling with her soft, innocent eyes and a smile that could melt steel. And just like that, the man they all feared bent down, picked her up gently, and carried her away. No one could believe it, but they had seen it with their own eyes. The icy Mr. Gosling… giving in.
The story grew legs and ran. People whispered about how the little girl had even been allowed to dry his hair. Mr. Gosling—the man who wouldn't listen to grown executives—actually sat there and let a child fuss over him. It could only mean one thing: she wasn't just any girl. She had to be his daughter. Nothing else made sense.
And if any doubt remained, what happened the next morning completely erased it.
As always, employees lined up to greet their boss when he arrived. He entered the building just as he always did—tall, sharp, and unapproachable. That same icy air followed him, making people lower their heads and hold their breath when he passed by. But today… something was different.
Trailing behind him was a little turtle.
It was Vivi. Mrs. Groover, in a rare moment of indulgence, had dressed the girl in an adorable turtle onesie because she knew how much Vivi liked turtles. The moment Vivi saw herself in the mirror, she was overjoyed. She planted two big kisses on Mrs. Groover's cheeks as a thank-you. Along with the onesie came a pair of little green shoes, and on her back bounced a turtle shell backpack with every tiny step she took.
She looked like a baby turtle—round, cheerful, and completely huggable. Her chubby cheeks were puffed out adorably, her lips forming a natural pout, and her bright eyes sparkled with mischief and joy. Every person who saw her that morning felt something inside them soften—melt, even. The cold office air felt a little warmer with her around.
But the moment that sealed everything—the one that no one would forget—was still to come.
As Mr. Gosling walked briskly ahead, his long legs naturally covered more ground with every stride. He didn't slow down; he never did. But behind him, the little girl was running, her short legs trying desperately to keep up. She kept calling out, again and again, in a sweet, clear voice:
"Daddy! Daddy!"
People stopped and stared.
When he finally paused at the elevator, waiting for the doors to open, the little turtle caught up. Without missing a beat, she ran up and hugged his leg tightly, her little arms wrapping around it like it was her only anchor.
And in that moment, everything made sense.
In this building, there wasn't a single soul who didn't know just how cruel and indifferent their boss could be. Mr. Gosling's reputation wasn't built on charisma or charm—it was built on fear. His coldness wasn't something that came and went; it was part of his presence, etched into his every glance, every word, every step. If it weren't for the generous salary and excellent benefits this company offered, most employees would have long since packed their things and fled, just to escape the suffocating atmosphere he brought with him.
That was the reality—everyone feared him. So much so that no one even wanted to be in the same room with him if they could help it. The moment Mr. Gosling entered a space, people disappeared like shadows under a sudden light.
But today, something had shifted. The employees who had witnessed that moment earlier still couldn't make sense of it. They were stunned, unable to shake the image from their minds. The same man who never spared anyone a second glance, who had no patience even for minor mistakes, had actually held back his temper. And not just that—he had tolerated the antics of a little girl. A child. Their cold-blooded, sharp-tongued boss… didn't react.
Everyone knew it—if it had been any other child pulling the same stunts, Mr. Gosling would have had them removed from the building without hesitation. No second chances. That's just the kind of man he was. To him, anything—or anyone—that served no purpose was as good as garbage.
And yet… not today.
The only explanation that made sense to them was also the most unbelievable: the little girl had to be his daughter. There was simply no other way to explain it. She was the exception to every rule he'd ever set. And somehow, even the most heartless man they knew had softened—just a little—for her.
Seeing her that way, up close, with her chubby cheeks and bright eyes, they could almost understand it. There was something so disarming about her. A charm no adult could manufacture. Maybe… just maybe… they, too, would have tolerated her naughtiness if she belonged to them. Maybe they would've smiled instead of scolded. And maybe—just maybe—they would've felt blessed to have a child like her.
With their suspicions all but confirmed, the gossip spread like fire on dry grass. The employees couldn't hold it in. One by one, they whispered the story to their colleagues, and it wasn't long before the entire company was buzzing. Everyone was curious. Everyone wanted to know more.
Unfortunately, no one had taken a photo of the young miss. A pity, really. Still, someone brought up in the group chat that everyone should try to remember her face—and most importantly, always treat her with the utmost respect. After all, who could say what the future held? What if that sweet little girl ended up being the next boss? The heir to Mr. Gosling's empire?
Meanwhile, in his office, Stanley had no idea that these rumors were already running wild through every hallway and break room in the building.
Right now, his attention was elsewhere.
The little girl—Vivi—was sitting on the sofa, completely still, staring straight at him with wide, unblinking eyes. She hadn't moved for thirty whole minutes. Thirty minutes of silence. Thirty minutes of nothing but those round eyes locked onto him like she was trying to read his mind.
But Stanley didn't flinch. His gaze remained on the laptop screen in front of him, fingers moving occasionally as he scrolled through pages of data. He wasn't about to indulge whatever strange little game she was playing. He had deadlines to meet and reports to review.
Yet… even as he focused on the numbers, he could still feel those eyes on him. Quiet. Patient. Watching.
That little girl—Vivi—was upset.