I've never been more aware of silence than when I walk back into the office with Ethan.
A silence that has nothing to do with peace.
It's a silence that's full.
Tense.
Electric.
I set my notes on my desk, and my fingers tremble slightly. I pray he doesn't notice.
He notices.
Of course he does.
"You don't have to stay shaken over something so minor," he finally says.
I lift my head.
"That's 'minor' to you?"
He looks away toward the window.
His fingers slip into his pocket nervous.
A rare crack in his armor.
"Forget what I said," he replies.
No.
I refuse to forget.
His words keep echoing in my mind: I can't stand the idea that someone intimidates you as much as I do… that's a problem for me.
I replayed the scene at least twenty times while we walked down the hallway.
It didn't sound like a professional comment.
It was… something else.
"Did you mean it?" I ask, wishing my voice sounded steadier.
He freezes.
His jaw tightens.
He slowly leans against his desk, arms crossed, as if he has to physically restrain something.
"I shouldn't have said it," he finally answers.
I frown.
"Why?"
He finally lifts his eyes to mine.
A dark, tense, almost… hungry look.
"Because I have to keep a clear line between us."
I swallow.
"A line?"
"A boundary."
His voice folds into the air low, dangerously calm.
"A boundary that's… blurring a little too quickly."
He shifts slightly, as if facing my eyes is already too much.
"I don't understand," I whisper.
"Yes, you do."
He looks at me again.
His eyes trail over me a second too long.
"You're smart. You know exactly what's happening."
My breath catches.
He dares to say it, finally.
Not clearly… but enough to make my legs feel strangely light.
"Ethan…"
"Don't say my name like that."
He closes his eyes for a fraction of a second.
"Not with that voice."
I feel myself blush.
I didn't do anything.
Didn't say anything wrong.
Just said his name.
And it hit him in a way that goes far beyond anything professional.
"We can't," he says more quietly.
"Why?" I ask, unable to hold it back.
He straightens abruptly, as if I just pulled on a too-tight string.
"Because I'm your superior."
He pauses.
"And because I don't… I don't handle this kind of thing well."
This kind of thing.
He doesn't say it, but I understand: attraction, wanting, tension, the pull to get closer even though he shouldn't.
I breathe in deeply.
"And what if I can handle it?"
He stares at me.
For a long time.
As if searching for a crack in my confidence.
He doesn't find one.
He inhales sharply, runs a hand through his hair—a gesture I've never seen from him—then steps forward.
Just one step.
But enough to shift the air between us.
"You need to understand something," he says, voice low.
"What?"
"If I let you cross that line, I won't be able to… pretend afterward."
He swallows hard.
"I'm not a moderate man."
Something slides through my stomach.
A mix of fear and want that makes me sway.
"Maybe I don't want moderation," I say before thinking.
A muscle jumps in his cheek.
His breathing quickens barely, but enough for me to see it.
He steps closer again.
He's too close.
Less than a meter away.
I can feel his body heat.
"Amelia…"
He says my name with an intensity that steals my breath.
"You need to stop."
"Stop what?"
"Looking at me like that."
I smile without meaning to.
"I'm looking at you normally."
"No."
He shakes his head, almost nervously.
"Normal is what everyone else does."
He drops his voice.
"You're… something else."
I whisper:
"And does that bother you?"
His fingers curl around the edge of his desk, as if he's fighting himself.
"Yes."
He looks at me.
Dark. Bare.
"Because I want too much."
Silence detonates between us.
My heart is a drum.
He inhales sharply, takes two steps back, and his icy mask snaps back into place.
"Lunch break in thirty minutes," he says abruptly.
"Ethan—"
"Don't follow me there."
"Why?"
"Because if you walk behind me right now, I won't manage not to turn around."
He heads for the door.
Pauses.
His voice drops rough, dangerously honest.
"And if I turn around, I cross the line."
Then he leaves.
The door closes softly behind him.
And I'm left standing there, caught in a whirlwind of contradictions, breathless, heart racing.
He's holding that line in his hand like a rope ready to snap.
And I already know that sooner or later…
it will break.