(Alex POV)
I shouldn't be thinking about her like this.
That's the first thought that hits me the moment I close my office door.
Elara Moore is my assistant.
She works on my floor.
She exists inside my rules.
And yet—
I can still see her standing there.
Too close.
Too quiet.
Looking up at me like she didn't realize the effect she had.
She's young.
Not careless-young. Not reckless.
Sharp-young. The kind that comes from surviving too much too early. Her face is soft, but there's tension beneath it. Her body slender, almost fragile-looking in those thrifted clothes she hides behind.
But there was nothing fragile about the way she stood her ground tonight.
Nothing innocent about the way her breath changed when I stepped closer.
That's what bothers me.
I've been around beautiful women my entire adult life. Models. Socialites. Women who know exactly how to use their looks like currency.
Elara doesn't.
She doesn't know how her eyes darken when she concentrates.
She doesn't know the way her mouth parts slightly when she's nervous.
She doesn't know how distracting it is when she looks up at me like I'm something solid she can lean against.
And she definitely doesn't know how dangerous that makes her.
I loosen my tie and run a hand through my hair.
This isn't attraction.
Attraction is simple.
Temporary.
This is… awareness.
I noticed how thin her wrists looked when she reached for her bag. How tired she always seems, like sleep is optional and meals are negotiable. How her youth doesn't make her careless — it makes her resilient.
And still—
There's something undeniably feminine about her. Something warm beneath the restraint. Something that would be easy to ruin if I let myself get closer.
That's why I don't.
People get hurt when I stop controlling situations.
I learned that the hard way.
There was a time when I trusted without hesitation. When I believed proximity meant loyalty.
It didn't.
I straighten my jacket and glance out through the glass wall.
Her desk is empty now. Good.
Distance is necessary
And yet, the thought that someone else might notice her the way I do — her intelligence, her quiet strength, the curve of her body she doesn't show off —
That sparks something sharp in my chest.
Possession without permission.
I don't like it. I don't indulge it.
I pick up my phone and send a message to HR.
Effective immediately: no department heads may reassign Ms. Moore without my approval.
Control restored
Still, as I turn off the lights and leave my office, one truth settles uncomfortably deep.
I didn't step back tonight because I lacked desire.
I stepped back because if I hadn't…
I wouldn't have stopped.