Chapter Four

Daisy POV

The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, painting the room in muted gold. I sat on the edge of the bed, notebook open, pen hovering over a blank page, but I couldn’t write. My thoughts kept drifting to him Liam Villarreal. The man I was supposed to avoid at all costs.

It wasn’t just the attraction. I knew the rules: one misstep, one word, one glance interpreted wrong, and my career everything I’d worked so hard for could collapse. And yet, every moment spent around him made the rules harder to follow.

I could feel it again, that pull the subtle intensity when he looked at me, the way his gaze lingered just long enough to unsettle me without saying a word. I clenched my fists, trying to ground myself. Stay professional. Stay safe. Stay invisible.

Breakfast was a quiet affair. I moved through the buffet with practiced precision, careful not to make eye contact, careful not to let him see me flinch when he passed by. Of course, I knew he was observing. He always was. I could feel the weight of his attention even when my back was turned.

I tried to focus on food, on coffee, on anything that would keep my mind off him. But I couldn’t ignore the awareness, the underlying tension in the room. Every glance his way made my pulse spike.

Every subtle smirk, every small nod of acknowledgment, was a challenge I wasn’t sure I wanted to face but couldn’t resist.

I forced myself to look down at my plate. This weekend was meant to be about survival, not temptation. And yet, temptation was everywhere he was.

The morning session was a workshop on strategic client management. I stayed quiet, contributing only when necessary. I watched him from the corner of my eye as he moved through the room, interacting with colleagues, observing, commanding attention without effort. He was all control, all presence, and it made me nervous in a way I couldn’t explain.

When he approached me, I felt my stomach twist.

“Daisy,” he said softly, voice low enough that only I could hear. “Join me in the back for a moment. I want your opinion on something.”

My heart jumped. I was terrified, and yet something inside me stirred curiosity, defiance, maybe even desire. I nodded, trying to steady my hands, and followed him to a quieter corner.

He motioned to a set of notes spread across a small table. “I need your insight on these projections. I want a fresh perspective.”

I leaned over, reading carefully, focusing on the numbers, the trends, the strategy. His proximity made me acutely aware of every small movement, every brush of our arms, every subtle scent that clung to him clean, sharp, confident.

“You’ve considered the margin adjustments,” I said, pointing to a line in the spreadsheet. “But you’re not factoring in the potential client fluctuation in Q3. If they delay, it could throw these projections off by at least fifteen percent.”

He looked at me, surprised, and then, slowly, a smile curved his lips. “Impressive,” he said, almost a whisper, and I felt a flush creep up my neck.

I shifted back slightly, reminding myself of boundaries, but I couldn’t stop noticing him. The way his eyes studied me, the slight crease of thought between his brows, the subtle way he leaned in closer when considering my words. Dangerous. Forbidden. And yet, impossible to ignore.

After the session, the retreat organizers announced a group activity designed to foster teamwork: a challenge course over the hillside of the resort.

Most people rushed ahead, eager to show physical prowess, but I hung back, calculating, assessing, avoiding unnecessary risk.

He appeared at my side, as if summoned by some invisible force.

“You’re not participating?” he asked, voice low, private, teasing.

“I—prefer to observe,” I replied, careful to sound confident. My heart was racing, and I knew he noticed.

“Smart,” he said, approvingly, leaning close just enough for me to catch a whiff of his cologne. “Observing gives you the advantage that most people miss in the heat of the moment.”

I glanced at him, startled by the intensity in his gaze. “I—thank you,” I said softly, aware of how small and exposed I felt under his scrutiny.

The challenge began. I watched as my colleagues fumbled with ropes and balance beams, trying to impress, trying to dominate. Liam was everywhere offering guidance, observing strategy, assessing skill, all while making me aware that he was fully aware of my presence.

At one point, I misstepped on a narrow ledge. My balance faltered, and a hand shot out instinctively. His hand. Steady, firm, grounding.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice low and commanding. His touch lingered just long enough to send a jolt through me before withdrawing. I swallowed hard, pretending to steady myself.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, unable to meet his eyes.

He smirked slightly, but there was no teasing in it only recognition. He knew the effect he had on me, and he didn’t need to say it aloud.

Later that afternoon, we were tasked with preparing a joint presentation for a simulated client meeting. I found myself paired with him, and my pulse quickened. Every movement felt amplified. Every glance, every gesture, was loaded.

He didn’t speak much, letting me lead initially, but his presence was undeniable, pressing, commanding. I could feel the electricity between us, the unspoken tension that neither of us wanted to address openly.

“Good,” he said finally, leaning close to review my notes. “But this section your phrasing could be more concise. It will read better if you tighten the language here.”

I nodded, heart hammering. He was close enough that I could feel his breath, could see the subtle shift of his expression as he studied my work. Dangerous, forbidden, intoxicating.

I made the adjustments, my hands shaking slightly, and when I looked up, his eyes met mine. For a brief moment, the retreat, the colleagues, the entire world vanished. There was only him, only the heat between us, only the unspoken tension that was growing impossible to ignore.

The evening brought a quieter, optional networking session. Most people mingled, laughing, drinking, joking. I moved carefully among them, careful not to draw too much attention, careful not to be near him. But fate or whatever force was driving this placed us at the same table.

We sat side by side, just close enough that our shoulders brushed. I could feel his warmth, the subtle pull of his presence, and I struggled to keep my composure.

“You’ve done well today,” he said quietly, his tone intimate, private, designed for me alone.

“Thank you, sir,” I replied, voice steady despite the racing of my heart. I refused to look at him directly, keeping my gaze on the table, on the glass in front of me, on anything but the man beside me.

“You’re more capable than you realize,” he continued, voice soft, commanding attention without raising it. “And I notice things others don’t.”

I stiffened slightly. That sentence carried weight, meaning. I swallowed hard. Was he complimenting me or warning me? Or both?

“Liam…” I began, but he placed a hand lightly on the table near mine, cutting me off with a silent assertion of presence.

“No words,” he said softly. “Just… listen.”

I did. My pulse raced, my body tense, my mind acutely aware of every subtle signal, every shift of his gaze. He didn’t need to say more. His proximity, his attention, his quiet command, spoke volumes.

Later that night, alone in my room, I replayed the day over and over. Every moment with him felt loaded, dangerous, intoxicating. My mind struggled to separate professional responsibility from personal desire. And yet, every instinct, every nerve, every heartbeat reminded me that I was drawn to him.

I knew the rules. I knew the risks. I knew the consequences.

And yet, for the first time in a long while, I wondered: what if I let myself feel it? What if I allowed even the smallest connection?

The thought was terrifying. Forbidden. And impossible to ignore.

Because Liam Villarreal wasn’t just a man. He was a force. He was power, control, presence, and he had chosen, silently, to notice me. And being chosen by him… was a risk I might not survive.