By Tuesday, Camille knew she needed to slow down.
It wasn't dramatic.
There had been no argument. No red flag.
Just awareness.
Since the night drive in the Lamborghini, her thoughts had been arriving at him too easily. She found herself checking her phone between appointments. Anticipating the low hum of his name lighting her screen.
She did not like anticipating anyone.
That meant attachment was forming.
And attachment required clarity.
At 10:42 a.m., his message came.
Lunch break today? I can come by.
Simple. Direct.
Her fingers hovered over the screen for a second longer than usual.
She could make time.
She always could.
Instead, she locked her phone and returned to her client.
Routine first. Emotion later.
She replied at noon.
Today is packed. Another time.
Polite. Calm. Not cold.
Across the city, Gabriel read the message while stepping out of a meeting.
Packed.
He didn't miss the difference.
Normally she would have suggested an alternative immediately.
Another time was neutral.
That evening, he called.
She answered on the third ring.
"Hi."
"You're quieter today," he said.
"I'm focused."
"On work?"
"On myself."
That made him pause.
"Explain."
Camille walked slowly across her living room, heels abandoned by the door, braids loosely tied back now.
"I don't rush momentum," she said evenly.
"You think we are?"
"I think we could."
Silence settled between them — not tense, but exposed.
"You don't seem like someone who panics," he said.
"I don't."
"Then what is this?"
She leaned against the window, watching headlights move below.
"Discipline."
The word was firm.
"I don't let attraction outrun evaluation."
That landed precisely where she intended it to.
"You're evaluating me," he said.
"I've been evaluating you since the first gala."
"And now?"
"Now I'm making sure I'm still objective."
Gabriel absorbed that without ego.
"You think you're losing objectivity?"
"I think I like you."
The honesty was quiet.
Controlled.
But undeniable.
"And that concerns you?" he asked.
"It makes me cautious."
Not because she feared him.
Because she respected herself.
The admission shifted something in him.
She wasn't pulling back to manipulate.
She was stabilising herself.
"I don't disappear when things deepen," he said after a moment.
"I'm not asking you to."
"Then what are you asking?"
She took her time answering.
"Consistency."
Again.
Always that word.
Tuesday night ended without flirtation.
Without heat.
Just steadiness.
But as Gabriel set his phone down later, he recognised something new—
He didn't want her distance.
Not because it challenged his control.
Because he missed her presence.
And that was new.