After working hour

The office was ghostly quiet after dark.

The fluorescent lights had long shut off, leaving only the soft hum of desk lamps and the glow of the city bleeding through the floor to ceiling windows. Mia was still at her desk, posture stiff but focused, forcing herself through the last few lines of the quarterly revenue summary Harry had asked for.

She was the only one left on the entire floor.

Correction almost the only one.

Behind the frosted glass wall of his office, Harry Declan’s silhouette remained still, cast like a shadow against the deep blue backdrop of the skyline. He hadn’t moved in over an hour. No calls. No meetings. Just him and whatever it was that kept him up long after everyone else had gone home.

Mia’s eyes burned with fatigue, but something about walking out without telling him felt... wrong.

So she stood. Straightened her skirt. Smoothed her blouse. And walked to his door.

She knocked lightly.

No response.

She hesitated, then tried the handle. It clicked open with ease.

“Mr. Declan?”

The sight inside stopped her breath for a moment.

Harry sat on the leather sofa, tie discarded, shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His jacket lay draped over the armrest, a crystal glass of scotch resting untouched in his hand. Papers were spread out across the coffee table, but he wasn’t reading them.

He was watching the city.

Cold. Still. Silent.

He looked nothing like the powerful CEO who commanded boardrooms. In this quiet, dim light, he looked like a man carrying the weight of too many decisions.

He turned his head slightly.

“You’re still here.”

“I didn’t want to leave without checking,” Mia said softly. “I finished the report.”

“Is it perfect?” he asked, not unkindly.

“It’s… functional,” she replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

That earned the smallest upward twitch of his.

He gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit.”

It wasn’t a command this time. It was something close to an invitation.

Mia stepped inside, hesitated briefly, and sat. Her body remained rigid, but her gaze softened. This side of him was unfamiliar—unguarded.

“You always stay this late?” she asked.

“Lately,” he replied. “There’s peace in silence.”

“And loneliness,” she said before she could stop herself.

He looked at her. Really looked.

“Are you lonely, Mia?”

The question took her by surprise. Her lips parted, then closed.

“I think I’m just... adjusting,” she answered. “This world isn’t gentle.”

“No,” he said quietly. “It isn’t.”

She leaned forward, resting her arms lightly on her knees. “Why did you choose me?”

A pause.

He didn’t deflect.

“You see through things. Most people see what they want to see. You... observe. Even when it costs you comfort.”

Her pulse quickened.

“Then you put me in the room to test me.”

He didn’t deny it.

“I needed to know if you'd flinch under pressure.”

“And?”

“You didn't.”

She smiled faintly. “You don’t exactly ease people into things, do you?”

“Ease makes people weak,” he said simply. “I need people who sharpen under pressure. You sharpened.”

Mia shifted slightly. “Layla Hart approached me after the meeting.”

His jaw tensed almost imperceptibly.

“What did she say?”

“She implied I was a... distraction.” She hesitated. “That I wouldn’t last long.”

Harry swirled the drink in his glass but didn’t sip it.

“She likes to think she knows how I operate.”

“Do you?” Mia asked, eyes steady.

That made him pause.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you know how you operate?” she asked. “Or are you just playing the version of yourself they expect you to be?”

The air in the room stilled.

No one spoke to him like that. She could see it in the slight narrowing of his eyes—the way his breath subtly shifted.

Then, to her surprise, he smiled. A slow, dangerous smile.

“You’re either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish,” he murmured.

“I’m just tired,” she said. “Tired of pretending not to notice the elephant in the room.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and set the glass down gently on the table.

“Which elephant?”

“That everyone thinks I’m sleeping with you.”

His gaze met hers, heat flaring behind it.

“And are you?” he asked, voice low.

She didn’t blink. “No.”

A pause.

“Would you?” he asked again, quieter this time. As if he wanted to know, not provoke.

Mia’s mouth went dry. “If I said yes... would you fire me?”

“No,” he said.

“Promote me?”

“No.”

“Then why ask?”

He stood.

Walked over to the window, hands in his pockets, his voice like smoke.

"Because I don’t want a woman who fears me into silence. I want one who can stand in front of me, unshaken, and say exactly what she wants.”

She rose slowly.

“I want to succeed,” she said.

“And what else?” he asked without turning.

She hesitated. “I don’t know yet.”

When he finally faced her, something in his expression had changed. His mask had slipped, just slightly. Enough to reveal the man beneath the title.

“Mia,” he said softly. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

She swallowed. “I’m not.”

But she was.

Not of his power.

Not of what people said.

She was afraid of how much she already wanted him.

And how badly she wanted him to want her back.