CHAPTER FOUR

Nora’s POV

The whispers started the moment I stepped into the office.

I felt their eyes on me—sharp, judgmental, eating away at my composure. A few of them made no effort to lower their voices.

“Did you hear what she said to Vivienne Laurent?”

“She doesn’t know her place.”

“She won’t last here.”

I kept my head high, walking straight to my desk. I refused to let them see that it got to me, that my fingers ached from clenching my fists so tightly. But their words sat on my skin like thorns. I didn’t regret what I said, but I hated the feeling of being watched, like a spectacle in a world where I wasn’t welcome.

Then his voice cut through the air.

“Miss Sinclair. My office. Now.”

Silence fell over the room as Adrian Sterling spoke, his tone unreadable. I met his gaze, and my stomach tightened. His blue eyes were like ice—cold, piercing, and impossible to ignore.

I rose from my chair, ignoring the murmurs that followed me.

Inside his office, the tension thickened.

Adrian stood near his desk, one hand in his pocket, the other adjusting his cufflink. The sight of him always left an impression—towering, sharp-jawed, dressed in a suit that probably cost more than my family’s rent for a year.

He didn’t sit. Neither did I.

“You caused quite the scene this morning.” His voice was smooth, laced with something I couldn’t place.

I crossed my arms. “Vivienne started it.”

His lips twitched, almost like he wanted to smirk, but the expression never fully formed.

“I didn’t say you were wrong.”

My breath hitched.

I wasn’t expecting that.

He took a step closer, and I felt it—the sudden shift in the air between us. Like a wire pulled too tight, ready to snap.

“She deserved it,” he continued, his voice low. “But you’re making enemies, Nora.”

The way he said my name sent a strange shiver down my spine. His husky voice made it even better. He didn’t use it often.

“I can handle myself,” I replied.

He studied me, and for a split second, something flickered in his gaze. Amusement? Admiration? I couldn’t tell.

Then he leaned against his desk, fingers tapping idly. “There’s a charity gala tomorrow night. You’re coming with me.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

I scoffed. “As what? Your assistant or your latest PR move?”

He ignored my bite. “As my plus one.”

My heart skipped. “Why me?”

“Because I said so.”

I hated that answer.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” I said instead.

“That’s been taken care of.”

He nodded toward the corner of the room, and that’s when I saw it—a garment bag hanging on a rack. He had already planned this.

I walked over and unzipped it, my breath catching as the dress was revealed.

It was stunning. Midnight blue, silk with delicate beading along the bodice. It looked like it belonged in a magazine, not on me.

“I can’t accept this.”

“You can,” Adrian said, stepping behind me. His reflection appeared in the glass, standing close—too close. “And you will. You don't have a choice. I'm your boss.”

His voice was softer now, almost coaxing. I felt my resolve waver.

I hated him for knowing exactly how to push me.

“Fine,” I muttered.

His lips curved slightly. “Good girl.”

I spun to glare at him, but he had already turned away.

The gala was a whirlwind of wealth and extravagance.

I felt out of place, even in the expensive dress that fit me like a dream. But Adrian was beside me, his presence commanding every room he stepped into. People fawned over him, clients, paparazzi and socialites clinging to his every word.

And then he did something unexpected.

He held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

My pulse stuttered.

“I—”

A few nearby executives were watching. I realized it wasn’t just a request. It was a demand.

Swallowing hard, I placed my hand in his.

The moment he pulled me onto the dance floor, everything else faded.

His hand rested on my waist—light, yet firm enough to set my skin on fire. His other hand held mine, fingers warm, strong.

The music slowed, and we moved.

I was hyper-aware of every inch of him. The way his breath fanned against my cheek. The way our bodies aligned, just close enough to make my stomach twist.

His thumb brushed against my waist, barely noticeable, but I felt it like a brand.

“Relax,” he murmured.

I exhaled shakily.

It was dangerous, how easily he could do this—make me forget everything else, make me feel like the room had disappeared, leaving only us.

I looked up, and for the first time, I saw something in his eyes that wasn’t cold detachment.

A crack in the armor.

The tension between us shifted, deepened. My heart pounded as I felt myself leaning in, drawn by something unspoken. His gaze dropped to my lips. A strand of his perfect silky hair rested on his forehead.

Just when I thought he was going to close the distance, he pulled back, his breath fanning against my ear. I wanted him more than ever now.

His voice was barely above a whisper.

"You really don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?"

The music played on, but I couldn’t hear it.

Because all I could think about was him.