Elena's POV
I didn't know whether to jump up and scream or run out of the office when Adrian told me the news.
"You're going to coordinate my parents' wedding anniversary," he said, leaning against his desk, arms crossed, eyes fixed on me like he was testing my reaction.
I blinked. "Me? Really?"
He nodded, that slight, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're the only one I trust to get this right."
Trust. The word made my chest tighten in a way I wasn't prepared for.
"Adrian… I—I'll do my best," I whispered, trying to keep my voice steady, but I knew he could hear the tremor.
He stepped closer, his presence filling the small space between us. "I know you will. You always do."
I could feel the warmth from him, that familiar pull I couldn't resist. His gaze lingered a second too long, and I caught myself imagining what it would feel like if he reached out, touched my hand — just a small brush. My heart raced at the thought.
---
The next few days were a whirlwind.
I called florists, scoured event halls, and tried not to panic over every little detail. All the while, Adrian hovered nearby — sometimes silently watching, sometimes offering suggestions, always close enough that I felt the brush of his shoulder against mine as we moved through the office.
It was maddening. And intoxicating.
One afternoon, while reviewing the guest list together, I accidentally dropped a stack of invitations. Papers scattered across the floor like confetti.
"Here," he said immediately, bending down to pick them up. His hand brushed mine as he handed me the last one. My pulse hit my throat.
"You okay?" he asked softly, his voice low, careful — the way he only spoke to me.
I nodded, barely able to breathe. "Yes. Thanks."
His thumb lingered against my fingers, warm and grounding. "Be careful, Elena," he murmured, almost under his breath, and then straightened, his usual control returning. But I'd felt it — the care, the possessive edge in his tone, and I couldn't shake the warmth that settled in my chest.
---
Every meeting, every phone call, every tiny decision felt charged now.
And through it all, Adrian never stopped noticing the small things — the way I bit my lip when I was nervous, how my hands shook when I juggled too many tasks.
He'd lean closer just enough for me to feel his presence, brushing past me in the hall like it was an accident, leaving a trace of heat in the wake.
I wanted to tell him how it made me feel — how alive it made me, how safe and yet thrilled — but every time I opened my mouth, the words vanished.
---
The night I presented the final plans to him, we stayed behind in his office, just the two of us.
"You did well," he said quietly, walking behind me as I organized the last papers. His hand brushed my shoulder, and the contact lingered just long enough to make my skin tingle.
"Thank you," I murmured.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned closer, so close I could feel his breath against my ear. "I want you to know… I notice everything you do. Every little thing."
My heart thumped in my chest, and I felt a blush creep across my cheeks. "I… I notice you too," I whispered.
He paused, eyes darkening with something unspoken. Then, just as quickly, he stepped back, regaining that calm, composed mask he always wore. "Tomorrow, we'll run through the final checklist. Make sure nothing's overlooked."
I nodded, but all I could think about was the warmth that lingered where his hand had brushed mine, the intensity in his eyes, the unspoken words we both carried in the space between us.
And for the first time, I realized that this project — this anniversary — wasn't just about planning a celebration.
It was about us, too. About the closeness that had been growing quietly, dangerously, impossibly, between him and me.
And I wouldn't trade a second of it, no matter how terrified I was.