The next morning, Clara woke earlier than usual, though sleep had been nearly impossible. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Ethan's face from the night before—his eyes dark with something raw and unguarded, his voice taut when he confessed he didn't like the way Michael Donovan looked at her.
She pressed a hand against her chest as she sat up in bed. Her heart still thudded with the echo of that moment, the memory refusing to quiet down. For months, she had lived by a strict rule: never misinterpret Ethan's actions. He was her boss, her CEO, a man of impossible standards and walls so high she'd never dared to climb them. But last night…
Last night he had cracked.
The look in his eyes, the sharp edge of his tone—it wasn't about professionalism or control. It was about her.
Clara shook her head as though she could scatter the thought, but it clung to her stubbornly. She dressed quickly, choosing a crisp blouse and pencil skirt that gave her confidence, though her nerves churned beneath the surface. Today would be like any other day, she told herself. Coffee, deadlines, meetings. She would keep her head down, focus on her tasks, and pretend that nothing had shifted between them.
But deep down, she knew pretending would be impossible.
When she stepped into the office, the familiar rhythm of the morning greeted her—the low murmur of conversations, the whirr of printers, the soft ring of phones. Yet everything felt different. Clara was hyperaware of every detail: the way her heels clicked against the floor, the faint scent of Ethan's cologne drifting from his office, the charged anticipation coiled tightly in her stomach.
She set her bag down at her desk and glanced toward his office. Ethan was already there, of course. His posture was impeccable, his suit immaculate, his attention fixed on the documents spread before him. To anyone else, he looked exactly the same as always: the untouchable CEO, cool and composed.
But Clara wasn't anyone else. She saw the small things others missed—the way his pen stilled when she entered the room, the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes flicked up to meet hers before darting away again.
Her breath caught. He remembered last night too.
She lowered her gaze quickly and busied herself with sorting through her emails. If she let herself linger on his stare, she might lose her composure completely.
The day unfolded in a strange rhythm. Ethan was quieter than usual, issuing instructions with clipped efficiency, his voice careful, measured. Clara mirrored him, responding with professional precision. To an outsider, nothing about their dynamic had changed.
But beneath the surface, everything had.
Every time she brought him a file, she felt the unspoken tension ripple between them. Their hands brushed once when he reached for a document, and Clara nearly dropped it from the jolt that surged through her. His fingers had lingered just a second too long, his gaze flicking to hers before he withdrew sharply as though burned.
The space between them was becoming unbearable.
By the afternoon, Clara found herself longing for the simplicity of their earlier days—the cold indifference, the clear lines between them. At least then, she had known where she stood. Now, the ground was shifting beneath her feet, and she didn't know whether to step closer or pull away before it was too late.
The breaking point came late in the evening. Most of the staff had already gone home, and Clara was gathering her notes for tomorrow's board presentation when she heard Ethan's voice behind her.
"Clara."
She turned, startled to find him standing much closer than she expected. His eyes were shadowed, his jaw tight, as though he had been wrestling with something all day.
"Yes, Mr. Leclair?" she asked, falling back into formality instinctively.
His expression flickered at the title, but he didn't correct her. Instead, he stepped nearer, his presence overwhelming in the quiet office.
"Why do you stay?" he asked suddenly.
Clara blinked. "Stay?"
He gestured vaguely to the empty office around them. "The late nights. The endless demands. Me. You could have left months ago. Most people would have."
Her lips parted in surprise. She had never expected him to ask such a question. For a moment, she simply stared at him, her heart racing. Then she answered with the truth.
"Because I believe in you," she said softly. "Because your work matters. And because… I want to be here."
The silence that followed was deafening. Ethan's eyes locked onto hers, something raw and unreadable swirling in their depths. His chest rose and fell unevenly, as though her words had cracked something inside him.
He stepped closer. Too close. Clara's breath hitched, her back brushing the edge of her desk as he closed the distance.
"Clara…" His voice was low, rough, almost breaking.
Her pulse thundered. This was it. The moment when everything they had been holding back would finally shatter. She could see it in his eyes, the way his gaze dropped briefly to her lips before darting back up to hers.
Her entire body trembled with anticipation, fear, and something dangerously close to hope.
But just when she thought he might reach for her, Ethan froze. His hand, halfway to hers, curled into a fist at his side. His jaw tightened, his eyes hardening as the wall slammed back into place.
"This can't happen," he muttered, stepping back abruptly.
Clara's heart cracked at the sudden distance. "Ethan…"
He shook his head sharply, his mask snapping into place. "You should go home. It's late."
The dismissal cut deeper than any reprimand. Clara swallowed hard, nodding even though her throat burned. She gathered her things quickly, her hands shaking, and slipped out of the office without another word.
That night, as she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Clara replayed the moment over and over again. The way he had looked at her, the closeness, the words left unsaid.
It was all there, just beneath the surface—his feelings, his longing, his fear.
But Ethan Leclair was a man bound by his own walls. And no matter how much she ached to reach him, there was still a vast space between them.
A space filled with silence, longing, and the dangerous possibility of what might happen if either of them dared to cross it.