The office was quiet. Too quiet, in the way that made every sound echo like it had been amplified.
Rain hammered against the glass walls outside, drumming a relentless rhythm on the city skyline. Neon lights refracted across the wet streets, casting flickering patterns across the floor. The kind of night that made everything feel suspended — dangerous, alive, urgent.
Aria Bennett had stayed late, organizing files, double-checking reports for the next morning's meeting. Her heels clicked softly against the marble as she moved, a gentle echo in the cavernous executive floor.
"Still here?" The voice made her flinch slightly — low, calm, and impossibly close.
Dominic Vale had emerged from the shadows near his desk, sleeves slightly rolled, tie loosened just a fraction. A small detail, but it made him look human. Vulnerable. Dangerous. Alive in a way that Aria had only glimpsed in the elevator, and on the balcony during the gala.
"I work late," she said softly, trying to keep her voice steady. Her pulse was already a flutter, betraying her calm exterior.
He leaned against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, gaze fixed on her like he was analyzing every subtle detail. "You're… persistent," he murmured.
"I do my job," she replied gently, meeting his eyes without flinching.
"Not just your job," he countered, taking a slow step closer. His presence closed the space between them, making her small, vulnerable in ways that had nothing to do with fear.
The air seemed to hum. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the file she carried. She could feel the heat of him — deliberate, magnetic.
"Dominic…" she whispered, voice trembling slightly, though her tone stayed soft.
"Don't," he murmured, low, moving even closer, his breath brushing the side of her face. His hand lifted, hovering inches from her cheek. Not touching. Not yet. But the intentional electricity was unbearable.
Aria's heart thundered. "You shouldn't," she breathed.
"And yet," he said, voice barely above a whisper, "I can't stop."
The tension stretched taut, like the string of a bow ready to snap. His eyes searched hers, and she felt it — the pull, the unspoken desire, the restraint, the danger.
A sudden ping from her phone broke the spell.
She glanced down. A text from an unknown number.
"Be careful tonight. You're not the only one watching."
Her stomach dropped. She looked up. Dominic was already scanning the office, every instinct sharp, aware of the shift.
"Who…" she began.
Selene Whitmore's name didn't come to mind immediately. She hadn't seen her, hadn't anticipated her. And yet… the implication was clear.
Dominic's jaw tightened. He pocketed the file. "Stay here," he said, calm but dangerous. "I'll handle this."
Before she could protest, he was gone, leaving Aria alone. Alone with the storm outside. Alone with the tension inside. Alone with the silent threat that Selene Whitmore was closer than they knew.
Minutes passed. She moved to the window, watching the rain streak down the glass, trying to steady her racing thoughts. But the feeling didn't leave. Someone was watching. Always watching. Waiting. Calculating.
And she knew, somewhere in the depths of her mind, that the storm Selene brought wouldn't just be political. It would be personal.
By the time Dominic returned, composed again, his expression unreadable, she was trembling—not from fear, not entirely, but from everything unsaid, everything unclaimed.
"Everything's under control," he said, voice smooth, controlled. Yet she saw the edge — the tension he couldn't hide.
"Control…" she echoed softly. "Isn't that what everyone thinks they have?"
He didn't answer immediately. He just stepped closer, hand brushing against hers intentionally this time — not by accident. Her breath hitched, the electricity undeniable.
The office clock ticked loudly. The storm outside mirrored the storm building inside the room. And through it all, one thing was clear: nothing — not the rain, not the office, not Selene, not even Dominic himself — would be simple again.