Sajjad joined the firm around lunchtime.
He headed straight for the cafeteria, spotted Ali and Omer eating quietly at their table, and pulled out a chair beside them.
Omer glanced at him.
“I hope everything is fine at home, Sajjad... Late yesterday? Late again?”
“Pressing matters at home.”
Sajjad's expression—and, more importantly, his remarkable lack of panic—did little to support the excuse.416Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡt3cxEsUAjY
Ali put down his spoon.
“Sajjad... is there something we should be concerned about? As your friends?”
Sajjad's theatrics returned almost immediately.
“Friends?”
He looked at Ali with exaggerated surprise.
“Concerned?”
A short, sharp laugh escaped him.
“What a joke, Mr. Director.”
He pointed a finger at Ali.
“Didn't you explicitly make me understand that you value hierarchy in this firm more than friendship?”
A vein pulsed at Ali's temple.
Sajjad continued.
“And now you're suddenly showing concern as a friend?”
He brought his fingers to his chin, scratching it thoughtfully.
“So that's how you're going to treat me, right? As per your convenience?”
His eyes remained fixed on Ali.
“Sometimes a friend... sometimes a person who has to report to you, listen to you, obey you... without questioning anything.”
Omer sensed that this was no longer one of Sajjad's usual acts.
“And I'm also hearing that you're making this distinction very clear to my men.”
Sajjad paused, his smirk returning.
“That there will be only one reporting authority.”
He leaned back slightly.
“As if you've suddenly realized that you're the Director of the Wing.”
Ali's expression hardened.
Sajjad turned his attention towards Omer.
“Just wait, Omer.”
He raised a finger.
“Wait for the day the Director decides to show you”—his finger lowered slowly—“your place, too.”
Omer stopped eating.
“Why are you sounding so bitter, Sajjad?”
Sajjad's lips twitched.
“Bitter?”
He gave a short, humourless laugh.
“Look who's talking about bitterness—the very man who leaves no stone unturned to tease me whenever he gets the chance.”
Omer straightened in his chair.
“I never thought our friendly banter sounded like ridicule to you.”
Sajjad's expression hardened further.
“Friendly banter?”
He pointed his finger at Omer again.
“That's what you call it?”
Omer looked at him steadily.
“What else was I supposed to call it?”
Sajjad leaned slightly forward.
“Perhaps you should ask yourself whether something remains friendly when one person is always the one being laughed at.”
His eyes moved briefly towards Ali.
“You and Ali have always had the luxury of laughing at me because you knew exactly where you stood in this firm.”
He glanced around the cafeteria.
“I wasn't given that luxury.”
Omer, growing defensive, put his spoon down.
“Whoa, whoa, man... give me a break.”
He shook his head.
“Just two days ago, you thought very highly of yourself. What's with this sudden inferiority complex?”
Sajjad opened his mouth, but Omer continued before he could interrupt.
“And when did you find us laughing at you?”
He gestured vaguely between himself and Ali.
“Everyone here knows your position and your influence, Sajjad—and sometimes, that influence is greater than ours.”
He paused.
“So I honestly don't understand why you're behaving as though someone has suddenly stripped you of all your authority.”
Sajjad smirked.
“Don't act so naïve, Omer Kiyani.”
His gaze shifted towards Ali.
“That someone isn't a ghost.”
He paused.
“He's sitting right here at this table.”
Sajjad's eyes locked with Ali's sea-green ones.
Ali said nothing.
The quiet between them suddenly felt heavier than the cafeteria din around them.
Omer waited for Ali to speak.
But Ali remained silent, his chest rising and falling steadily, his gaze locked intensely with Sajjad's.
Sensing the tension climbing past the breaking point, Omer decided to intervene.
“Sajjad...”
He leaned in, lowering his voice.
“Listen to me, man. What exactly is the issue here?”
He paused.
“If you don't tell us... then who are you going to tell?”
“Well... if you're that eager, then listen.”
