MasukRoxanne sat at her desk, tapping the tip of her pencil against the architectural plans she had spread across the table. The office was unusually quiet, save for the occasional click of keyboards and the hum of the air conditioning. Everything was supposed to be normal. She told herself that a hundred times already. But her mind kept drifting back to the Montenegro Inc. site visit.The way his hand had hovered at her waist, the way his eyes had searched hers, the almost-kiss she could still feel pressing at the edge of her memory — it was impossible to erase.And yet, she was professional. She reminded herself. She was an architect. He was the CEO. Business first, everything else later.She straightened the plans on her table and forced herself to focus.Then, the door opened, and Arch entered.He moved through the room with his usual calm authority, but there was something in the tilt of his jaw, the tightness in his shoulders, that betrayed him. He looked at h
The elevator ride to the top floor felt longer than usual.Roxanne’s fingers tightened around the rolled-up blueprint tubes in her arms as the digital numbers climbed. She kept her eyes forward, pretending her pulse wasn’t betraying her — pretending she didn’t remember everything that happened days ago.The silence.The closeness.The mistake neither of them has dared to name.When the elevator doors slid open, the familiar cool scent of Arch’s office floor greeted her — clean, sharp, laced with something earthy and expensive. His scent. His world.She swallowed hard.“Professional,” she whispered to herself. “You’re here to work. Nothing more.”Her heels clicked softly against marble as she approached the double glass doors of the CEO’s office.The frosted nameplate read: ARCHIMEDES LAURENZ MONTENEGRO.CEO.Her boss.Her almost.She knocked once.“Come in,” his voice called.Deep. Controlled. Too calm.She pushed the door open.Arch was
Roxanne woke up slowly, as if surfacing from the deepest part of a dream she wasn’t ready to leave.Warmth.That was the first thing she felt.A strong, steady warmth wrapped around her waist, pulled tight to her stomach. A weight draped over her hip. A heartbeat pressed against her back.It wasn’t a blanket.It was him.Her eyes flew open.Arch was behind her, still asleep… and holding her.Not loosely.Not accidentally.He was holding her like she was the only thing keeping him anchored.Her breath caught. She didn’t move. Couldn’t move. The events of last night crashed back into her chest —His confession.His hands.His voice breaking.His mouth on hers, desperate and gentle and everything she should’ve pulled away from but didn’t.Their bodies tangled on the bed.His arms finally closing around her like he’d been waiting years to do it.Her lips tingled at the memory.She pressed her eyes shut.What did we do?She swallo
The condo was quiet again, the lights warm and low, shadows stretching softly across the walls. Roxanne stood there with her heart pounding against her ribs, watching Arch breathe, watching the slight sway of his body as he leaned back on the bar stool. He wasn’t drunk enough to lose himself completely, but he wasn’t sober either. He was in that dangerous space in between — where people say the things they’ve been desperately trying to swallow. And Arch… he wasn’t swallowing anything tonight. Roxanne could see it in the way he stared at her. His pupils dark, his breathing uneven, his emotions sitting right beneath the surface like a storm ready to burst. She should have walked away. She should have escaped before something irreversible happened. Before the fragile line between them snapped. But she didn’t. Instead, she whispered, “Arch… you should rest.” He lifted his head slowly, eyes dragging up her figure like he didn’t want to miss a single inch. “R
The condo was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Roxanne stepped lightly on the hardwood floor, still a little groggy from her nap, wrapped in the soft pajamas Arch had given her. Her thoughts were spinning, caught between confusion, exhaustion, and a strange flutter in her chest.She wasn’t sure if it was because of the events of the night..Ella, the confrontation, the tension...or because of Arch.And maybe… just maybe… it was him.Her eyes drifted toward the bar counter in the living room. A soft amber light reflected off the glass bottles lined neatly on the shelves. And there he was. Arch.He sat slouched on a stool, one hand gripping a glass of dark liquid, the other resting limply on the counter. The shadows of the dim lights softened his features, but somehow made him even more dangerous-looking.He lifted the glass slowly to his lips, eyes half-closed, staring somewhere beyond the room, but Roxanne knew better. She knew that
The city lights flickered past the car window, blurred by the late-night rain streaking down the glass. Roxanne sat quietly in the passenger seat, her hands folded on her lap, eyes fixed on the passing streets. Every streetlight, every neon sign, felt like a reminder of the chaos she’d left behind,and the chaos she still carried inside.Arch drove steadily, his jaw tight, hands gripping the steering wheel just enough to remind himself that he was holding onto control. He hadn’t said a word since they left Nana’s house, not out loud. But every glance Roxanne stole at him, every subtle shift of her shoulders, spoke volumes.The silence was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It wasn’t filled with anger or argument-it was something quieter, something fragile. Something that could shatter at any moment if either of them said the wrong word.Roxanne swallowed hard and finally broke the silence, her voice small and hesitant. “I… I didn’t mean to… cause… all of that tonight.”







