For two days, Alexander barely spoke to her.
He gave orders in clipped tones, sent her tasks by email instead of face-to-face, and avoided being alone with her whenever possible. It was as if that almost-moment in his office had never happened.
But Elena felt it. Every time his gaze flickered over her and away. Every time his voice roughened just slightly when he said her name.
He was avoiding her not because he didn't feel anything—
But because he did.
And that knowledge set her nerves on fire.
---
By Thursday evening, they were the last two in the office again. Elena gathered her things, but as she passed Alexander's door, she saw him still inside. His shoulders were hunched, one hand pressed to his temple as he stared at the glowing screen.
Something in her chest tightened. He looked… exhausted.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she knocked lightly and stepped in. "You should go home."
He didn't look up. "I don't need advice from my assistant."
She hesitated. "Maybe not. But you do need rest. Even you can't run on ice forever."
At that, his eyes lifted to hers, sharp and unguarded all at once.
For a long moment, silence stretched between them. Then, in a voice quieter than she'd ever heard from him, he said: "You don't understand what rest costs me."
Her breath caught. "Then let me help."
His jaw worked, as if fighting something inside himself. He rose from his chair, coming closer until she could feel the heat of him, the weight of his presence.
Her pulse stuttered. His eyes dropped, just for a second, to her mouth.
And then, with a low curse, he turned away, retreating behind the fortress of his desk.
"Go home, Elena," he said, his voice clipped again. "Before I do something I shouldn't."
Her heart thundered, but she obeyed, slipping out into the night.
And though they hadn't touched, her skin still burned as if he had.