"You are prettier than I remember," Leo said softly.
Elara blinked once, twice. A strange heat bloomed beneath her skin, starting at her throat and racing upward to her cheeks. Her breath caught halfway. She could feel her pulse thrumming in her ears.
With force, she pushed Leo off her and against the table. The papers beneath his hand slid off the edge. Her voice came sharper than she intended.
"That's enough."
He straightened, hands raised in mock surrender, his eyes never leaving her face. "Apologies. It was an observation, not—"
"Not professional?" she cut in. "Good to know you're aware of the difference."
He smiled faintly. "I was. Once."
Her jaw tightened. "Leo, don't."
The air froze between them—silence heavy enough to drown in. Then, with precise calm, she gestured toward the door. "We're done here. Please leave."
When he hesitated, Elara crossed the room and opened the door herself, her expression cold, her posture impeccable. She refused to meet his eyes. The muscles in her neck strained to keep her composure.
Leo didn't move immediately. He stood at the threshold, gaze sweeping over her face as if trying to memorize something that had already slipped away. Then, before Elara could draw her next breath, he closed the distance between them.
It happened fast—too fast. His hand found her waist and pulled her sharply against him. Her gasp echoed faintly in the sterile office air.
A startled sound escaped her lips as she pressed against Leo's chest, his arm firm around her. The scent of his cologne—cedar and something darker—filled her senses. His breath brushed her ear.
"Your heart is racing," Leo murmured.
She scoffed, forcing a smile to mask the tremor in her chest. "Racing? That would be yours."
But she could feel it—the rapid thud beneath his ribs and the wild syncing of their heartbeats. His wasn't the only one out of rhythm. Hers was too—quick and chaotic, as if competing to see who would give in first.
"Elara, the—"
Maya froze at the doorway, eyes widening at the compromising closeness she had just walked in on. The folders in her hands tilted almost falling before she caught them against her chest.
The sound of her name snapped through the haze. Elara jerked back, her breath uneven and her skin tingling where his hand had been.
"Mr. Thorne was just leaving," she said, steadying her tone. It wasn't steady.
Leo released her fully, but not before his fingers brushed the side of her arm—a deliberate, fleeting touch that sent another current through her.
"I will be anticipating our next session." He smirked, then walked out, leaving the scent of cedar and tension behind him.
For a long second, the room was silent except for the faint hum of the AC.
Still stunned by what she had seen, Maya spoke first. "Are you okay, Elara?"
Elara exhaled slowly. "I'm fine," she said, though her voice betrayed her. The tension in her shoulders, the shallow breath—they all told another story. "He's gone. Good."
Maya's brows knit together. She set the folders on the nearest desk, hesitating. "That was… unexpected."
"You think?" Elara replied dryly, crossing her arms. She turned away from the door, pretending to reorganize the scattered papers on her table. Her fingers trembled slightly. She curled them into a fist. "He has no sense of boundaries."
Maya tilted her head. "And you?"
Elara froze mid-gesture. "Excuse me?"
"I'm just saying," Maya said carefully, "you didn't exactly throw him out the window. You could have pressed the panic button. You could have called security. Instead…" She gestured vaguely toward the door. "You let him talk."
Elara's lips pressed into a thin line. "That's an inappropriate assumption."
"I know," Maya said, lowering her gaze. "I'm sorry. It's just— I've never seen you like that. You usually don't let anyone get that close."
Elara turned toward the window, arms still folded, gaze fixed on the skyline beyond the glass. "He's an old acquaintance. That's all."
"An acquaintance who can read your heartbeat?"
"Enough, Maya."
Maya bit back her next comment, but the glint in her eyes said she had already drawn her conclusions. She perched on the edge of the desk. "I didn't know you could be quiet for this long. You've… absorbed everything. I've never seen you like this."
Elara offered a faint smile—tight and controlled. "Absorption is part of the job," she said. "It's what separates the professional from the amateur. And Maya," she added, tapping a finger against the desk, "I hate losing control."
Maya nodded knowingly. "Sometimes letting go, just a little, won't make you weak. It makes you human."
Elara turned toward the window, letting the fading light of the city spill over her. The Bay Area skyline shimmered like molten glass. Her gaze swept over the city below. She could see cars threading through the avenues, ferries gliding over the bay, and clusters of buildings flickering with life. What looked like chaos—the rush, the noise, the color—moved with its own strange rhythm. She drew in a slow breath, letting the view steady her.
The rest of the day passed in deliberate routine. She signed files, corrected miscalculations, answered emails, held a meeting with the staff, took calls, met with clients—while Maya hovered around her like a bee. "Maybe you should take a break," she suggested. "Even thirty minutes. Walk outside. Breathe. Remember the world exists beyond these walls."
Elara smirked faintly. "And what if I see him on the street—walking, untouchable, infuriating? Huh?"
"I believe he wouldn't be there," she defended, but soon regretted speaking as Elara just nodded and continued drafting the email on her laptop.
Evening fell; the city transformed into a lattice of lights, and the streets hummed with energy.
Elara drove home in silence, the soft hum of the engine filling the empty spaces that conversation used to occupy. Her grip on the steering wheel was steady, but her mind wasn't. Each red light seemed to linger too long; every turn felt too deliberate, as though the city itself wanted her to think about him—about what had just happened.
She turned on the radio, then off again. Even the music seemed too intrusive. The faint echo of Leo's voice kept threading through her thoughts, uninvited.
You are prettier than I remember.
The words replayed in her head—quieter each time, but somehow heavier.
Her apartment was modest and meticulously organized. Warm light pooled over the soft beige walls and minimalist furniture. A single abstract painting drew the eye above the sofa. Shelves lined one wall, filled with books arranged by color and a few framed photographs that softened the precision. A vase of white orchids stood on the console table. A wine bar sat at the side.
She dropped her bag by the console table, slipped out of her heels, and into her plush slippers.
Elara walked to the wine bar and poured herself a glass of red wine. With the glass in hand, she moved to the window and watched the city breathe beneath her. She allowed herself a moment of quiet reflection, considering the choices that had brought her here, the armor she had built, and the fractures that remained.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Maya: Don't let today's storm steal your night. Remember, tomorrow is yours.
Elara typed back with precision: I remember. Thanks.
She set the phone aside and leaned back, letting the rhythm of the city settle her.
Then, her phone buzzed again. Once. Twice.
She frowned. It wasn't Maya this time. The name on the screen made her heart skip.
"Unknown Number"
She unlocked her phone to read the message.
Unknown Number
We need to talk. Urgent. Don't tell anyone I reached out.
— Liu