(Alex POV)
I don't like unpredictability.
That's the simplest way to explain it.
People disappear. Situations change. Lies slip through cracks you don't notice until it's too late.
Elara Moore had become unpredictable.
She left without explanation.
She returned without explanation.
And she acted like nothing had changed.
That bothered me.
I watched her from my office as she worked. Head down. Hair tied back. Same muted clothes.
Different tension.
She was wound tighter than before.
When she stood to hand me the revised files, she stopped a little too far from my desk.
I didn't like that either.
"Closer," I said.
She hesitated—just long enough for me to notice—then stepped forward.
Good.
I took the files from her hand. Our fingers brushed.
She flinched.
That annoyed me more than it should have.
"Sit," I said.
Her eyes widened slightly, but she obeyed, settling into the chair across from my desk.
I scanned the documents without looking at them.
"You left," I said.
Her fingers twisted in her lap. "I told you I had a personal matter."
"Yes." I leaned back. "You didn't tell me what kind."
Her throat bobbed. "I didn't think I had to."
"You don't," I agreed calmly. "But I don't like gaps."
Silence stretched.
She didn't fill it.
That was a mistake.
"You work for me," I continued. "Which means your absence affects my operations."
She nodded quickly. "It won't happen again."
The way she said it—immediate, apologetic—twisted something unpleasant in my chest.
I didn't want apologies.
I wanted certainty.
"See that it doesn't," I said.
She stood as if dismissed and turned to leave.
"Ms. Moore."
She stopped.
"Anyone bothering you again?"
Her shoulders tensed. "No, sir."
I studied her profile. The way she kept her face neutral. The way she didn't look at me.
I didn't believe her.
"Good," I said. "Because I don't tolerate interference with what's mine."
The words hung there longer than intended.
Her breath caught.
So did mine.
I watched her walk back to her desk, aware of every step she took.
This wasn't concern.
This was control.
And control was something I understood.
Outside my office, Mark Reynolds laughed too loudly near her desk.
I stood.
"Reynolds," I said from the doorway.
The laughter died instantly.
"My office," I added. "Now."
He followed without question.
I shut the door.
"You don't speak to my assistant unless it's work-related," I said calmly. "Ever."
"Yes, sir."
"If I have to repeat myself," I continued, "you won't like how that ends."
He swallowed. "Understood."
When I stepped back out, Elara was pretending not to listen.
She was listening.
Good.
Vivienne stood across the floor, watching.
I met her gaze and held it.
Her smile didn't reach her eyes this time.
As I returned to my office, one thought settled in—unwelcome and undeniable.
I wasn't being careful anymore.
I was being territorial.
And that was dangerous.