Sajjad leaned back.
“The issue here is that Mr. Director isn't letting me know what he's been up to lately.”
Omer gave a small shrug, looking from Ali back to Sajjad.
“Sajjad... Ali isn't doing anything that requires your intervention.”
Sajjad's smirk twisted towards Omer.
“Taking sides, are we?”
“That's not what I—”
“Not once have you defended me.”
Sajjad cut him off.
“All you've ever done is act as Mr. Director's correspondent—and that's exactly what you're doing now.”
He gave Omer a pointed look.
“Keep doing that.”
His gaze returned to Ali.
“I'll do what I have to do.”
He paused deliberately.
“I'll keep questioning the Director's motives and doubting him until he tells me exactly what he's been up to lately.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“And what exactly has been cooking up in his office...after regular working hours...with that MNA's daughter and her roguish assistant—who was merely an intern a few days ago?"
Omer's expression dropped.
“Sajjad—”
“Because apparently, I'm expected to follow hierarchy.”
Sajjad pressed on, his eyes unblinking.
“Yet some people around here seem to have acquired the privilege of operating outside it.”
“Omer...”
Omer heard Ali calling his name.
He looked up.
Ali had finally broken his silence.
“Work is calling us.”
He paused.
“And before you forget, you have an important meeting with the Boss.”
Sajjad straightened immediately.
“Which meeting?”
His eyes moved between them.
“What's the agenda?”
Omer looked at him for a moment.
Then his expression turned dry.
“Sajjad... you really need to have an antivirus run through your system.”
Sajjad's eyes hardened.
“I will not accept any ridicule or mockery in the name of friendly banter anymore.”
Omer slowly stood up.
“Fair enough.”
He looked down at Sajjad.
“And this moment also gives me a chance to revisit my decision to keep seeing you as a friend.”
By then, Ali had already picked up his food tray and walked it back towards the cafeteria counter.
Omer glanced after him.
Then he looked back at Sajjad.
For once, there was nothing playful in either man's expression.
“This man... Ali, he has gone insane.”
Omer said it with a genuinely concerned look as he and Ali stepped into the elevator.
The doors closed behind them.
Ali remained silent for a moment.
“Yes...”
He finally exhaled.
“Spitting venom, it seems.”
He shook his head slightly.
“Getting nosy about what happens inside my office... with Noor Ain and Abdul Ahad.”
The elevator began its ascent.
“I already told him that we're working.”
He paused.
“And I thought that should have been sufficient to satisfy his curiosity.”
He glanced at Omer.
“But apparently, he's not willing to accept that simple explanation.”
Ali paused.
“But there's something else.”
Omer glanced at him.
“The way he keeps saying ‘my men.'"
His expression tightened.
“The more I hear him use those words, the more objectionable I find them.”
Ali shook his head.
“The so-called Sajjad's men.”
He looked towards Omer.
“They work for Haideron Tech. They don't belong to Sajjad.”
Omer was silent for a moment.
Then he said, "Like it or not, Ali... both you and I know that the man has built a very strong influence over the workers under him.”
Omer continued.
“Hardware and maintenance. Production. Warehouse. Even security and surveillance.”
He paused.
“For a long time, he's treated that entire network as his personal territory.”
Ali's expression became thoughtful.
Omer leaned back against the elevator wall.
“And the issue here is... you allowed that influence to continue.”
Ali remained silent.
“Remember the times I advised you to take hold of the entire wing after you became Director?”
Omer looked directly at him.
“But you trusted Sajjad far too much.”
He paused.
“You practically allowed him to remain the small emperor of his own little kingdom.”
For several seconds, Ali said nothing.
Then he sighed.
“And perhaps... that's where I went wrong.”
He lowered his eyes briefly.
“But until now, Sajjad had given me no reason to change my leadership style.”
Omer considered that.
“So lately, he's giving you reasons?”
Ali looked at him.
