Chapter Four.

Chapter Four

Olivia’s POV

There’s a particular shame that coils tight in your chest when you realize the only reason you’re still at the office at 11:07 PM is because you screwed up. Not just a typo or a misfiled document, no, this was a full blown, cross wired, chaotic-tornado-of-my-own-making kind of disaster.

And I had to send it to Fabian. 

Of course.

I sat at my desk, the glare of the monitor stinging my tired eyes, the silence of the entire floor wrapping around me like an accusation. I had gone through the file three, four times. And still missed it.

He hadn’t responded yet, not even a single sarcastic reply or that clipped, elegant yet annoying ‘Noted’. that felt like a dagger straight to the spine.

I was sweating. 

Literal sweat. 

Under the arms, down the back, right where my silk blouse clung in all the wrong ways. And the worst part? I didn’t know if I was more afraid of the mistake itself… or the way he would look at me when he walked out of his private office and saw it.

Like I was less. Like I had proven what I feared all along, that I wasn’t good enough to be here.

Then I heard it,

Footsteps. His. I knew the rhythm now, calculated and soundless, the way he moved through the world like it bent to his will and served him. I didn’t even need to look up. My spine straightened before I could stop it.

Fabian’s voice was calm, even. Which was exactly what made it worse.

“Olivia.”

Oh No. Olivia not Liv.

My name in his mouth was never just a name. It was a key turned in a lock.

I looked up. And there it was, that fucking unreadable stare. No fury, no theatrics. Just… cold observation. 

Like I was a math problem he could solve.

“I read the file,” he said simply.

My throat tightened. I stood, almost immediately, too quickly, and winced when the edge of the desk hit my hip. “I—I caught it late, I know. I already fixed it, and I resent—” I began, but was interrupted.

“You sent a file to a seven-figure client,” he said, not unkindly, but with the precision of a knife, sharp.

He continued, “With conflicting figures, contradictory projections, and a typo in the subject line. You labeled him Mr. Barnett instead of Ms. Barnett.”

I inhaled sharply, bitting my lip. “I said I fixed it.”

He tilted his head as if he was about to school me. “That’s not the point.”

I hated him. 

I hated how calm he was. How good he was at making me feel like I was thirteen again, being gently scolded by a parent while pretending it didn’t hurt me.

My voice cracked before I could control it. “You don’t have to act so superior all the time, you know.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” I snapped. “With your perfect life and your perfect building and your perfect shoes. God, you’re just a rich kid playing god in a glass tower.”

The silence that followed was thick. Sharp.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.

Instead, he stepped forward.

One. Two. Until there was barely a breath between us. The heat radiated off him, subtle but magnetic, like a fire you’re not sure you want to get close to, because you know it will burn.

His voice dropped to a whisper, and it wasn’t angry. It was low. Raw. Hot and Sexy.

“You’re the only one who ever saw me.”

My heart stopped.

My body betrayed me.

My skin prickled, the air suddenly too thin, too sharp. I hated how those words, you’re the only one, clung onto the softest part of me.

“I’m not—” I tried to step back, but I couldn’t. 

Help.

“Don’t run from me again,” he said, and this time it wasn’t soft. It was steel wrapped in velvet. A warning? A plea? I couldn't tell which it was.

My pulse thundered in my throat.

“I didn’t—” I swallowed. “I didn’t mean to run.” I almost whined.

Keyword being almost.

His hand lifted, barely a ghost of a touch as his fingers brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. He didn’t touch my skin, didn’t cross the line, but it didn’t matter.

Every cell in my body screamed.

“Then stay,” he whispered.

And I hated him again.

I hated that a part of me wanted to.

I wanted to plant my feet and stop running and prove that I could stand my ground. That I wasn’t that scared nineteen years old girl anymore. That I could be a woman worth looking at the way he did.

But I also wanted to disappear.

I turned, brushing past him with a whisper, “I need air.”

He let me go.

Of course he did.

Because Fabian Stone might rule this tower, but he never chased anything.

Except, maybe—

No.

Not me.

Outside, the city was full of light and noise. I leaned against the cool marble wall of the building, my arms wrapped tight around myself like they could hold the rest of me together.

I had ruined a file.

But what terrified me more was the truth behind his words.

You’re the only one who ever saw me.

God help me, I still saw him. And I wasn’t sure I could look away.