Sunday morning. Noah sat at his kitchen counter with reports spread out, second coffee going cold.
His phone rang.
Dad.
On a Sunday.
Shit.
"Hey."
"Noah. Quick thing—dinner tonight at the Sterlings'. Six PM. Celebrating the partnership."
Noah's pen stopped. "Tonight?"
"Yes. Your mother and Lydia are coming. Be there by six. Don't be late."
"Yeah. Okay."
"Good. See you there."
Click.
Noah set his phone down.
Stared at the reports.
One week since the tennis match. Since Atlas held his hand too long. Since that question: Could you have?
One week of Atlas Sterling creeping into every corner of his life.
Party. Study. Conference room. Tennis court.
And now Sunday dinner at his family's house.
Noah stood up. Walked to the window.
Enough.
New plan: Show up. Be polite. Give nothing.
Atlas Sterling was a supervisor. A business contact. Someone four years older who happened to be at the same events.
No reactions. No tells.
He could do this. Probably.
Noah walked back to the kitchen. Poured the cold coffee down the sink.
Stared at the drain.
---
Five-thirty. Noah pulled out of his garage.
The Sterling estate was forty minutes outside the city. Old money property—gates, long driveway, probably staff quarters.
His phone buzzed.
Emma.
He answered. "Hey."
"Hi! How's your Sunday?" Bright. Happy.
"Busy. Got a work dinner tonight."
"Oh. Want me to come over after?"
"It'll be late. Rain check?"
Pause.
"Okay. Miss you."
"Yeah. You too."
They talked for another few minutes. Her client's renovation. His dad's expectations.
The words came easy. Automatic.
Noah hung up.
Silence filled the car.
He drove.
The gates appeared ahead—iron, tall, intimidating as hell.
He pulled up to the call box.
"Noah Wells. For dinner."
The gates opened.
---
The house wasn't a house. It was a statement.
Stone facade. Columns. Windows that probably cost more than Noah's college tuition.
His parents' car was already there. Lydia's too.
Noah parked and got out. Straightened his jacket.
Normal. Professional.
The front door opened before he reached it.
A woman in her early thirties. Tall, dark hair pulled back, sharp eyes.
Evelyn Sterling. Atlas's older sister.
"Noah Wells." She smiled. "It's been a while."
"Evelyn. Good to see you."
"Come in."
The foyer was bigger than Noah's apartment. Marble floors. Art that probably belonged in museums.
Voices drifted from somewhere deeper in the house.
"Everyone's in the sitting room," Evelyn said. "Your family just arrived."
"Great. Thanks."
She led him through hallways that felt designed to make you feel small.
The sitting room was less intimidating. Warm lighting. Comfortable furniture. His parents talking with old Mr. Sterling. Lydia on her phone in the corner.
His mom spotted him. "Noah! There you are."
"Sorry. Traffic."
Lydia glanced up. "You look tired."
"Long week."
Old Mr. Sterling stood. "Noah. Good to see you. Excited for the project."
"Yes sir. Should be productive."
They did the small talk thing. Business. Market trends. His father being careful around Sterlings the way he always was.
Noah kept his face neutral. Polite. Present but not engaged.
After twenty minutes, a woman appeared in the doorway.
"Dinner's ready."
They moved to the dining room.
Long table. Too many place settings. Formal as hell.
Noah ended up between his mother and an empty chair.
Everyone sat. Conversation continued.
Atlas wasn't there.
Noah told himself he didn't care.
Maybe Atlas wasn't coming. That'd be easier.
Five minutes into dinner, footsteps.
Atlas walked in.
"Sorry. Call ran late."
Dark slacks and a white shirt. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. Hair slightly damp like he'd just showered.
And the scent—
Different.
Not cedar. Something darker. Bergamot maybe. Leather.
Noah's brain registered it: That's fucking attractive.
Then killed the thought.
Nope. Atlas Sterling was a coworker. Nothing else.
Atlas greeted everyone. Professional. Polite.
Then sat down.
Next to Noah.
Of course.
"Noah."
"Atlas."
Their eyes met for half a second. Noah kept his face blank. Then looked at his plate.
Atlas settled into his chair.
Close. Their shoulders almost touching.
Noah didn't move. Didn't shift away. Just sat there like Atlas was furniture.
Dinner started. Plates passed. Conversation flowed.
Noah ate. Responded when spoken to. Stayed calm.
Atlas was silent for a while.
Noah could feel it though.
Eyes on him. Watching. Waiting.
Noah ate. Answered when spoken to.
Gave nothing.
Midway through the meal, Atlas reached for the bread basket.
His arm brushed Noah's.
On purpose.
Noah didn't flinch. Didn't tense. Just kept cutting his food.
Atlas's hand paused. Waiting for a reaction.
Got nothing.
"Sorry," Atlas said quietly.
Noah glanced at him.
Bland. Uninterested.