“Reasons that have finally forced you to enforce the hierarchy here?”
He paused.
“To straighten him—and his so-called men—out?”
Ali nodded slowly.
“Something along those lines.”
Omer inhaled.
For a moment, he simply stared at the closed elevator doors.
“Sajjad always had that envy simmering beneath his friendly appearance.”
He shook his head.
“Now it seems to have been cured into jealousy.”
“Or insecurity,” Ali added quietly.
Omer glanced at him.
“Perhaps both.”
Ali said nothing.
The elevator continued upward.
Later, inside Ali’s office, Omer continued.
“People change, I've heard... but looking at Sajjad...”
He paused, his expression thoughtful.
“I’m wondering how far, and to what extent, he would go to keep displaying his ego—or perhaps his open defiance of your authority.”
Ali was busy going through emails on his laptop.
“He isn't openly defying my authority. Not yet, at least.”
His fingers continued moving across the keyboard.
“But he's trying to make me question my own judgment about his changed behaviour. That's what I've come to conclude.”
Omer nodded slowly.
“Gaslighting you?”
“Something along those lines.”
Ali closed one email and opened another.
“But let's forget about Sajjad for a while.”
He glanced up.
“Tell me... how excited are you about your meeting with Agatha and Zac?”
Omer frowned.
“Not at all.”
He paused.
“Although, if I trust the Boss for once, I suppose this Mac—”
Ali looked up.
Omer hesitated.
“His name was Zac, wasn't it?”
A grin appeared on Ali’s face.
Omer frowned deeper.
“No. Mac Zavian.”
“Whatever his name is...” Omer muttered, “I assume he won't try touching me again.”
Ali’s grin widened.
He laughed softly.
“Good luck, man.”
He returned his attention to the laptop.
“Looks like Haideron Tech's local IT wing and overseas PR wing are officially becoming one rather complicated joint venture.”
Omer glanced at his watch.
“I’m going to my office.”
He rose from the chair.
“I think I need to do some homework first.”
Ali looked up.
“Homework?”
“I need to make myself sound slightly less like an ignorant, naïve man who's about to face a professional camera for the first time.”
Ali smiled.
“That might be difficult.”
Omer gave him a flat look.
“Thanks for the encouragement.”
He turned towards the door.
Back in his office, Omer opened his laptop and began his “homework.”
He pulled up Haideron Tech's promotional campaigns from recent years and began scrolling through them.
Then he opened another tab and began looking at promotional campaigns from other major technology companies.
He compared them.
Watched.
Scrolled.
Made a few brief notes.
He was trying to figure out one simple thing:
How should Haideron Tech present itself now?
Omer continued scrolling, his expression becoming increasingly thoughtful.
Omer closed his laptop and glanced up at his reflection in the mirror of the adjacent washroom. The mirror seemed to speak to him:
Lilies do not need gilding.
He smiled at himself, his dimples deepening. Combing his hair, he watched the natural golden streaks in his otherwise raven hair glisten beneath the washroom's opal ceiling lights. He adjusted his tie and sprayed a hint of his favourite cologne.
So... I have to smile, and I have to look a little less intimidating.
He never forced a smile, and no one had ever accused him of looking intimidating—though perhaps he had seemed that way to Mr. Haider yesterday.
He took a deep breath, stepped out of the spacious, gleaming washroom, and picked up his cell phone from the desk.
Chill, Omer. Just keep your chin up.
Inside the executive suite, Mr. Haider was waiting alone.
As Omer took the seat opposite him, Mr. Haider asked, “So, Mr. Omer... should I call them in?”
Omer was startled.
He gave a slight shrug.
“I wish I could say no... but I know I can't.”
Mr. Haider gave him a faint smile.
“You still don't know, Mr. Kiyani, what you can and cannot do.”
The words lingered.
Omer remained silent, his mind quietly turning them over.
What exactly does he mean by that?
