Elliot Hale did not seek people out.
That was the first rule he had built his life around.
People were demanding. Curious. Expectant. They wanted things—attention, affection, reassurance—and Elliot had never understood how to give those things without feeling like he was pretending. So he stayed distant. Polite when necessary. Silent when possible.
Which was why, three days after the dinner, it unsettled him to realize he was breaking his own rule.
Iris Vale had not contacted him. She had not looked for him. She had not tried to insert herself into his life.
And yet, he found himself thinking about her constantly.
It started with small things.
A professor's question about ethics in business reminded him of the way she had challenged his father without raising her voice. A late-night walk across campus made him think of how she had stood alone on the patio, shoulders tense, pretending she wasn't tired.
She existed in his thoughts in fragments. In pauses.
He didn't like it.
He liked it even less that he wanted to see her again.
---
Iris threw herself into work with a precision that bordered on desperation.
The partnership with the Hale Group had already changed everything. Meetings were suddenly productive. Emails were answered. Doors that had been closed for months opened without resistance.
And Marcus—Marcus was everywhere.
Not physically. Never emotionally.
But his presence lingered in every decision, every approval, every carefully worded suggestion that reminded her just how well he knew her mind. He never crossed boundaries. Never referenced the past.
That, somehow, made it worse.
What unsettled her most, though, was Elliot.
She told herself it was nothing. A fleeting curiosity. A result of proximity and stress.
But curiosity didn't explain the way her thoughts stalled when she remembered his voice. Or the strange awareness she felt whenever he entered a room, as though something in her sharpened, alert.
He was young. Too young.
And yet there was nothing careless about him. Nothing impulsive. He carried himself like someone who had learned restraint early and never let go of it.
It made her cautious.
And caution, Iris knew, was often the first sign of danger.
---
The first time Elliot showed up at her office, she thought she was imagining it.
She was bent over her desk, reviewing a proposal, when a shadow fell across the page. She looked up, startled.
Elliot stood in the doorway, hands in his jacket pockets, expression unreadable.
"You didn't tell me you were coming," she said.
"I didn't know I needed permission."
She blinked. "From your father?"
"No," he said. "From you."
That made her pause.
"What can I help you with?" she asked.
"I was nearby," he said. "And I wanted to see where you work."
Her pulse quickened despite herself. "Why?"
He considered the question carefully. "Curiosity."
She studied him for a moment, then gestured toward the chair across from her desk. "Sit. If you're going to satisfy your curiosity, at least do it comfortably."
He sat, long legs folding easily, eyes moving slowly around the room. The whiteboards. The cluttered desk. The ambition barely contained within four walls.
"This is yours," he said.
"Yes."
"It doesn't look like my father's offices."
She smiled faintly. "I'll take that as a compliment."
He watched her closely. "You don't belong in his world."
The statement startled her. "And you do?"
He didn't answer immediately. "I was born into it."
"That doesn't mean it fits," she said gently.
For the first time since she'd met him, Elliot looked uncertain.
---
Word traveled fast at Westbridge University.
By the end of the week, people had noticed that Elliot Hale was distracted.
He left parties early. Declined invitations. Sat alone more often than usual. His phone—once an accessory—had become something he checked too frequently.
"You seeing someone?" his roommate asked one night.
"No."
"Then what's with you?"
Elliot didn't respond.
How could he explain that there was a woman who made him feel aware in a way he had never experienced before? That she unsettled his understanding of himself without trying?
He didn't have the language for it.
What he did have was restraint.
And it was wearing thin.
---
Marcus noticed, too.
He noticed the subtle shifts—the way Elliot asked questions at dinner now, the way his attention drifted when Iris spoke, the way silence settled differently between them.
Marcus was not a man who missed patterns.
One evening, as Iris gathered her things after a meeting, Marcus spoke casually.
"You should be careful," he said.
She looked up. "About what?"
"Blurring lines," he replied. "Elliot is young. Impressionable."
Iris stiffened. "I haven't done anything inappropriate."
"I know," Marcus said calmly. "I'm just advising caution."
The implication hung heavy in the air.
After she left, Marcus stood alone in his office, expression unreadable.
Some deals required sacrifice.
Others required distance.
And some required control.
---
The night everything shifted, it rained.
Iris had stayed late at the office, lost in work, when the power flickered and died. She sighed, gathering her things.
Outside, the city blurred into reflections.
She didn't expect to see Elliot leaning against the building across the street.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, raising her voice over the rain.
"I was worried," he replied simply.
"About what?"
"You."
Something about the way he said it—without drama, without expectation—made her chest tighten.
"You shouldn't be," she said.
"I know," he replied. "But I am."
They stood there, rain soaking into their clothes, neither moving.
"This is complicated," Iris said softly.
"Yes," Elliot agreed.
"And dangerous."
"I know."
"Then why are you here?"
He stepped closer, stopping at a careful distance. "Because for the first time in my life, I don't feel empty."
Her breath caught.
That confession—quiet, unguarded—hit her harder than anything else could have.
She reached out, then stopped herself.
"This can't go any further," she said.
"I didn't ask it to," he replied. "I just needed you to know."
Silence wrapped around them, heavy and electric.
And in that moment, both of them understood the truth.
This wasn't a crush.
This wasn't curiosity.
This was the beginning of something that would test every boundary they had.