Zara told herself she was imagining it.
The tension.
The subtle shift in the air.
The way every glance seemed sharper, every silence heavier.
But as she stepped into the office that morning, she knew the truth immediately.
Something had changed.
Conversations faltered as she passed. Eyes followed her movement with barely disguised curiosity. Someone laughed too loudly near the reception desk, while another voice dropped to a whisper the moment Zara drew closer.
She ignored it.
She always ignored things she didn't want to feel.
Until she reached her desk.
A bouquet of white lilies sat there—fresh, elegant, unmistakably expensive. Their scent drifted faintly through the air, soft and floral, completely out of place in the sharp, polished world of corporate glass and steel.
Zara stopped short.
Her assistant peeked over the divider, eyes bright. "Someone's serious."
Zara swallowed. "Someone's mistaken."
She scanned the flowers for a card.
There was none.
Across the office, Adrian's door opened.
He stepped out, immaculate in a dark suit, expression composed—until his gaze landed on the bouquet.
The reaction was immediate.
Not surprise.
Annoyance.
His jaw tightened as he crossed the floor. "Did you order those?"
Zara shook her head. "No."
"Did you ask for them?"
"No."
His gaze flicked toward the elevators.
And as if summoned by the unspoken thought—
Vivian Hale stepped out.
She wore a fitted cream dress, her posture relaxed, confidence radiating from every measured step. She didn't rush. She didn't hesitate.
She knew exactly where she was going.
Her eyes found Zara's desk—and the flowers—instantly.
A slow smile curved her lips.
"Well," Vivian said pleasantly, stopping beside them, "they arrived earlier than I expected."
Zara's fingers curled slowly at her sides. "Then they're yours?"
Vivian tilted her head. "A gesture. Nothing more."
Adrian's voice went cold. "This is inappropriate."
Vivian looked at him, unfazed. "Is it? Or are you just uncomfortable because you didn't plan for it?"
Her gaze shifted back to Zara. "They suit you."
"They're unnecessary," Zara replied evenly.
Vivian's smile sharpened. "Jealousy usually says that."
Adrian stepped forward, his tone final. "Vivian. Leave."
Vivian lifted her hands in mock surrender. "Of course. I wouldn't want to intrude."
She leaned closer to Zara, lowering her voice just enough to make it intimate. "Enjoy them while you can."
Then she walked away.
The office seemed to exhale all at once.
Zara turned slowly to Adrian. "She enjoys provoking reactions."
"Yes," he said. "And you're letting her."
The words stung more than she expected.
By midday, the flowers were gone.
But the unease remained.
Zara tried to lose herself in work—reports, emails, deadlines—but her focus slipped again and again. Her awareness kept drifting across the office, drawn against her will to Adrian.
She noticed things she hadn't before.
The way his gaze followed Vivian briefly when she passed, before snapping back to his screen. The way his shoulders stiffened when her laughter carried too clearly across the room.
And worse—
The way something sharp twisted in Zara's chest every time it happened.
This was ridiculous.
This was fake.
She had no claim. No right.
Yet jealousy crept in anyway—quiet, insidious, refusing to be ignored.
When Daniel Reyes stopped by her desk, she welcomed the distraction.
"You look like you need a break," he said with an easy smile. "Lunch?"
She hesitated.
Across the office, Adrian looked up.
Their eyes met.
Zara didn't look away.
"Sure," she said.
Adrian's jaw tightened.
Lunch with Daniel was… easy.
No tension lurking beneath every word. No careful balancing of rules and pretense. Just conversation that flowed naturally, punctuated by laughter that felt genuine.
"You seem distracted today," Daniel observed gently.
Zara smiled faintly. "Long week."
"Fair enough," he said. "Though I don't usually see you rattled."
She stirred her drink slowly. "Everyone has limits."
Daniel studied her for a moment. "You deserve someone who doesn't make you question your footing."
The words landed unexpectedly.
Her phone buzzed once.
Then again.
She didn't check it.
Across town, Adrian stared at his screen, irritation simmering beneath his calm exterior.
Vivian noticed.
"You're watching her," she said softly, appearing beside him.
"I'm not," he replied.
Vivian smiled knowingly. "You're irritated because she isn't watching you."
"I don't get jealous."
"No," Vivian agreed. "You get territorial."
Adrian didn't respond.
Which was answer enough.
When Zara returned to the office, Adrian was waiting.
"Enjoy lunch?" he asked, tone carefully neutral.
"Yes."
"With Daniel."
"That's his name."
Adrian's eyes darkened. "You're being careless."
Zara frowned. "About what?"
"Perception."
She let out a quiet laugh. "Interesting. You didn't seem worried about perception when Vivian sent flowers."
"They weren't from me."
"But you didn't stop her."
His voice dropped. "You don't get to punish me for my past."
"And you don't get to control my present," she shot back.
Silence stretched between them.
Adrian stepped closer. "You wanted her reaction."
Zara's breath caught. "And you wanted mine."
Their gazes locked.
Neither denied it.
Vivian appeared again, perfectly timed. "Am I interrupting?"
"Yes," Adrian said flatly.
Vivian smiled at Zara. "There's a charity gala tonight. We'll both be attending."
Zara stiffened. "Both?"
Vivian's eyes glittered. "Of course. Wouldn't want to break tradition."
"I don't compete," Zara replied coolly.
Vivian leaned closer. "Then don't act like you're losing."
The gala was immaculate.
Crystal lights. Flowing gowns. Conversations layered with ambition and quiet rivalry.
Zara wore an emerald-green dress—elegant, understated, unmistakably confident. Adrian noticed the moment she stepped beside him, his gaze lingering longer than necessary.
He offered his arm.
She accepted.
They moved seamlessly through the room, playing their roles to perfection—smiles, murmured exchanges, subtle touches that sold the illusion convincingly.
Until Daniel appeared.
"Zara," he said warmly. "You look incredible."
Adrian's grip tightened slightly.
"Thank you," Zara replied.
Daniel turned to Adrian. "Good to finally meet you."
The handshake was polite.
Competitive.
Vivian watched from across the room, her interest sharpening.
The evening unraveled slowly—glances held too long, smiles that carried challenge, proximity that felt deliberate.
When Zara excused herself to the terrace, Adrian followed.
"You enjoyed that," he said.
She turned sharply. "Enjoyed what?"
"Making me react."
"You don't get to feel jealous."
"Don't I?"
"This is fake," she reminded him.
His voice lowered. "Then why does it bother you who I look at?"
Her breath faltered.
"And why," he continued, "does it bother me who looks at you?"
The truth hovered between them.
Dangerous.
Unspoken.
Footsteps approached.
Vivian stopped a few steps away, eyes flicking between them.
"Well," she said softly, "this changes things."
Zara stepped back.
Adrian straightened.
Because jealousy—real, sharp, undeniable—had officially ignited.
And nothing about this arrangement would ever be simple again.