Nessa did not remember getting out of bed, she kept remembering the dream—the way it felt so real, too warm, too close. The way Louis's voice lingered like a touch on her skin even after she opened her eyes.its been two week and the thought of him still lingered, Nessa showered quickly, dressed mechanically, and rushed to work with her heart still beating in an unfamiliar rhythm.
By the time she reached the office, she prayed the day would be normal.
It wasn't.
The moment she walked into the conference room, sitting at the far end of the table—calm, unreadable, devastating in a black suit—
was Louis.
Cold focus,. Back straight,. Hand resting lightly on the table, the other holding a pen he wasn't even using,. He looked like control carved into bone,. He didn't turn immediately,. He didn't need to, he was at the head of the boardroom table, sitting with a stillness that felt like a warning and a promise all at once.
The moment she entered, his gaze snapped to her—slowly, sharply—like a pull he'd been resisting finally won.
Their eyes collided. Nessa's breath stalled.
Louis didn't blink, he didn't look away.
He held her there, locked in a silent stare that dragged heat up her neck and left her fingers trembling around her folder, no emotion on his face, not a single one.
But his eyes… God…, his eyes.
There was something coiled inside them—restraint stretched thin, she walked to her seat because her legs moved out of habit, not choice.
The meeting began. People talked. Numbers were presented. Decisions were debated.
Louis barely spoke, but he watched.
Every time Nessa shifted, every time she took a breath, every time she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
His gaze tracked her—slow, unhurried, devastatingly thorough.
Not hungry,. Not soft,. Not angry.
Focused.
Like she was the disruption he couldn't calculate but couldn't ignore.
And he was trying—failing—to pretend otherwise, Nessa kept her eyes on her notes, but her body reacted to him like he was standing behind her, not across the room. Her pulse throbbed at her throat, her palms sweat, her mind replayed the balcony, the dream, the way he left her— and she hated that a part of her wanted him to look at her like that again.
When the meeting finally ended, she escaped. Straight to the small café downstairs, heart racing, trying to breathe the way normal people breathed, she pressed her hands to the counter, whispering to herself: Don't think about him. Don't think about that kiss. Don't think about the dream. It wasn't real. He doesn't know. He can't know—
"Leaving without a word?" Her heart dropped,Nessa turned.
Louis stood behind her, not too close—just close enough that she felt him like a shadow sliding along her skin, his face was unreadable, but his eyes…
They weren't calm anymore, they were dark. Deep. Controlled so tightly she could feel the tension in the air, stretching thin around him.
Nessa's throat went dry.
"I'm busy," she said softly, trying to walk past him.
He stepped slightly to the side—not blocking her, but making her slow down.
"Nessa." Her name in his voice wasn't loud.
It was low and Even….. Quiet enough to be a whisper.
But it hit her harder than a shout, but forced herself to look up at him.
Big mistake.
Because Louis was looking at her like she was the only person in the entire building, like he saw something in her he wasn't sure he was allowed to touch.
Like he wanted to pull her closer and push her away at the same time, and that restraint—that barely-there control—was more dangerous than anything.
"Why do you want to talk?" she whispered.
His jaw flexed once—almost invisible—but she caught it.
A crack in the mask.
"I just want to talk," he said. But it wasn't just words.
It was a warning, and a confession. The closest he had come to losing his composure.
Nessa's breath trembled, not out of fear, something else, something she shouldn't feel.
Louis stepped closer—a single, slow step that erased the space between them, not touching her, but close enough that she felt the heat of him, he held her gaze. Unblinking., Steady, like he was fighting himself and losing slowly, beautifully.
"Nessa," he murmured, eyes darkening just a shade, "look at me."
She was already looking.
That was the problem, because as soon as she did, she felt everything, every unspoken word between them, every almost-touch, every unfinished moment, every pull neither of them could explain.
And she knew— if she didn't walk away now, she wouldn't be able to.
Louis looked at her like she was the only person in the entire building,
like he saw something in her he wasn't sure he was allowed to touch, like he wanted to pull her closer and push her away at the same time, and that restraint—that barely-there control—was more dangerous than anything.
Louis didn't look away, he didn't blink, he just kept watching her, gaze steady, dark, unreadable—too much simmering behind the surface.
Nessa swallowed, forcing words out.
"You wanted to talk… so talk."
For a moment he said nothing, then, softly—too controlled—
"Have lunch with me." Nessa's breath stopped.
Lunch.
He said it like it was a simple invitation.
But everything in his eyes said it wasn't, she stepped back slightly, confusion and heat tightening in her chest.
"Lunch? Louis, I—"
"It's just lunch."
But his tone wasn't "just."
It was low. Quiet. Steady in a way that warned her he had already made up his mind.
"I think we need it."
There it was again—the flicker of something he didn't let surface, something he was trying very hard to keep caged.
Nessa looked away, pulse racing.
"You don't even take lunch breaks."
He didn't deny it. "I am today."
Nessa chest tightened.
Louis wasn't a man who rearranged his schedule. Not for anything. Not for anyone.
"What is this?" she whispered.
His jaw clenched once, he lowered his voice, the sound coming out deep, quiet, dangerous.
"I don't know," he said, "and it's starting to bother me."
The honesty hit her like a jolt.
She felt her pulse everywhere—neck, wrists, lips.
"Lunch," he repeated softly. "Come with me."