Morning came quietly.
Too quietly.
Seraphina woke to the soft glow of dawn creeping through the sheer curtains, the unfamiliar weight of luxury beneath her fingers. For a moment, she forgot where she was until the events of the night before rushed back in a wave of awareness.
Chicago.
The suite.
Draven Crowe sleeping just a room away.
She sat up slowly, listening.
No sound.
No footsteps.
No voices.
Only the distant hum of the city below.
She slipped out of bed, smoothing her oversized shirt, and padded toward the living area. The suite looked less intimate in daylight, more corporate, as if the night had exaggerated everything it wasn't meant to be.
Draven stood by the window.
Shirtless.
She stood in shock as she entered the living area.
His back was to her, broad and defined, muscles shifting subtly as he tightened the cuffs of his watch. Morning light traced the sharp lines of his shoulders, the faint scar near his ribs she hadn't noticed before.
He turned.
And saw her.
Something unreadable flickered across his face before his expression hardened into control.
"You're awake," he said evenly.
"So are you," she replied, immediately regretting how soft her voice sounded.
"I didn't sleep," he said.
She believed him.
⸻
They ate breakfast in silence.
Coffee. Toast. Business news murmuring faintly from the television.
Every movement felt deliberate. Every glance accidental but charged.
Finally, Draven stood.
"We have a meeting in forty minutes," he said. "Get ready."
She nodded and retreated to the bedroom, heart racing.
⸻
The conference room buzzed with energy.
Executives, investors, assistants voices overlapping, tension thick with money and ambition. Seraphina sat beside Draven, tablet in hand, posture straight.
She felt it then.
The looks.
Not curiosity.
Assessment.
A woman across the table leaned toward another and whispered. A man's eyes lingered too long. Someone smiled knowingly.
And then came her.
"Draven."
The voice was smooth. Familiar.
Seraphina looked up as a stunning woman in a tailored red dress approached. Confident. Beautiful. Dangerous.
"Elena," Draven said coolly. "I didn't know you'd be attending."
Elena's gaze slid to Seraphina. Slowly. Deliberately.
"And who is this?" she asked.
"My assistant," Draven replied. "Seraphina Lark."
Assistant.
The word felt heavier than it should.
Elena smiled. "Interesting choice."
Seraphina met her gaze, refusing to shrink.
⸻
The meeting was brutal.
Numbers. Projections. Power plays.
Seraphina performed flawlessly, anticipating Draven's needs before he voiced them, passing documents, whispering updates. More than once, he glanced at her with something close to appreciation.
Elena noticed.
She always noticed.
During a break, Elena approached Seraphina.
"You're very… attentive," she said lightly.
"It's my job," Seraphina replied.
Elena smiled. "Careful. Draven doesn't mix business with sentiment."
"Neither do I," Seraphina said.
Elena's smile faded, just slightly.
⸻
The confrontation came later.
After the meeting. After the applause. After the deals were signed.
Draven found Seraphina alone in the hallway.
"You handled yourself well," he said.
"Thank you." she replied.
He stepped closer. Too close.
"Elena has a habit of testing people," he said quietly. "Don't let her get into your head."
"Is she an ex?" Seraphina asked before she could stop herself.
The silence was answer enough.
"That's not relevant," Draven said.
But she noticed him clenched his jaws.
⸻
Back at the hotel, tension snapped.
"You didn't have to look at her like that," Seraphina said, the words tumbling out.
"Like what?"
"Like she still matters."
Draven turned sharply. "You're crossing a line."
"Then stop pulling me toward it," she shot back.
The air between them burned.
"This is exactly why this is dangerous," he said. "You're becoming… important."
Her heart stuttered. "Important how?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he stepped away.
"I won't compromise you," he said firmly. "Or myself."
Seraphina swallowed hard then turned away.