Imran Begović had been in the office since before the sun remembered to rise.
It was his first morning back in Sarajevo after a grueling week abroad—a blur of flights, boardrooms, trade negotiations, and coffee that cost too much and did too little. The hotel had been polished but lifeless, the meetings polite but pointless. And through it all, he'd operated with one ear tilted toward home. Toward the weight of things shifting without him.
But now—back in his city, in his chair, coffee in hand, surrounded by the scent of wood polish, ink, and quiet authority—he felt the tension in his shoulders finally relent.
He liked the building before it woke.
The hum of servers, the faint click of heating systems, the clatter of distant steel doors unlocking—all of it was a kind of music. Sarajevo at this hour looked composed from up here. Contained. Almost obedient.
He thrived in that illusion.
His blazer was draped over the back of his chair. His sleeves were rolled to the forearms. Two coffees in, and he'd already settled a rate discrepancy between freight partners, declined an unsolicited merger pitch, and chewed out a broker via email for calling their export branch "provincial."
Still, one email sat open on his screen, unread since Saturday but burned into his retinas:
Subject: Personnel Shift – Effective Immediately8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdtas7gHrBz
From: Husein Begović8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyzvKgjg8IT
To: Imran Begović
"Effective Monday, Ayub Dervović will replace Kenan Vranic as lead operations liaison for Lamija's division. Make the transition clean. No discussion."
He could practically hear his father's voice in those three words: No discussion.
Kenan had been on thin ice for months. Too casual. Too confident. He had a bad habit of lingering too long, of leaning too close, of speaking to Lamija like she was someone to charm. It irritated Imran, sure, but Lamija never asked for backup. She didn't need it. She didn't flinch, didn't scold—just redirected. Sharpened the air around her until Kenan got the message. Or at least, Imran thought he had. Apparently, Husein didn't share that optimism. One brief shift in Lamija's tone during a quarterly review, and Kenan's name disappeared from the org chart by the end of the weekend.
But replacing Kenan with Ayub?
That was surgical.
Imran sipped his coffee and allowed himself a quiet chuckle.
Ayub was sharp. Solid. The kind of man who made problems disappear without needing applause. He didn’t play office politics, didn’t chase status, and—more importantly—he never crossed Lamija. Not because he was scared. Because he understood what it cost to lose control.
And Lamija? She was the one person who threatened that control just by breathing near him.
Imran had known since they were teenagers. Ayub had fallen hard. There was never a confession, never a careless word. Just a tension that lived in the silence. A flicker in his eyes when she walked into a room. The way he stood straighter. Sharper. Like he was bracing himself against something he’d never name.
It might have worked—if he wasn't so damn obvious about it.
Imran stood, stretched his shoulders, and looked out over the city. The office was beginning to stir—keys jangling, printers warming, voices testing their volume like instruments tuning before a show.
He checked the clock.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwvNbTWkOIK
8:57.
He turned just as the door swung open—fast, loud, and unapologetic.
No knock.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTvfUbsPP0D
Just a storm with a name.
Ayub.
Imran didn’t flinch. He just leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Good morning to you, too.”
“I need to talk to you.”
Imran raised a brow. “I’m gone one week and you’re already kicking down my door? What happened, couldn’t survive a Monday without your emotional support executive?”
Ayub blinked—thrown just long enough for Imran to enjoy it. Then his jaw locked, his voice dropping lower.
“Imran.”
“Alright, alright.” Imran gestured lazily to the chair. “Sit before you put a hole in the floor.”
Ayub sat—but not before pacing twice like a man trying to burn the nerves out of his system. His posture was iron. His eyes locked on Imran like a loaded weapon.
He didn’t look fragile.
He looked dangerous.
Good.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡK4ba0dvud7
Imran preferred him like this.
"“You’re here about the reassignment,” Imran said, already smirking.
Ayub didn’t blink. “Get me out.”
“No.”
“You haven’t even heard my argument.”
“You haven’t made one.”
Ayub exhaled hard. “You know why this is a bad idea.”
