Tuesday started with rain tapping against the office windows like an unwelcome reminder—of tension, of temptation, of everything Eliana was trying to bury.
She had avoided the elevator and taken the stairs. Three floors. No encounters. Her small victory for the morning.
Until she turned a corner and collided straight into him.
"You again," Adrian said, steadying her by the elbow.
His hand lingered a second too long. Her skin burned beneath his touch. She pulled away—not quickly, not harshly, but with intent.
"This building only has one hallway, apparently," she muttered.
He didn't smile, but something softened in his eyes. "I suppose we should stop pretending that we're just coworkers."
"That would be wise," she said, walking past him.
But he followed.
"Eliana."
She turned. He was too close again. The hallway was too narrow. Or maybe he just made the air feel thinner.
"What do you want, Adrian?"
Her voice was sharp. Her eyes? Not so much. They betrayed her—showed the curiosity, the ache, the pull she was fighting.
"I want to forget," he said. "But every time I see you, I remember everything."
She froze. Words weren't enough anymore. The silence between them pulsed with electricity, louder than anything spoken.
And then—he kissed her.
No permission. No warning. Just heat.
His lips were firm, familiar, dangerous. Her hands rose to his chest—not to push, not at first, but to feel the heartbeat that matched her own.
She pulled away first. Breathless. Angry. Alive.
"Don't do that again," she said.
"You kissed me back," he replied.
"That was a mistake," she lied.
They stood there—storm in their eyes, secrets in their silence.
Then she walked away.
And this time, he let her go.