Closer Than We Should Be

Chapter 7: Closer Than We Should Be

The days were no longer just routines. They were carefully measured interactions, small gestures, and stolen glances I couldn’t stop noticing.

That morning, Adrian had left for a board meeting earlier than usual, leaving me in the penthouse with the city sprawling beneath me. I wandered to the balcony, the cold air brushing against my face, and tried to make sense of the storm of feelings inside me.

I shouldn’t feel this way.

This was a contract. A year-long arrangement. Nothing more.

Yet every word he said, every glance he allowed me, chipped away at my resolve.

I turned when I heard the soft click of the door. He had returned earlier than I expected. His expression was unreadable, but the faint crease between his brows hinted at fatigue.

“Amara,” he said quietly. “I need your opinion on something.”

I followed him to his office, surprised. He gestured for me to sit. On his desk lay a series of designs for a charity event. He explained the details meticulously, but the way he looked at me when asking questions—pausing slightly, waiting for my answer—felt… personal.

“Do you think this color scheme works?” he asked.

I nodded. “It’s elegant. It suits the event.”

He leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly. “You notice details others don’t.”

My cheeks warmed. “I guess I pay attention.”

He didn’t respond. His gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary before returning to the papers in front of him.

The tension was unbearable, but strangely comforting. I wanted to say something, anything, but the words lodged in my throat.

Later that evening, we had dinner together—again, the penthouse vast and silent around us. I tried to focus on my food, on the taste, the textures, anything to distract from the way his presence made my heart race.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he remarked, his tone neutral but curious.

I swallowed, keeping my eyes down. “Just thinking.”

About him. About us. About the impossible situation I had signed myself into.

He studied me in silence, and I felt exposed in a way I hadn’t before. It was as if he could see every thought I tried to hide.

Finally, he stood. “I’ll be in the study if you need me.”

I watched him leave, my chest tight. For a brief moment, the silence felt unbearable.

Later, unable to sleep, I found myself walking past his study. The door was slightly ajar. Light spilled into the hall. He was there, reading quietly, lost in thought.

Something about the sight made my heart clench. I wanted to retreat, to remind myself that he was untouchable, that nothing between us could ever be real.

But instead, I lingered.

He looked up briefly, and our eyes met. A quiet understanding passed between us—an acknowledgment of the fragile, unspoken connection forming in the spaces between the rules.

I quickly turned away, retreating to my room, but the moment lingered in my mind.

It terrified me.

Because I knew, even as I told myself to stay distant, that every day we spent together, every glance, every word, was breaking down the walls we had both built so carefully.

And somewhere deep down, I realized a dangerous truth:

I was beginning to want more than this contract allowed.

I wanted the man behind the cold eyes.

The man behind the empire.

The man who had, against all reason, started to matter.

And that was the most terrifying feeling of all.