Imran swiveled slightly in his chair, sipping his coffee like this was a performance he’d paid to watch. “She’s not going to bite you.”
“She doesn’t have to,” Ayub snapped. “I’ve spent years staying clear of her for a reason. Now I’m supposed to sit in meetings with her? Answer directly to her?”
Imran leaned forward, finally putting his mug down. “You are one of the most competent men in this building. Don’t insult us both by pretending this is about your work.”
Ayub bristled. “This isn’t about work. It’s about proximity.”
Imran grinned. “So you’re afraid?”
“I’m careful. There’s a difference.”
“Sure there is,” Imran said brightly. “Fear just wears a better suit.”
Ayub glared. “She makes me forget how to be careful. She’s always been this... untouchable thing. Since the day I walked into your house. And I’ve done everything in my power not to embarrass myself.”
Imran raised a brow, unbothered. “Have you, though? Or have you just spent the last decade disappearing every time she breathed in your direction?”
That landed. Ayub shifted in his seat, jaw tight.
“I’m not weak,” Ayub said. “I just know where I stand.”
Imran tilted his head. “And where’s that?”
“Across the hall. Across the floor. Across the damn world if I can help it.”
Imran bit back a grin. “Tempting, but I’m not authorizing a cross-continental transfer just because you’re in love with your boss.”
“She’s not my boss.”
“But you are in love with her?”
Ayub blinked. “What?”
“Oh come on,” Imran drawled. “Don’t go shy on me now. You practically vaporize when she enters the room.”
Ayub groaned, running a hand down his face.
“Look,” Imran said, leaning in, smug as ever. “You keep saying she’s out of your league. Fine. I’ll even grant you that for the sake of argument. But you’ve spent so long dodging her that you’ve never even given her a chance to reject you.”
Ayub scoffed. “That’s not how she works.”
“No,” Imran said with a smirk, “that’s not how you work. She’s been in the same room with you a hundred times and you treat her like a hazard sign.”
“To her, I’m—”
“Let her decide that.”
Ayub blinked.
Imran gave him a mock-pitying look. “You know, for a guy who stares down screaming dispatchers and screaming border agents, you're awfully skittish around one woman in heels.”
Ayub opened his mouth, then closed it. No words.
“Thought so.” Imran grinned, sipping his coffee. “You done panicking or should I call for HR support?”
Imran stood, wandered over to the file cabinet, and pulled out a folder like this was any other mundane morning.
“You know what we should do?” he said, too casually.
“No, but I already hate it.”
“We should start the husband vetting process.”
Ayub narrowed his eyes. “Don’t.”
“Hear me out,” Imran said, already grinning. “We gather candidates. Serious ones. Pull files. Background checks. Salary, education, travel history, Quran recitation level—”
“Imran.”
“Beard consistency. Gym discipline. Sibling references.”
“Stop.”
“Obviously there’ll be a weighted score system. Excel-friendly. Maybe a PowerPoint deck with family photos. A nice gradient background. Minimal animations.”
“I will walk out of here.”
“Mother can help review the shortlist. We narrow it to three—schedule sit-downs. Coffee, q&a, a little backstory.”
“Imran.”
“You can coordinate logistics. Block out interview times. Make sure her outfits hit the right tone—strong but soft, traditional but modern.”
Ayub stood, jaw clenched.
Imran didn’t stop.
“She’ll need someone who knows her. Someone who really understands what kind of man she deserves. Who better than you?”
Ayub stepped toward the door.
“Don’t forget a SWOT analysis,” Imran added cheerfully. “Maybe you can even chaperone the meetings. You’re great at staying quiet around her.”
Ayub flicked him off on the way out.
Imran called after him, “I’m putting that under strengths. Loyal. Efficient. Unreasonably hot under pressure.”
The door slammed shut behind him.
Imran leaned back in his chair, still chuckling to himself.
Then opened a new tab and labeled it:8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWRs4YmEGbh
Operation: Delusion Management.
Just in case.
8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡChhsM9dFeQ
