Elena's POV
I don't think I'll ever forget that night.
It started like any other long evening at the office — papers everywhere, city lights spilling through the glass walls, the hum of printers fading into the quiet.
But something was different.
Adrian had been… off lately.
Ever since that day in the café, he'd been watching me — not the way a boss watches an employee, but like a man trying to understand something he couldn't name.
I could feel it in the way he lingered near my desk when he didn't need to.
In the small things — how he handed me a file but let his fingers brush mine, how he said my name like it meant more than he was allowed to feel.
By the time everyone else had left, it was just the two of us.
The office felt too quiet, too still. The kind of silence that makes you aware of your heartbeat.
He was sitting by the window, the skyline reflecting in his eyes — all glass and gold and secrets.
"Come here," he said finally, his voice low.
I hesitated, then walked closer.
He didn't look up until I was standing right in front of him.
"Elena," he murmured, almost to himself. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
The question wasn't meant to be answered.
It was raw, fragile — a thought that had slipped past his walls.
I blinked. "I— I don't understand."
His lips curved in something that wasn't quite a smile. "No, you don't."
He stood then, slow and deliberate, until he was close enough for me to feel the warmth of him — close enough that breathing suddenly felt like effort.
"I don't like it," he said softly. "When other men talk to you. When they look at you."
I swallowed hard. "Adrian…"
He shook his head. "I know it's wrong. I know I shouldn't feel this way. But the thought of anyone touching you—" He broke off, his voice tightening. "I can't stand it."
The words should have scared me.
And maybe they did — a little.
Because Adrian Knight wasn't supposed to lose control.
But there was something else in his eyes too — not just possessiveness, but fear.
Like he was terrified of losing something he didn't even have yet.
He took a step closer, his gaze dropping to my lips, then back to my eyes.
"You make me forget who I am, Elena."
My heart was racing, every inch of me trembling between wanting to move away and wanting to move closer.
"I don't know what this is," I whispered.
"Neither do I," he admitted. "All I know is… I don't want you near anyone else. And that's selfish. But it's the truth."
There was something about the way he said it — quiet, almost broken — that undid me.
I should have pushed him away.
But instead, I found myself whispering, "Then don't let me go."
He froze, eyes flickering with something unreadable — restraint, desire, confusion, maybe all of it at once.
Then he stepped back, running a hand through his hair. "You don't know what you're saying."
"Maybe not," I said softly. "But I mean it."
The silence that followed was electric.
His breathing uneven, mine just as shaky.
And for a moment — one suspended heartbeat — it felt like he might finally close the distance between us.
But just as his hand reached for me, his phone buzzed on the desk.
Jonathan Pierce.
The name flashed across the screen, and I didn't miss the way his entire expression changed — softer, steadier.
He picked it up, his voice shifting instantly into calm professionalism.
And just like that, the moment was gone.
When he hung up, he looked at me, his walls back in place.
"Go home, Elena," he said gently.
But as I walked out of his office, my hands trembling, one thought burned through me —
He didn't say he didn't care.
He said he couldn't.
And that somehow meant everything.