Mr. Haider pressed the intercom button on his desk. “Yes... send them in.”
The line clicked off.
Omer straightened slightly in his chair.
Whatever Mr. Haider had meant, there was no time to dwell on it now.
The meeting was about to begin.
Omer did not turn his head towards the door when Mr. Haider disengaged the lock from his desk.
He was already wishing the meeting would be over before it had even begun.
He barely noticed when the adjacent chairs were occupied.
“This year's promotional campaigns will be markedly different from those of previous years. I met with our local PR executives yesterday. They presented several proposals. I want your assessment before we proceed.”
He passed a file to Agatha Carlton.
She accepted the file with a broad smile, casually pushing her dark hair back as she crossed one leg over the other. Then began studying the contents.
Mac, sitting beside her, was trying his best not to look sideways—not at Agatha, and certainly not at the person sitting beside him.
Instead, he ran his manicured fingers through an unnecessarily long lock of pink-and-green hair that fell across his forehead, the rest of his head shaved almost completely.
Perhaps the style was designed to make the rows of diamond studs in both his ears stand out even more.
After a while, Agatha returned the file to Mr. Haider.
“I’ve gone through the proposals.”
“So?”
Mr. Haider raised an eyebrow.
“Honestly, Mr. Haider... if we don’t have anything better, I’d say we can go with any of them.”
“You mean...” Mr. Haider adjusted his gold cufflinks. “They’re second-best?”
Agatha gave him a smile and pushed her dark hair back.
“I’d say they’re workable.”
Mr. Haider then shifted his attention to Mac, who was sitting with an exaggeratedly straight posture.
“Mr. Zavian...”
Mac looked up.
“What are your thoughts? How do you see our promotional campaign moving forward this year?”
Mac cleared his throat with exaggerated sophistication.
“I’d suggest we begin with the visual palette for this year’s campaign...”
He paused, as though allowing the statement to acquire its proper importance.
“Earthy neutrals. Rich mossy greens. Warm browns...”416Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbtRmVm4RhC
He made a delicate gesture with one hand, slightly tilting his head. 416Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWqnDEQDe4T
“Something along the lines of Benjamin Moore’s Silhouette and Behr’s Hidden Gem. They create that organic, grounded aesthetic that’s becoming increasingly relevant in contemporary branding.”
He gave a small, satisfied nod.
“So, yes... that would be my proposed visual direction.”
He placed a catalogue on the table and opened it, revealing carefully arranged colour palettes for Mr. Haider.
Omer listened in silence.
What is he trying to say?
He glanced briefly at Mac.
Are we promoting Haideron Tech... or decorating somebody’s living room?
When Mr. Haider offered no reaction, Mac blinked his kohl-lined eyes and smoothly continued.
He turned to another page and presented a different palette.
“Now, this...” He traced a manicured finger over the colours. “A deep, fluid fusion of aquatic blue and forest green, punctuated by sharp flashes of French tomato red.”
He paused, allowing the description to linger.
“Which, by the way, we call in France—”
“Rouge tomate,” Omer interrupted.
Mac stopped.
For the first time, he looked directly at Omer.
“How do you know... mon cher?”
Omer's eyebrow rose.
“I don't like such terms of endearment... not from everyone.”
Mac blinked.
Mr. Haider noticed him staring at Omer, momentarily speechless.
“So, Mr. Zavian...” he said calmly. “You may continue.”
But Mac couldn't seem to let it go.
“You seem rather familiar with French.”
Omer simply leaned back in his chair and said nothing further.
Mac blinked and straightened himself.
“That color combination will be cutting-edge, sustainable, and authoritative. It represents the intersection of deep-tech capability and organic stability.”
He gestured towards the blue and green shades.
“And those shades...” His smile became visibly more artificial. “Well, they are the shades of Haideron Tech.”
He turned another page.
“That would be ideal for the promotional videos. We could use deep teal backdrops with sharp, electric-red accent lighting to command immediate attention on camera.”
