Sandra sat outside James Mugeni's office with a tightness in her chest she couldn't explain. The red executive ID badge around her neck felt heavier today. It wasn't just a new role anymore. It was a spotlight. And with every glance that passed her desk, every whisper that paused when she lifted her eyes, she felt it pressing on her shoulders.
Nobody said anything to her directly. Not in the open. Not in front of James. But the silence that followed her around J&M Holdings had its own sharp edges. She was now his assistant—personal, handpicked—and that meant something. Especially in a company full of people who had spent years trying to get a fraction of his attention.
But she hadn't asked for this. Not the job. Not the stares. Not the growing weight in her chest each time he called her name in that low, steady voice.
The elevator chimed behind her. She didn't have to turn to know it was Shinta.
The sound of heels on polished floor grew louder until they stopped directly in front of her desk.
"Sandra," Shinta said with a flat smile. "Step into my office."
There was no space to argue. Sandra saved her document, rose, and followed her through the hallway, past the frosted glass walls, and into a smaller, colder office on the west wing. The door clicked shut behind them.
Shinta didn't sit.
She folded her arms, staring at Sandra with an expression that was almost polite. Almost.
"You've been here what, two weeks? And somehow, you're seated closer to the CEO than people who've served him for eight years."
Sandra held her voice steady. "I was assigned here."
"Don't play dumb." Shinta took a slow step forward. "You think you've landed somewhere special. You think you're different. But you're not."
Sandra blinked. "I'm just trying to do my job."
"That's exactly the problem," Shinta said with venom so subtle it sounded like a whisper. "You think this is about the job. But James Mugeni doesn't let anyone close to him unless he wants them there. And people who get too close always burn."
"I didn't ask for this."
"No," Shinta sneered, "but you didn't say no, did you?"
Sandra said nothing.
"Let me give you a small warning," Shinta continued. "I've seen girls like you come and go. Quiet, clever, humble on the surface—until they think they matter. Until they think they belong."
Sandra looked her straight in the eye now. "I'm not trying to belong. I'm just doing the work I was given."
"You don't need to try. You're already in the way."
The silence between them pulsed.
Then, as casually as she came, Shinta turned her back.
"That will be all."
Sandra walked out without another word. But her heart was beating so loud, she thought the entire floor could hear it.
Back at her desk, she tried to concentrate, but her hands were shaking. James hadn't emerged from his office all morning. She could see his outline behind the tinted glass, still and focused, typing like the world didn't touch him. But Sandra felt touched. Scratched raw by the things Shinta had said.
When the office door finally opened, James stepped out with a file in hand.
He barely glanced at her at first—until he placed the file on her desk and looked closer.
"You okay?" he asked.
She nodded too quickly. "I'm fine."
His eyes lingered. Then narrowed. "What did Shinta want?"
"She didn't say anything important."
He didn't believe her. She could see it.
"Get me the final board meeting agenda."
She handed it over.
"You reorganized the list?"
"Yes."
He looked through the pages, scanned them quickly, and then looked back up at her. "Good. You understand how things flow. That's rare."
"Thank you."
"You don't have to thank me for seeing what's obvious."
His voice was neutral, but his words were not.
She returned to her screen, trying to hide the warmth spreading across her chest.
Back inside his office, James sat at his desk but didn't work. He stared at his phone, thumb hovering above the messaging app.
He typed.
> From: James Mugeni
To: HR
Subject: Internal Transfers
All changes to executive support roles now require my written approval. Effective immediately.
He hit send, then leaned back in his chair.
Out in the open, there were rules. Structures.
But power? It moved in silence.
And if Shinta had stepped outside her boundaries, he would draw new ones.
Sandra didn't know that James had already begun protecting her. Not with words. But with walls.
That evening, she went home with her thoughts still unraveling inside her. Immy noticed it the moment she walked into the room.
"You didn't even remove your heels," Immy said, flipping through a local magazine. "You look like you've been punched."
"I'm tired."
"You look like you've been threatened."
Sandra sat on the edge of the bed. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Immy closed the magazine. "Shinta?"
Sandra didn't answer.
Immy sighed. "She's his... what? Long-time assistant? Secret wife?"
"No. Just territorial."
"Same thing. She's scared."
Sandra looked up. "Of me?"
"Of what you make him feel," Immy said. "And you know what scares people the most?"
"What?"
"When they see softness in someone who made a home in coldness."
That night, a dress arrived at the gate in a plain white package.
No card.
But Sandra already knew who had sent it.
Immy held up the hanger and let out a long whistle. "Eh. Even movie people don't wear this kind of fabric. Who do you think you are now, James Bond's wife?"
"I'm just going to a board dinner."
"Yeah. And I'm just the Archbishop of Uganda."
Sandra said nothing. But she smiled, just a little.
Friday arrived with tension thick in the air.
The office buzzed. People wore their best smiles, their polished shoes. But eyes followed Sandra as she stepped through the executive floor in her tailored navy-blue dress. It hugged her waist and fell modestly just below her knees.
She didn't wear perfume. She didn't need to.
She already felt exposed.
James didn't look at her when she arrived.
But when they entered the boardroom together, his presence beside her was enough.
The dinner began.
The speeches were safe, rehearsed.
Victor, as always, made his round of flirtations and fake praise. Then he raised his glass halfway through dessert.
"I'd like to toast to change," he said. "To rising stars. And to knowing when the wind is blowing in a different direction."
A few people chuckled. Most didn't know what he meant.
James did.
Sandra did.
She lowered her eyes.
Victor's smile widened. "Let's not forget where we came from. And who was here before."
He lifted his glass toward Sandra. "To the newest face among us."
James stood.
He didn't raise a glass.
He didn't smile.
He said, "To the one who earned it."
The room fell quiet.
James looked straight at Victor.
"She earned her seat here. The rest of you are still working on that."
Victor's face stiffened.
James sat back down.
Nobody raised another toast.
Later, as the evening drew to a close, Sandra found herself standing on the rooftop balcony, staring at the Kampala skyline.
Lights flickered like fireflies across the hills.
James stepped beside her. Silent.
"I didn't ask for this," she said softly.
"I know."
"I don't like being talked about."
"I know that too."
"So why do you keep putting me in the centre?"
"Because you belong there."
She turned to him.
He didn't touch her.
But he looked at her like he could.
Like he almost did.
Then he whispered, "Get in the car. I'm taking you home."
And she followed.
Not because he ordered.
But because… something inside her had already said yes.