Chapter 3 — Close Enough to Notice
The office was quieter than usual. Lena moved among the desks with careful precision, organizing files and checking schedules, trying to keep her focus on mundane tasks. She told herself over and over that she couldn't afford distraction—not from thoughts, not from anyone, especially not him.
Yet, by mid-afternoon, she realized how impossible it was.
Adrian Cross had entered the floor without a word, moving silently between meetings and offices. And somehow, no matter where she turned, he was there—watching, observing, existing like a shadow she couldn't shake.
Lena's pulse quickened every time she caught a glimpse of him from across the room. It wasn't fear. Not entirely. It was something else, an awareness that prickled along her spine and made her stomach coil. He noticed everything. The way her fingers brushed papers. The faint crease in her brow when she concentrated.
He could see her. He always saw her.
"Miss Hart," a voice said, low and deliberate. Lena froze. He stood a few feet away, leaning slightly against the edge of a desk, arms crossed, dark eyes fixed on her. Even his silence carried weight, an invisible pull that tugged at the edges of her composure.
"Mr. Cross," she said softly, striving for professional neutrality, though her heartbeat thudded louder than it should have.
"I need the Anderson file organized before my meeting," he said, and she nodded. The request was simple, but the intensity behind his tone made her feel… marked. Accountable. Observed.
She moved to the files, hands shaking slightly despite her best efforts to remain steady. Every movement felt slow under his gaze, and she couldn't stop stealing glances to make sure he wasn't moving closer.
He didn't move, but Lena felt the space between them charged. The office, filled with the hum of computers and distant chatter, seemed to shrink until it was just the two of them.
"You work efficiently," he said quietly after a moment. His tone wasn't praise, exactly. It was acknowledgment. Recognition. The kind that unsettled her because it made her aware that he was noticing not just her work, but her.
Lena's cheeks warmed. "Thank you," she whispered, almost reflexively.
His gaze didn't waver. "I don't say things lightly. Nor do I give attention lightly."
Her breath caught. She wasn't sure if he meant the praise… or her presence.
For the first time, Adrian stepped closer—just a small shift, but enough that she felt it, enough that the air seemed to tighten around her. He studied her with an intensity that made her want to look away, yet her curiosity pinned her in place.
"You're different from the others," he said finally. A slight edge softened the usual hard lines of his expression. "Most people try too hard, or not at all. You… exist without drawing attention, yet you still leave an impression."
Lena's pulse quickened, and she struggled to maintain calm. She wanted to shrink away, to deny the stirrings of something she couldn't yet name. But part of her—a small, stubborn part—wanted to hear more. To understand what he meant.
"I—I'm just doing my job," she stammered, though even she knew her words were inadequate.
Adrian's lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smile. "And yet, I notice."
The statement lingered between them, unspoken and heavy, charging the space. It wasn't a question or a demand. It was a claim. Subtle. Quiet. Dangerous.
Lena exhaled slowly, trying to calm the thrum of awareness that pulsed in her chest. She couldn't explain why his presence affected her so strongly, why every glance made her heart pound, why the very air seemed heavier when he was near.
Yet a small, undeniable truth took root in her mind: she had noticed him too. And unlike anyone else, she didn't want to look away.
She returned to her files, hands steadier now, though her thoughts kept wandering back to him. To the way he had stepped closer. To the quiet intensity of his gaze. To the claim he had already begun to stake without a word.
Adrian Cross didn't speak again, but she could feel him in the room—watching, waiting, aware. And Lena knew, with a mixture of apprehension and unwilling anticipation, that this was only the beginning.
For the first time, she understood what slow-burn obsession felt like—not the flash of reckless attraction, but a simmering, persistent awareness that refused to be ignored. She was caught in it, and he already had.