Mr. Haider showed no reaction.
Instead, he moved on to his next question.
“How do you see the lead campaign model—who, as we all know, is Mr. Kiyani?” He gestured towards Omer. “How should he be presented in the campaign?”
Agatha spoke this time.
“Well, Mr. Haider, you made it pretty clear to us that the campaign is supposed to adapt to Mr. Kiyani, not the other way around.”
She sighed lightly, then gave a brief glance at the man sitting beside her.
“So I'd keep him authentic. He could be working behind a laptop, with the Haideron Tech insignia in the background. Or, if we're focusing on the HT Corridor, he could be interacting with those massive simulation screens.”
Agatha pointed towards the file.
“And for the slogan... we could always pick one of the options in here.”
Mac gestured towards the catalogue.
“Then how do we incorporate those electric-red accents? A man sitting behind a laptop and those dramatic visuals...”
He gave a small, expressive shrug. “I don't know. They don't exactly belong together. Just imagine it.” 416Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡm5JswMG4d0
Omer had remained silent throughout the discussion.
He waited for Mr. Haider to respond.
He didn't.
Finally, Omer straightened slightly.
“If I may, sir...”
Mr. Haider gave him a small gesture to continue.
“I went through Haideron Tech's promotional campaigns from previous years. Most of them focused heavily on the lead talent...”
He glanced briefly at Mac. “As if he'd emerged from a galaxy millions of light-years away, dressed in flashing neon, riding a bike straight out of a science-fiction movie and performing stunts, with the Haideron Tech insignia in the background.”
He shook his head slightly.
“I mean... representing a global technology empire through a model.”
His eyes moved briefly towards the catalogue on the table.
“I think we should move away from that.”
Mac's expression changed slightly.
Omer leaned forward.
“The campaign should show Haideron Tech itself as a technological ecosystem.”
He looked towards Mr. Haider.
“For the promotional video, we could begin with Haideron Tech itself—the tower, our laboratories, our research facilities. Then HUST—Haideron Tech University of Science and Technology. Its students, its faculty, the research happening there.”
His voice became more confident as the idea took shape.
“From there, we move to the HT Corridor. We show the scale of it. The structures, the infrastructure, the construction, and the technology already in place. Then we move closer—our engineers and technical teams working on-site, the systems being tested, the simulations running, and the data moving through the network.”
He paused.
“Everything original. Everything ours.”
He gestured lightly.
“And then we move beyond the local picture.”
“Quick glimpses of our overseas branches. Different cities. Different teams. Same identity. Same network.”
He paused again.
“And if we need an international feel for certain segments, we can always bring in foreign models or actors.”
Agatha was listening carefully now.
“As for me...” Omer continued, “I don't think I should pretend to be a model. If the campaign is supposed to represent what Haideron Tech actually is, I should appear as myself.”
Mac raised an eyebrow.
“As yourself?”
Omer nodded.
“An IT professional.”
He glanced briefly at Mac.
“I'll smile. I'll walk. I'll do whatever the camera team asks me to do. I'm not suggesting I should look like a sulking statue behind a laptop or a stern-looking man staring at simulations.”
A faint smile touched his face.
“I can play the part.”
He glanced at the catalogue.
“Working. Reviewing data. Interacting with the systems. Perhaps standing in front of one of the HT Corridor simulations.”
He paused.
“The camera doesn't have to make me the centre of everything. It should make the technology the centre.”
Mr. Haider finally leaned back in his chair.
“And the billboard?”
Omer thought for a moment.
“Something much simpler.”
He looked around the table.
“One powerful image. Minimal text. The Haideron Tech insignia. And a slogan that connects everything we've shown.”
He paused.
“Something like... One vision. One ecosystem. Endless possibilities.”
Silence followed.
Omer looked at Mr. Haider.
“That would be my starting point, sir.”
Mr. Haider interlocked his fingers.
