(Elara POV)
The office looks different after nine.
Quieter. Dimmer. Like the building exhales once everyone leaves.
I'm still at my desk when the lights automatically lower, casting soft shadows across the floor. My eyes ache from staring at numbers too long, but I don't stop. I can't.
The deadline Vivienne gave me was impossible on purpose.
I hear footsteps before I see him.
"Why are you still here?"
I flinch slightly and look up.
Mr. Hale stands a few feet away, jacket off, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He looks… less formal like this. More dangerous somehow.
"I'm finishing the variance report," I say. "It needs to be done by morning."
His gaze drops to my screen.
"This wasn't due today."
"It is now," I reply softly.
He's quiet for a moment. Too quiet.
Then he pulls out the chair beside my desk and sits.
"Move," he says.
I hesitate. "Sir?"
"Slide over."
My heart stutters as I shift my chair aside. He takes my place without asking, his knee brushing mine briefly. Accidentally. Or not.
He starts scrolling through the file.
"You didn't make these errors," he says.
"I didn't," I admit.
"These assumptions are sloppy."
"They weren't mine either."
He glances at me then. Sharp. Assessing.
"Vivienne," he says.
It's not a question.
I don't answer.
He exhales slowly, jaw tightening, then starts typing. His fingers move quickly, decisively. He restructures the entire model in minutes.
I watch. I can't help it.
"You already corrected half of this," he says without looking at me.
"I saw the pattern early," I reply.
"Why didn't you flag it?"
"You told me to bring things to you," I say. "Not to challenge department heads."
Something in his expression shifts.
"Stand up," he says suddenly.
My breath catches. "What?"
"Stand," he repeats.
I do, my chair scraping softly against the floor.
He rises too.
The space between us disappears.
I'm acutely aware of how close he is — of the way I have to tilt my head slightly to meet his gaze. Of the way my pulse betrays me.
"You don't get punished for being competent," he says quietly. "Not here."
"I wasn't—"
"Don't," he interrupts. "Don't make yourself smaller."
His voice is calm, controlled, but there's something else underneath it now. Something tight.
My throat feels dry.
"I don't like being blindsided," he continues. "And I don't like when people use what's mine to play games."
The word mine lands between us, heavy and charged.
I don't breathe.
For a second — just one — I think he's going to touch me.
His hand lifts. Stops.
Drops back to his side.
He steps away abruptly.
"Go home," he says. "I'll handle this."
"But—"
"That's not a suggestion."
I nod, my body still buzzing as I grab my bag.
At the door, I stop and turn back.
"Thank you," I say.
He doesn't look at me.
"Don't confuse protection with permission," he replies.
I leave the office with my heart in my throat and my thoughts spinning.
Because I don't know what that moment was.
Only that something between us shifted tonight.
And whatever it was…
It didn't feel safe anymore….not unsafe either.