POV: Elena
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People were staring again.
Whispers. Curious glances. Little double-takes every time Zayden passed my desk and paused—even if only for a second.
He never smiled at anyone else. Never stopped to ask how their day was. Never sent quiet smirks across the room like he did with me.
I tried to ignore it. Pretend it wasn't happening.
But it was.
And the office noticed.
---
By mid-week, I was buried in onboarding assignments—reports, design briefs, and client brand decks taller than my coffee cup.
"New girl," a voice snapped behind me. "You didn't include the recent Tokyo pitch numbers in this. Are you even trying?"
I turned, confused. A sharp-faced man stood over my desk, early forties, slick hair, expensive tie. His ID said Director – Global Accounts.
"Um, I wasn't assigned that project—"
"Doesn't matter. Learn fast, or you'll be gone faster than your welcome latte."
I blinked, heat rushing to my face. "Sir, I think—"
"She doesn't answer to you."
The voice came from behind him—low, smooth, and dangerously calm.
Zayden.
He walked past a stunned assistant and stopped beside my desk, his eyes locked on the man like a wolf sizing up prey.
"This is my department," he said coolly. "And she's doing exactly what she was assigned. If you have a problem with that, bring it to me."
The director opened his mouth, but Zayden cut him off.
"Actually," he added, voice colder, "don't. You're not authorized to speak to my staff without me present. Kindly walk away."
The man left. Fast.
I sat there frozen.
Zayden turned to me, gaze softening instantly. "You okay?"
"I—I think so."
He looked like he wanted to say more. His eyes lingered a second too long.
Then he glanced around the room. People were watching. Of course they were.
"Come," he said quietly. "Walk with me."
---
We ended up in the rooftop garden—a hidden gem of the building that overlooked half of London.
It was quiet. Just the sound of wind and distant traffic.
"Sorry about that," he murmured. "Some people think age gives them permission to belittle talent."
I looked up at him. "You didn't have to step in like that."
"Yes, I did."
"Why?"
A beat.
Then two.
Finally, he exhaled and leaned against the railing, arms folded.
"Because watching someone talk to you like that made my blood boil."
His voice was lower now. Sincere.
"I don't like when people hurt the ones I…" He stopped. "The ones who don't deserve it."
I swallowed. My heart felt way too loud in my chest.
"Zayden."
He looked at me.
I hesitated, then said it—finally:
"Who are you, really?"
He smiled. Tired. Fond. A little sad.
"I'm the guy who wants to protect you, Elena," he said softly. "Even if you never find out why."
Then he walked past me, brushing my arm with his fingers so gently it hurt.
Leaving behind just his scent… and a thousand new questions.
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