Pressure

I spent the rest of the night thinking about the way he had stood that close.

Not the warning. The distance. Or the lack of it. Jakob’s attention had changed shape. It no longer arrived only in the form of work. I had noticed the change during the week. It showed up in the way he paused when I entered a room, in the way his eyes tracked me during meetings, in the brief silences that stretched longer than they needed to. Nothing overt. Nothing I could name without sounding uncertain. But it was there, steady and deliberate.

I told myself it was useful.

I almost believed it.

_____

Saturday morning the house felt too still.

I came downstairs late on purpose. The kitchen smelled faintly of coffee and toast. Jakob was already gone. A single empty cup sat near the sink. Owen was at the island, scrolling through his phone. He looked up the moment he heard me.

“You disappeared again yesterday,” he said.

“Good morning to you too. I had work.”

“You always have work.” He set the phone down and turned fully toward me. “I’m starting to think you’re using it as an excuse.”

The frustration in his face was real. So was the want underneath it.

“I’m trying to survive here,” I said. “I’m trying not to make a mistake. Your father doesn’t hand out second chances.”

“And I’m the mistake?”

“That’s not what I said.”

Owen let out a short breath and dragged a hand through his hair. When he spoke again his voice was lower.

“He tests everyone. You know that, right? Even me. Especially me. He used to make me sit through meetings as a teenager and refuse to explain anything. Said I’d learn more from watching people squirm than from any lecture he could give.” He looked at me. “He’s doing a version of that with you. I can see it.”

I filed the detail away.

“And what do you think he’s testing for?”

“Whether you’re worth the risk.” His jaw tightened. “Or whether you’re going to become one.”

The honesty was sharp. Useful. I softened my expression just enough.

“I’m not interested in becoming a problem for him.”

“That’s not the same as not being one.”

He stepped around the island. Close enough that the air changed. I could smell his skin. The restless hunger in his eyes sat openly now.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” he said. “Not as anything. Just friends catching up.”

I held his gaze.

“Not tonight.”

Something frustrated and hungry moved across his face. He nodded once, tightly, and stepped back.

“But I’ll think about it,” I said.

It was enough to keep the door open. He left. I waited until the sound of his steps faded before I let my shoulders drop.

The performance was still working.

It was also starting to cost more.

I stood there a few seconds longer, turning the new piece of information over in my mind. Jakob tested people as a matter of habit. Even his own son. That knowledge had value.

I poured coffee I didn’t need. Damon appeared in the doorway a moment later, that same ugly, disgusting smile already spreading across his face as he walked toward me.

“Hey, pretty. Wan—”

“Not today, Damon,” I said, and moved past him before he could open his mouth again.

I was still carrying the coffee when I turned into the hallway. A door opened on my right. I stepped forward at the same moment someone came through it.

I collided hard with a solid chest.

Strong hands caught my shoulders, steadying me before I could step back. The coffee surged against the rim of the cup but didn’t spill. I looked up.

Jakob.

His grip remained firm on my shoulders. Close. Too close. The heat of his palms soaked through the thin fabric of my top. His cologne wrapped around me. His green eyes locked on mine, sharper than they had been.

“Are you all right?”

His voice was lower than usual. Thicker.

The question reached me slowly. The proximity did something strange to my breathing. If this had been a film, the camera would have held on the inch of space between our mouths. And this would have been the moment when the two characters kissed. But this wasn’t a film. It was real life. I could feel the controlled strength in his hands. I could see the exact moment his gaze dropped to my lips and returned.

He shook me once, lightly.

“Rhea.”

My name pulled me back.

“I’m fine,” I said. The words came out quieter than I intended.

Jakob’s hands stayed on my shoulders a second longer than necessary. Then he released me and stepped back, expression unreadable again.

“Watch where you’re going.”

I nodded, already walking away.

I went upstairs without looking back. Inside my suite I closed the door and leaned against it, heart slamming against my ribs. The ghost of his hands still sat on my shoulders. The thickness in his voice still echoed in my head. My pulse was too fast. My skin felt too aware.

What the hell was that?

The reaction was wrong. Too sharp. Too physical. It had nothing to do with strategy and I hated that I could still feel it. I pushed the feeling down hard, forced my breathing to slow, and told myself it was nothing. Proximity. Surprise. A momentary loss of control.

Nothing more.

By mid-afternoon I had almost convinced myself.

I set up in the living room with my laptop, pretending to work. In reality I was probing deeper. There were records tied to the quieter subsidiaries—the ones where soft numbers and delayed reporting created room for pressure. I needed them.

The system refused me.

Access restricted.

Authorization required: J. Prescott.

I tried another route. Same result.

A third. Same again.

The denial was absolute.

I was still staring at the error when I heard footsteps. I switched windows immediately, returning to the harmless projections just as Jakob walked into the living room.

He stopped a few feet away, eyes moving from my face to the screen and back.

“You’re working.”

“Trying to make progress.”

He studied me for a moment. Then he said, calmly, “I received notifications earlier. Someone attempted to access restricted files. Multiple routes.”

My stomach dropped, but I kept my expression even.

I didn’t deny it.

“I’m trying to understand the full structure,” I said.

Jakob’s gaze held mine. “Some doors remain closed for a reason, Rhea. Limited access exists for a reason.”

The silence stretched. Then he tilted his head slightly toward the hallway.

“Come with me.”

I closed the laptop and followed him.

His study felt smaller with the door closed behind us. Jakob walked to the desk, opened a drawer, and took out a slim folder. He held it out.

“These stay between us. I’ll unlock temporary clearance for the related files. Use it carefully.”

I took the folder. The weight of it felt deliberate.

“Thank you.”

The thought arrived immediately, cold and precise:

Why would he give me access right after catching me trying to breach it? Was this another test?

I didn’t ask.

He didn’t move back. Instead he stepped closer, stopping near enough that I had to tilt my chin to keep his eyes. The same controlled heat from the hallway collision returned, thicker in the private space of the study. My pulse climbed against my will.

“Be careful how long you stand this close to me, Rhea.”

The words were quiet. Precise.

We stared at each other. The air between us narrowed until it felt like the moment before something irreversible. His eyes dropped to my mouth once. My fingers tightened on the folder.

A knock sounded at the door. I jolted back slightly.

Jakob’s expression didn’t change, but something in it cooled by a fraction.

“Come in.”

The door opened.

Owen stood in the doorway, gaze moving from his father to me, then to the small distance still left between us.

His face tightened.