Elena's POV
There are nights that change you — quiet, unassuming nights where nothing spectacular happens, and yet, somehow, everything shifts.
That night felt like that.
We were in the office after hours. The city lights glittered like scattered stars through the windows, and the hum of air conditioning was the only sound apart from our breathing.
Adrian was there for a meeting, I was just tidying up papers — but somehow, the world outside didn't exist. Not really.
He had that look on his face — the one that made my chest tighten and my stomach flutter, a mixture of restraint and longing, like he was trying not to fall apart in front of me.
I wanted to say something. Anything. But the words wouldn't come.
"Are you tired?" he asked softly, his voice breaking through the silence like a thread I couldn't ignore.
I nodded, my fingers brushing against the stack of files. "A little."
He stepped closer, the space between us closing without us realizing.
I could feel the warmth radiating from him, the subtle scent of his cologne, the way his eyes lingered on mine longer than necessary.
"Sit," he murmured, gesturing to the leather chair.
I obeyed, heart hammering.
He leaned against the desk, close enough that I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands fidgeted as if he were trying to contain himself.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he sighed — low, quiet, almost like a confession. "Elena…"
I looked up at him, searching his eyes. There was something there I hadn't seen before. Fear. Desire. Protection. And… love.
He swallowed, visibly struggling. "I… I can't say it."
My chest tightened. "Say what?" I whispered, almost afraid to know the answer.
"That I… care. Too much. That I—" His voice caught, and he looked away for a second, then back at me, dark and raw and unguarded. "That I want you. Always. And it scares me."
My hands were trembling, resting in my lap. "I… feel it too," I admitted quietly. "But I don't know how to say it."
He took a step closer, until our knees almost touched. The electricity between us was undeniable.
His gaze softened, and he reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. His thumb lingered on my cheek, tracing a line I could feel deep in my bones.
"I don't know if I should want you like this," he murmured, voice low and broken. "But I can't stop."
I leaned slightly forward, drawn to him like gravity. "I don't want you to stop," I whispered.
That was all it took.
His hand slid to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair as he leaned closer. Our foreheads touched first, a tentative connection, a whisper of closeness that made my entire body ache.
We didn't kiss. Not yet.
But the intimacy was more than physical.
Every glance, every brush of skin, every quiet word between us carried the weight of everything we were both too afraid to name.
"I… love the way you look at me," he said softly, voice almost a whisper in my ear. "And it terrifies me how much I… care about you."
I closed my eyes, letting the words sink in, letting his hand rest there, anchoring me.
"I ….feel the same," I admitted quietly, even though the word felt too big for the space between us.
He didn't say anything. Just held me there — close, warm, solid.
For the first time, I understood something about him — about us.
Love didn't need to be shouted.
It didn't need to be named.
Sometimes, just feeling it… just existing in that space between heartbeats… was enough.
And that night, it was more than enough.