Simon's gaze remained fixed on her, sharp and unreadable. "So why are you working overtime?" he asked,
Stella rubbed her nose absentmindedly, shifting under the weight of his stare.
"I came in late today," she said, keeping her tone neutral. "Had other work to take care of. Offered to stay longer. But I'm done now, so I was just about to leave."
Simon tilted his head slightly, watching—studying.
Her pulse had spiked.
A wicked smirk curled on his lips.
What a fragile little thing.
The office was silent, but he could hear her.
The steady rhythm of her heartbeat. The quickened breaths she was trying to hide. The subtle tremor beneath her perfectly controlled exterior.
Simon inhaled deeply, drawing in her scent.
Something felt… off.
Not her—something else.
His sharp eyes flicked downward, catching the glint of silver against her collarbone.
A necklace.
And not just any necklace.
His smirk vanished.
Nightbloom.
A rare, poisonous plant to vampires—crafted into a delicate little chain.
It stopped his kind from compelling humans, from twisting their minds and bending them to their will.
So this girl is human.
Simon's fingers twitched.
How… amusing.
His gaze darkened, his mind spinning, piecing things together.
"That's a nice necklace," Simon murmured, his voice a quiet purr of intrigue.
Stella's fingers instinctively brushed over the cool metal resting against her collarbone. A simple movement, yet something about it made Simon's smirk deepen.
"My friend gifted it," she said, voice steady, not a flicker of hesitation in her pulse. "Thank you. Can I leave now? I've completed my work."
Simon tilted his head, watching. Studying.
She wasn't lying. No hitch in her heartbeat.
But there was something about her—a pull he couldn't name, a presence that unsettled him, like a whisper of something he had once known but had long since buried.
Why?
"Sure, you can leave," he said smoothly.
Stella nodded stiffly, bowing once more. The way she lowered her head—so obediently—sent something dark curling in his chest.
"Thank you, boss."
Simon said nothing as he watched her move, his sharp eyes following every detail. The way she saved her work, powered down her computer, picked up the files.
And the way she refused to meet his gaze.
His gaze locked onto the subtle sway of her hips, the effortless grace in her movements, and something inside him coiled—tight, sharp, dangerous.
His jaw clenched.
Control.
He forced his eyes away—only for them to land on her neck.
Slender. Bare. Vulnerable.
A place meant for his fangs.
She reached the locker, opening it to place the files inside. As she turned, she suddenly collided into his chest.
A sharp inhale. A sudden stillness.
He heard her breath hitch.
Saw the way her lashes fluttered, her muscles tensing as she realized just how close he was.
Simon didn't move.
Didn't step away.
Didn't let her escape.
"Sorry," he murmured, his voice low, almost amused.
"What are the files about?" His tone was casual, but his eyes were not.
"This month's and last month's stats," she answered, instinctively leaning back, as if maintaining her distance.
Simon allowed the smallest of smirks.
She was aware. Hyperaware.
Good.
He nodded. "May I leave?" she asked quickly, her voice tight, strained.
Simon held her gaze for a second longer than necessary. Testing her.
Then, slowly, he stepped aside.
Like a hunter letting his prey flee—for now.
Stella didn't hesitate. She grabbed her bag and left with hurried steps.
Simon watched her go, his expression unreadable, his gaze shadowed.
But the moment she was gone, he turned back toward his office, a dangerous smirk forming as he clicked into the security system.
He rewound the CCTV footage.
Paused.
Watched.
His eyes flicked to the screen as she entered a blue BMW and drove off.
He leaned back in his chair, running his tongue across his teeth.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Stella slammed the door shut behind her, her breath uneven as she walked toward the bed. Her legs felt heavy.
She sat down, fingers gripping the sheets before she finally let herself fall back, staring at the ceiling.
What was that?
Her heart was still racing, a phantom pressure lingering on her skin—his presence, his voice, his stare.
It was him. And yet, it wasn't.
Stella squeezed her eyes shut.
"He is not him."
The words echoed in her mind like a desperate prayer, but they didn't ease the weight on her chest.
She exhaled sharply, forcing herself up. Enough.
Without another thought, she grabbed her night clothes and headed for the bath—hoping the water would wash away the ghost of his touch.
The next day, Stella buried herself in work, determined to forget the strange encounter from the night before. It was easier this way—keeping her head down, staying out of sight. The less attention she attracted, the safer she was.
Her fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard, her mind focused on numbers and reports rather than the way her boss had watched her last night. The way his gaze had lingered. The way her pulse had betrayed her.
She exhaled sharply. It doesn't matter. He's not him.
Before she could lose herself too much in thought, a familiar voice interrupted her focus.
"Hey, are you busy?"
Stella glanced up, suppressing an inward groan as she saw Earlene approaching. She forced a polite smile, already searching for a way out of the conversation.
"Yeah, kind of," Stella replied, keeping her tone light. "Can we talk later? Maybe in the evening?"
Earlene gave a small nod, seeming slightly disappointed but understanding. "Sure. Catch you later."
Stella watched her walk away before turning back to her screen, letting out a slow breath.
The last thing she wanted was distractions. Right now, she just needed to focus—on her work, on her routine, on anything except the haunting feeling that last night wasn't just a coincidence.
Meanwhile, Simon leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the polished wood of his desk. A strange sense of restlessness had settled over him since last night, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.
He picked up the phone and pressed a button.
Within seconds, Henry, his secretary, stepped in. "Yes, Mr. Winchester?"
Simon didn't look up right away. He flipped through the file in front of him, more out of habit than actual interest. "Call Stella here."
Henry hesitated. His boss's tone was unreadable, but he knew that look—sharp, calculating, possessive. Another woman caught in the web, he thought grimly.
"Stella who?" Henry asked carefully.
Simon's eyes lifted, piercing and impatient. "The one with green eyes. On the 20th floor."
Henry nodded, though an uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. It seemed his boss had grown bored again, and now he'd found a new distraction.
And that never ended well.