The elevator doors slid open, and Layla stepped out first, her expression cool, composed. Damian followed at his usual pace, suit immaculate, face unreadable.
Nothing in the way they moved together hinted at the conversation from last night.
Inside the office, she placed the morning reports on his desk, her voice even. "Your meeting's at ten. I've confirmed the attendees."
He took the folder without looking up. "Good."
The air between them was steady, professional—until his hand brushed hers in passing. It lasted less than a second, but her pulse spiked anyway.
Layla turned away before anyone could see her face.
Damian sat behind his desk, flipping through the papers with the kind of focus he always carried. Only the slight curve at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
They spoke throughout the morning, each word perfectly work-appropriate, but their eyes lingered a fraction longer than necessary.
At lunch, she brought him his coffee. "Two sugars," she said, placing it down.
His gaze lifted briefly. "You remembered."
Her reply was a quick, faint smile before she left the room.
The rest of the day passed in that same delicate balance—meetings, emails, schedules. No one in the office would guess they had crossed a line, and neither of them slipped. But under the hum of phones and the shuffle of papers, something new pulsed between them, quiet but undeniable.
By five o'clock, Damian watched her leave with the others, his expression calm. When the glass doors closed behind her, he allowed himself one breath, one unguarded smile.
The rain had eased into a light drizzle by the time Layla left the train station. She was halfway down her street when she noticed a familiar car parked near her building.
Damian stepped out before she reached the gate, holding an umbrella like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"You'll catch a cold," he said simply.
She blinked at him, startled. "Are you following me now?"
He didn't answer—just opened the umbrella over her and matched her pace toward the door.
Inside her apartment, she set her bag down and turned to find him still standing by the entrance, water beading on his coat.
"You didn't say you were coming," she said.
"I wasn't planning to. I just…" His eyes drifted over her face. "I wanted to see you without the walls."
Her chest tightened. "And what happens when you do?"
Instead of replying, he reached for her hand, slow but certain. She let him, feeling the warmth of his fingers spread through her.
"You hide well at work," he murmured. "Better than I do."
"Because I have to," she said softly.
They stood like that, close but not quite touching enough. His thumb brushed the back of her hand, and she shivered—not from the cold.
Finally, he stepped forward. "One evening. No office. No rules."
Her lips curved faintly. "You sound like you're about to break something."
"Only if you let me."
She laughed under her breath, and he watched her like the sound was something he'd been craving for years.
And then he kissed her—not rushed like before, but deep, deliberate, like every second was meant to last.
When they broke apart, her hand stayed on his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath his shirt.
"Careful," she whispered. "You'll make me forget why I have my walls."
"Then I'll just have to keep reminding you why I'm worth letting in," he said, his voice low.