Chapter 24

Conrad's POV

I shouldn't have let her leave alone last night.

The thought sits heavily in my chest as I stare at the morning skyline through the wide glass walls of my office. Cars crawl like ants below, people rushing to places that probably matter less than they think.

But my mind isn't on business. It's on Diane: her flushed face, her trembling hands, the way she looked at me like she was both terrified of me and strangely safe around me.

And that moment...

I exhale sharply and drag a hand through my hair.

Focus.

I turn from the window and walk back to my desk just as my office door knocks twice.

"Come in."

The door opens slowly, and Diane steps inside.

My gaze pauses on her longer than it should.

She looks different today. Not physically; she still wears her usual office outfit, a fitted blouse tucked into a pencil skirt, her hair neatly pulled back. But there's something softer about her posture. Something cautious.

"Good morning, sir." She says quietly. Her voice carries a hint of awkwardness.

Last night lingers between us like an invisible wall.

"Morning." I reply, settling into my chair. "You're early."

"I had files to prepare." She says, stepping forward to place a stack of documents on my desk.

Her fingers brush the wood carefully, avoiding any accidental contact with me. The small distance doesn't go unnoticed.

I lean back slightly, studying her. "Did you sleep?"

She hesitates. "Enough." She replies finally.

Lie.

Her eyes look tired, slightly swollen, like she spent part of the night overthinking, or crying.

My jaw tightens unconsciously.

She turns to leave after setting everything down, but I speak before she reaches the door.

"Diane."

She freezes.

Slowly, she turns back to me. "Yes, sir?"

"You felt like someone was watching you last night."

Her shoulders stiffen immediately.

So she remembers too.

"I... probably imagined it." She says quickly. "I was still tipsy and..."

"Look at me."

She does. Reluctantly.

"You don't get paranoid easily." I say. "If you felt watched, there's a reason."

Her lips press together.

Silence stretches between us for a moment. Then she sighs softly. "Maybe. I just felt uncomfortable when I got home. Like someone was outside. But when I checked, there was nothing."

My eyes narrow slightly.

I don't like that. Not one bit.

"From today," I say calmly, "you'll leave work with the company driver."

Her brows furrow immediately. "Sir, that's not necessary..."

"It is."

"I don't need special treatment." She insists. "People already think I'm different because I work directly under you."

Her words carry frustration and a hint of embarrassment.

I lean forward slightly. "This isn't about treatment. It's about safety."

Her gaze softens for a brief second before she looks away. "I'll be fine."

"You don't get to decide that alone."

She blinks slowly, surprised by the firmness in my voice.

Silence fills the room again.

Finally, she nods once. "Okay... sir."

Something inside my chest eases slightly.

"Good." I say, then gesture toward the files. "Meeting in thirty minutes. Stay."

She walks back toward the desk and begins explaining the documents, her voice steady but softer than usual.

As she speaks, I find myself watching her more than the papers.

The way her brows furrow when she concentrates. The way her fingers move nervously when she thinks I'm not looking. The faint flush on her cheeks whenever our eyes accidentally meet.

Last night clearly affected her. It affected me too.

Halfway through her explanation, she pauses suddenly. "Sir... about yesterday..."

My gaze lifts to her face immediately.

She swallows. "I'm sorry again. For everything. I crossed a line."

Her voice is small, sincere.

I study her for a moment before responding. "You were drunk."

"That's not an excuse."

"No." I agree calmly. "But it explains things."

She nods slowly, her eyes dropping to the desk.

"I don't want you to feel uncomfortable working with me." She adds quietly.

A faint smirk touches my lips. "You think you can make me uncomfortable?"

Her eyes flick up, slightly offended. "Everyone has limits, sir."

"That wasn't my limit." I say evenly.

"You moaned." She says.

"I didn't." I say quickly, rushing my words.

She glances up. "Then what was that?"

I tilt my head. "A groan. You literally..."

Her breath hitches slightly, and I pause, then shake my head.

"Never mind."

Silence thickens again.

She clears her throat quickly and returns to the documents, but the tension between us has shifted, less awkward, more aware.

When the meeting time approaches, she gathers the files and walks toward the door.

"Diane."

She stops again. "Yes?"

"Next time you feel unsafe," I say quietly, "you call me first. Not after."

Her eyes widen slightly.

For a moment, she looks like she wants to argue, but instead she nods.

"Okay." She whispers.

She leaves the office, and I watch the door close slowly behind her.

My fingers tap lightly against the desk.

Something is off. The way she described last night, the uneasiness, the fear she tried to hide, it doesn't sit right with me.

I pick up my phone and dial security.

"Review the cameras around her apartment building." I say calmly. "Last night between midnight and two a.m."

"Yes, sir."

"And increase monitoring around the office entrance. Quietly."

"Yes, sir."

I hang up and lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling for a moment.

Because whether she realizes it or not, something is changing. Between us. And around us.

And I have no intention of letting anything, or anyone, hurt her while she works under me.

Not on my watch.