Chapter 48 Not a Private Matter

Chapter 48 Not a Private Matter
Jason’s POV
When I pulled into the parking lot, my jaw already felt tight. I cut the engine, sat there for a brief moment, and forced myself to breathe before getting out of the car. Whatever had happened at home stayed there. Work was work. I straightened my jacket, grabbed my bag, and headed inside.
The moment I stepped onto the floor, something felt off.
It was subtle at first. A group near the elevators stopped talking just a second too late. Another pair by the coffee station glanced up, lowered their voices, then went quiet altogether. When I walked past, a few people nodded at me, but the greetings were stiff, overly formal, like they were checking off an obligation instead of acknowledging a colleague.
“Morning,” I said to one of them.
“Good morning,” she replied quickly, already turning back to her screen.
No follow-up. No casual remark. No smile.
I slowed my pace slightly, scanning the floor as I walked. Everywhere I looked, the same pattern repeated. People whispering, pausing, watching me just long enough to make sure I noticed. When our eyes met, they looked away too fast, then resumed their conversations in lowered voices, occasionally cutting their gaze back in my direction.
That was strange.
I tried to brush it off. Offices thrived on gossip. Maybe someone else was in trouble. Maybe it had nothing to do with me. Still, the tightness in my chest refused to ease as I made my way toward my cubicle.
I sat down, set my bag beneath the desk, and logged into my computer, hoping the normal routine would ground me. Emails loaded slowly. Notifications stacked up. I checked the time. I was late, but not disastrously so. At least that was one small mercy.
I had just started scanning through my inbox when someone stopped beside my desk.
“Jason.”
I looked up. It was one of the administrative staff from down the hall. Her expression was careful, her posture stiff in a way that immediately put me on edge.
“Yes?” I asked.
“HR is looking for you.”
I frowned slightly. “About the attendant issue? I was planning to get to that as soon as I settled in.”
Her lips pressed together for a moment, and she shook her head. Not dramatically. Just enough to tell me I was wrong.
“It is not about the attendant,” she said.
There was something in her eyes then. Not concern exactly. Not sympathy either. It was closer to pity, the kind people offered when they knew something you did not.
My stomach dropped.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “I will head there now.”
She nodded and stepped away without another word.
I pushed back from my desk and stood, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt walking back across the floor. The whispers grew louder as I moved, not enough to make out words, but enough to confirm I was the subject. A few people looked at me openly now, their expressions unreadable, their curiosity poorly disguised.
I kept my face neutral and my pace steady.
The walk to HR felt longer . Each step gave my thoughts too much room to spiral. I ran through possibilities, one after another, discarding each as quickly as it surfaced. Attendance issues. A complaint. A misunderstanding. None of it made sense. I had been careful. I always was.
I reached the HR door and knocked once before stepping inside.
“Jason,” the woman behind the desk said, looking up from her screen. “Please, have a seat.”
That tone. Polite, professional, distant.
I sat.
She folded her hands neatly on the desk, studying me for a moment longer than necessary, as if gauging my reaction before continuing.
“There have been concerns raised,” she began.
My chest tightened again.
“Concerns about what?” I asked.
She inhaled, clearly choosing her words. “About your conduct. Specifically regarding your personal life and how it intersects with your professional responsibilities.”
I blinked. “My personal life?”
She nodded once. “Information has come to our attention this morning.”
Information.
That word echoed louder .
“I am not sure what you are referring to,” I said carefully.
She glanced at a folder beside her keyboard but did not open it. “You will be informed shortly. For now, we need you to remain available and refrain from engaging with colleagues until this is resolved.”
Remain available.
Refrain from engaging.
I sat there, absorbing that, my thoughts racing faster than I could control them.
“Am I suspended?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “Not at this time.”
That should have reassured me. It did not.
She gave me a tight smile. “Please return to your desk. Someone will be with you shortly.”
I nodded, stood, and left the office.
The walk back felt heavier than the first. This time, no one pretended not to look. Conversations stopped outright as I passed. Eyes followed me openly now. Whatever information HR had mentioned, it had already spread.
When I reached my cubicle, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I did not take it out.
Not at first.
My mind was too busy replaying the conversation with HR, too busy trying to understand what kind of “information” could possibly be circulating about me. I sat down slowly, my movements deliberate, as if acting normal might somehow restore it. I opened my computer again, stared at the screen without actually seeing anything, and tried to ground myself.
A second later, my phone buzzed again. Longer this time. More insistent.
I exhaled and shifted in my chair, glancing around. People were still watching me. Not openly staring, but watching all the same. A few heads dipped when I looked up. Others pretended to be engrossed in their screens.
The phone buzzed again.
I had no other choice.
I pulled it out and checked the screen. It was a call. A familiar name flashed across it. Someone I had been close to back when he still worked here. An intern I had built a solid friendship with before he transferred out of the company.
That alone made my chest tighten.
Not at first.
My mind was too busy replaying the conversation with HR, too busy trying to understand what kind of “information” could possibly be circulating about me. I sat down slowly, my movements deliberate, as if acting normal might somehow restore it. I opened my computer again, stared at the screen without actually seeing anything, and tried to ground myself.
Then my phone buzzed.
I ignored it.
A second later, it buzzed again. Longer this time. More insistent.
I exhaled and shifted in my chair, glancing around. People were still watching me. Not openly staring, but watching all the same. A few heads dipped when I looked up. Others pretended to be engrossed in their screens.
The phone buzzed again.
I had no other choice.
I pulled it out and checked the screen. It was a call. A familiar name flashed across it. Someone I had been close to back when he still worked here. An A10 I had built a solid friendship with before he transferred out of the company.
That alone made my chest tighten.
My eyes widened. I stood up abruptly, my chair scraping softly against the floor. A short, disbelieving laugh escaped me before I could stop it, more reflex than reaction.
“What?” I said. “What do you mean private photos?”
“The ones you took,” he replied. “I don’t know when you took them, but they leaked. They’re circulating everywhere.”
I ran a hand through my hair, my heart pounding. “That doesn’t make any sense. I don’t have private photos. I don’t have anything like that anywhere.”
There was a pause on the line.
“Yeah,” he said slowly, “but you do.”
“No,” I insisted, lowering my voice. “I don’t. I’ve never taken anything like that. Why do you sound so sure?”
Another pause, heavier this time.
“Because I’ve seen them,” he said. “And a lot of other people have too.”
My stomach dropped.
“Hold on,” he continued. “Let me send them to you.”
I stood there, phone pressed to my ear, my mind racing through every possible explanation. This had to be a mistake. A mix-up. Someone else entirely. There was no version of reality where this made sense.
The seconds stretched as I waited.
As I stood there, it finally registered why everyone was looking at me.
They had seen it.
I looked up, to catch gases still on me.
All of them.