“Well, Mr. Omer... if I said that your ideas are closer to what I had in mind, would you believe it?”
Omer didn't know how to respond.
Agatha Carlton looked slightly uncomfortable, but she couldn't stop herself from speaking.
“Mr. Haider... sorry to interrupt, but as good as Mr. Kiyani's ideas sound, I don't think they're workable. I mean, shooting at the actual site, the headquarters, with the people, the university, and then adding the overseas branches... he probably hasn't considered the production costs, the equipment we'd need, the timeline, or all the other moving parts.”
Mac chimed in.
“Agatha, you are right, mon cher. Mr. Kiyani wants everything authentic, but authenticity has a price. What I was thinking is the use of VFX, filters, stunning colors, flashy visuals—that is what is trending these days.”
He paused.
“But Mr. Kiyani... he seems to be gravitating toward sheer authenticity, originality, and simplicity.”
Agatha nodded slightly.
“I can tell you this much: if it isn't flashy, it doesn't really feel like a promotional campaign.”
“Production and shooting costs... well...” Mr. Haider interjected calmly. “That is not a matter of concern for now.”
Mac shifted uncomfortably in his chair. So did Agatha.
“What is trending is not necessarily worth following,” Mr. Haider continued. “Haideron Tech has always taken pride in being a trendsetter, never a follower.”
He paused, his gaze moving briefly across the table.
"From this year onward, I am seriously deciding to lead unprecedented promotional campaigns—something we honestly do not require, but which has become an absolute necessity these days—so I expect us to do it properly.”
His fingers remained loosely interlocked.
“I don't want Haideron Tech following a trend merely because everyone else is doing it. I want the trend to begin here.”
“And what Mr. Omer has proposed...” Mr. Haider paused briefly, his gaze settling on Omer. “It is absolutely worth a try.”
Omer remained silent.
Agatha exchanged a brief glance with Mac.
Neither of them looked entirely convinced.
Mr. Haider noticed.
“Of course, I am not asking either of you to discard your ideas.”
He leaned back slightly.
“Let Mr. Kiyani's proposal form the core of the campaign. Your ideas can supplement it, refine it, and give it the visual impact you believe it needs.”
He paused.
“And if you remember what we decided earlier, the campaign is supposed to move around Mr. Kiyani—not the other way around.”
Agatha nodded with a professional smile.
“Understood, Mr. Haider.”
Mac remained unusually attentive, his expression thoughtful.
But both of them were thinking along the same lines.
Besides his obvious charm... what exactly does Mr. Kiyani possess that has made a man like Mr. Haider disregard everything else and give the green light to what, at first glance, seemed like a rather absurd suggestion?
“Then I want the concept developed into a proper campaign proposal within three days.”
Both Agatha and Mac stiffened.
Omer, meanwhile, was quietly enjoying the way the tables had turned.
“You have given us the foundation, Mr. Kiyani,” Mr. Haider said.
A faint smile touched his face.
“Now let's see how nicely they can build around it.”
Agatha, who had been stealing occasional glances at Omer, froze.
Mac muttered something under his breath.
Mr. Haider noticed both reactions.
“Within three days, I want to see the visual treatment for the promotional video. After that, our local PR team will take over.”
The colour seemed to drain from Mac's face.
“I was under the impression that I would at least be conducting and coordinating the billboard photoshoot...”
Mr. Haider smiled faintly.
“Perhaps next time.”
Agatha gave a nervous little chuckle.
"I was thinking I might spend some time guiding the PR wing here... perhaps give them a few lessons.”
Mr. Haider leaned back comfortably.
“You both are flying back at the end of the week, after all. Our overseas branches need your services.”
His gaze moved casually between them.
“And I'm sure you have commitments with your other clients as well.”
Mac fell silent.
Agatha gave a small, professional nod.
“Of course, Mr. Haider.”
“Good.”
His expression remained pleasant.
“Then I believe we're clear.”
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and then Add to home screen.