The Snap
It happens in the quiet.
Not in a dramatic sweep or a loss of control—but in a moment so still it feels inevitable.
Elliot reaches out first.
Not to claim. Not to pull.
Just two fingers brushing my wrist, tentative enough that I could step away.
I don't.
His breath stutters. That's the tell. The billionaire who negotiates empires, undone by consent.
"This doesn't fix anything," I whisper.
"I know," he says. "But it tells the truth."
My pulse jumps when his hand slides up, warm and steady, stopping at my elbow—waiting. Always waiting.
I step into him.
That's the decision.
His other hand cups my jaw, thumb grazing my cheek like it's something fragile. When he kisses me, it's controlled, measured, like he's afraid to take too much.
I answer by fisting his shirt and pulling him closer.
The restraint shatters.
The kiss deepens—heat, hunger, weeks of denial pouring into one breathless moment. He groans softly, forehead dropping to mine.
"Say stop," he murmurs.
"I won't," I say.
His hands slide to my waist, grip firm but not owning. Not anymore.
We don't cross every line.
We don't need to.
The choice is enough.
The consequences arrive faster than expected.
The next morning, the collaboration floor buzzes with whispers. A look held too long. A door closed a second too late.
Maya corners me near the coffee station. "You and Blackwood," she says quietly. "Tell me I'm imagining things."
I don't lie. "You're not."
She exhales. "Okay. Then you need to be careful. This industry eats people alive for less."
"I know."
Do I?
Elliot calls me into his office that afternoon.
Not alone.
Legal is there.
HR.
The temperature in the room drops.
"This isn't a disciplinary meeting," Elliot says calmly. "It's a disclosure."
My chest tightens.
A woman from HR speaks. "Given your professional relationship and prior history, we need clarity."
Elliot looks at me. Not to control. To ask.
"We're not in a relationship," I say slowly. "But we're not pretending there's nothing either."
The lawyer nods. Notes something down.
"This will limit future collaborations," HR says. "And public optics are a concern."
"I accept that," Elliot says immediately.
I turn to him. "You don't get to accept things for me."
His gaze holds mine. "Then say what you need."
I square my shoulders. "I keep my job. I keep my autonomy. And if this becomes a liability—I walk."
Silence.
Then HR nods. "That's reasonable."
The meeting ends.
When we're alone again, Elliot releases a breath like he's been holding it all day.
"You didn't have to stay," he says.
"I wanted to," I reply. "That's the difference."
He studies me. "You're changing the rules."
I smile faintly. "You said you wanted honesty."
He steps closer—but stops himself.
Always a choice.
Always a line.