Turned back to his plate.
Out of the corner of his eye, Noah saw Atlas's jaw set.
Old Mr. Sterling cleared his throat. "I wanted to make an announcement."
Everyone looked.
"Atlas will be leading the integration project. Noah will be assisting as second."
Noah's fork paused for a fraction of a second.
Second. Not co-lead.
His father beamed. "Wonderful. Noah will learn a lot from Atlas."
Noah swallowed. "I'm sure."
Atlas was watching him. Noah felt it.
Didn't look back.
Evelyn leaned forward. "So Noah—how are things with Emma?"
Everyone's attention shifted.
Noah kept his face neutral. "Good. Great, actually."
"How long have you two been together?"
"Three years."
"That's wonderful." Evelyn smiled, but her gaze flicked between Noah and Atlas for just a second. "Serious then?"
"Yeah. We're happy."
He felt Atlas's eyes on him. Sharp. Focused.
Noah didn't react. Just took a sip of water.
Atlas's hand reached for his wine glass. Fingers tight around the stem.
---
Dinner ended. The adults moved to the terrace—some outdoor lounge area with a view and expensive whiskey.
Noah stayed downstairs with Lydia, scrolling her phone on the couch.
"You okay?" she asked without looking up.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"You're quiet. Even for you."
"Just tired."
His phone buzzed. He checked it.
Text from his mom asking if they could leave soon.
No response yet.
Footsteps behind him.
Noah turned.
Atlas stood a few feet away. Hands in his pockets.
"You alright?"
Noah looked at him. "Do I not look alright?"
"You seem... off."
"Off how?"
Atlas studied him. "I don't know. Different."
Noah almost smiled. "Different from what?"
"From last week."
"Hm."
Pause.
Atlas stepped closer. "Did something happen?"
"No. Why?"
"You've barely said two words tonight."
"Should I have said more?"
Atlas's eyes narrowed slightly. "Most people talk at dinners."
Noah opened his mouth. Closed it.
Then: "I talked."
"Barely."
Noah shrugged. "Didn't have much to say."
He could see Atlas trying to read him. Looking for cracks.
Nothing there.
"You're acting strange," Atlas said.
Noah met his eyes. Calm. "Am I?"
"Yes."
"Strange how?"
"You're..." Atlas paused. "Cold."
Noah's mouth curved. Just slightly. "I'm being professional."
"Professional."
"Yeah. We're coworkers now. You're my supervisor. Thought it was appropriate."
Silence.
Atlas was close enough now Noah could smell that new cologne. See the way his jaw set.
"Is that what this is?" Atlas asked quietly.
"What else would it be?"
Atlas didn't answer.
Noah held his gaze. "You're four years older than me. My boss. Just keeping things appropriate."
He watched it land. Atlas's own words from the study—professionalism, boundaries—coming back to him.
Atlas's face stayed blank. But his eyes—a flicker. Brief.
"Right," Atlas said. Flat. "Appropriate."
Noah's phone buzzed.
His mom: We're leaving in five. Say your goodbyes.
"I should go," Noah said.
He walked past Atlas. Close enough their shoulders almost touched.
Atlas didn't move.
Noah went upstairs. Found the adults on the terrace.
"Thank you for dinner, Mr. Sterling. Mrs. Sterling."
"Anytime, Noah."
His parents stood. Said their goodbyes.
Noah came back downstairs.
Atlas was by the window. Watching the driveway.
Noah stopped near the door.
Their eyes met.
"Good night, Mr. Sterling."
Atlas stared at him. Face blank. But his eyes—confusion, maybe. Frustration.
Or something Noah couldn't name.
Silence stretched between them.
He didn't answer.
Noah left.
---
In the car, Noah's hands were steady on the wheel.
He drove in silence. Mind replaying the night.
Atlas reaching across him. The way his arm felt—warm, solid.
Noah shoved the thought away.
At a red light, he glanced at himself in the rearview.
He looked calm. In control.
Smiled slightly.
He'd won something tonight. Taken back some power.
If he kept this up—stayed cold, professional, unreactive—everything would go back to normal.
Atlas would get bored. Move on.
The light turned green.
Noah drove home, trying to convince himself that everything would settle back to normal. That this cold distance he'd built between them would hold.
He was fine.
Everything was fine.
---
Back at the Sterling estate—
Atlas stood alone in the sitting room.
Empty. Quiet.
He picked up his whiskey glass.
Stared at it.
His hand tightened around it. Then released.
Then threw it.
It shattered against the wall.
The sound echoed. Sharp. Final.
Like something inside him breaking.
Glass scattered across the floor.
He stood there. Chest heaving.
Walked to the window. Looked out at the driveway.
Empty now.
His reflection stared back. Jaw set. Eyes dark.
He pressed his palm against the glass.
And for the first time, he didn't know who he was angry at.
Cold.
Or maybe that was just him.