The office was quieter than usual that night. Most of the building had emptied, leaving behind only the hum of the air conditioning and the distant glow of the city through the tall windows. Amelia had promised herself she would finish the report before midnight, no matter how much her eyes burned from staring at her laptop screen.
Her fingers hovered over the keys, mind foggy. Every few seconds, she caught herself glancing toward the corner office. The light was still on. Adrian was still here.
She cursed under her breath, both at her distraction and at him. Why did he have to stay late, too? He had an entire floor of assistants and yet, tonight, he'd chosen to handle something himself. A part of her wondered if it was deliberate.
Amelia tried to shake the thought off and forced her gaze back to the report, but the sound of his footsteps in the hallway pulled her attention like gravity. A moment later, he was leaning against her doorway, jacket off, tie loosened, his white shirt rolled at the sleeves.
"You're still here," he said, voice deep but quieter than usual.
"I could say the same about you." She tried to keep her tone neutral, but her pulse quickened.
He glanced at her desk, at the half-finished document. "Let me guess… You won't leave until it's perfect?"
"It's not for you," she muttered, though they both knew every piece of work she touched eventually passed across his desk.
Adrian chuckled softly and walked in, pulling out the chair opposite her. He sat down, stretching one arm along the back of the seat as if he owned the space. "Perfection is a curse. You'll kill yourself trying to reach it."
"And yet you expect nothing less," she shot back.
Their eyes locked, and for once, his didn't hold that sharp edge of command. There was something softer there, something almost… tired.
"Maybe I expect it because I know you're capable of it," he said.
The words caught her off guard. Compliments from Adrian were rare, and when they came, they felt heavier than gold. She swallowed, forcing herself to look back at the laptop. "Flattery won't get you out of finishing your own work."
"Who says I'm trying to get out of it?" His voice dropped lower, more intimate. "Maybe I wanted an excuse to sit here."
Her throat tightened. The room felt warmer suddenly, too close, too silent except for the sound of her heartbeat.
She closed the laptop with a snap. "If you're trying to distract me, it's working."
"Good." His smile curved lazily, the kind of smile that was both dangerous and disarming.
...
They ended up side by side, laptops open, working in silence. At least, that was the plan. But Amelia was too aware of him—of the faint brush of his arm against hers whenever he leaned closer, of the way his cologne lingered between them, subtle but intoxicating.
She typed three sentences before realizing she hadn't actually registered a word she'd written.
"Stuck?" he asked, eyes flicking toward her screen.
"No," she lied. "Just thinking."
"About the report?"
"Of course," she replied, too quickly.
He chuckled again, low and knowing. "You're a terrible liar, Amelia."
Her head snapped toward him, ready to protest, but the look in his eyes stopped her. He wasn't mocking her. He was studying her, peeling back layers she hadn't meant to show.
She swallowed hard. "You don't know me well enough to make that judgment."
"Don't I?" He leaned in slightly, their shoulders brushing. "I know you stay later than anyone else. I know you'd rather overwork yourself than admit you need help. I know you push people away because letting them close feels dangerous."
Her breath caught. He couldn't possibly know that… and yet, he did.
"You don't know me," she whispered, but it lacked conviction.
His gaze softened, losing its usual sharpness. "I'd like to."
The admission hung in the air, raw and heavy. Amelia turned back to her laptop, but the words on the screen blurred. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe properly.
For so long, she had convinced herself she was immune to him. What he wanted was control, another conquest. But sitting there in the quiet, with his voice low and honest, she saw a crack in the armor he wore.
And it scared her more than anything.
...
Hours slipped by. At some point, Adrian rose and crossed to the window, staring out at the city lights. His hands were tucked into his pockets, posture relaxed but contemplative. Amelia found herself watching him, wondering what was going through his mind.
"You know," he said without turning, "people think power is about how much control you have over others. But most of the time, it's about how well you can control yourself."
Her brow furrowed. "That sounds like something you'd say to justify your… methods."
He glanced over his shoulder, lips twitching. "Maybe. Or maybe it's what I tell myself when I'm standing too close to something I want but shouldn't take."
Her stomach flipped. The way his eyes lingered on her left no doubt what he meant.
She stood abruptly, needing space, needing air. "I should go. It's late."
"Stay," he said quietly, almost a plea.
She froze. He rarely asked—he commanded. But tonight, the word carried a different weight, a vulnerability she hadn't expected.
When she turned back, his expression was unreadable. Yet she saw it—the shadow of loneliness, the trace of something human beneath the man everyone feared.
"Adrian…" Her voice trembled despite her best efforts. "This is dangerous."
"Everything worth wanting is," he replied.
Silence stretched between them, thick and electric. Amelia's chest ached with the force of her own restraint. She wanted to step forward, to close the distance, to give in to the pull she had denied for weeks.
But she couldn't. Not yet.
With a sharp inhale, she grabbed her bag. "Goodnight."
She walked out without looking back, but his voice followed her, low and certain.
"This isn't over, Amelia. Not even close."
...
That night, lying awake in her bed, Amelia replayed every word, every look, every unspoken admission. For the first time, the lines between her professional life and her personal desires blurred beyond recognition.
And she wasn't sure she wanted to redraw them.