Chapter 5
1158 Words
BELLE'S POV
I barely sleep.
Every time I close my eyes, I feel it again — the soft brush of Eros’s lips against mine, the way his hand held the back of my neck, the way he whispered “beautiful” like it hurt him to say it.
He doesn’t know.
He won’t remember.
But I do.
God, do I remember.
By the time I get to work, my wig is secure, my contacts are in, and my heartbeat has been threatening mutiny for hours.
I remember everything.
The elevator opens to the executive floor.
Eros is already there.
Bright.
Cold.
Sober.
He moves with precision, flipping through documents, signing deals, and barking orders into the phone.
Not a glance at me.
Not a crack in his armour.
Not even the slightest hint that last night happened.
It shouldn’t hurt.
But it does.
I knew he wouldn't remember what happened last night. How could he remember something so insignificant to him? I'm pretty sure he has slept with numerous women, may that he could barely remember their faces muchless their names.
Remember your place!
I have to remember my place. I was overstepping my boundaries. If not for anything, I should be glad that he doesn't remember anything. Who knows what he would do to me if he remembers? Probably fire me on the spot.
I place his coffee on the desk. “Your schedule for today, sir.”
He nods. “Leave it.”
No reaction.
No pause.
No lingering stare.
Good.
Perfect.
Safe.
Except it feels like I’m the one who drank an entire bottle of whiskey last night, not him.
***
He keeps glancing up. Not enough for anyone else to notice but enough that I feel the weight of every look.
His eyes linger on my wig once, brief but sharp, like he’s trying to peel it off with his mind.
He blinks it away quickly and focuses on work again. But I see it, the confusion, the curiosity, the pull.
He doesn’t know why.
He can’t understand why.
But he’s drawn to me.
And I hate that I’m drawn right back.
***
At noon, he calls me into the office.
“Belle, file the—”
He stops mid-sentence.
Because I trip. Yes, trip. Over absolutely nothing.
I lose my balance, and the stack of files I’m holding explodes across the floor.
I drop to my knees, mortified. “I’m so sorry—”
Eros crouches with me.
Too close, too warm, too everything.
He reaches for a document at the same time I do, and our hands brush.
I yank mine back like he burned me.
His eyes flick to mine — quick, intense, questioning.
It's a spark, just a spark, but it is enough. Enough to make my chest throb.
He clears his throat sharply and stands. “Be more careful.”
“Y–yes, sir.”
I gather the last file, head spinning.
I drop the remaining files on his table, and I sprint out of his office, thoroughly embarrassed at what had just happened.
What was wrong with me today!
Come on, I wasn't a toddler who had never kissed someone. I've had my fair share of men.. Besides, what happened could barely be described as a kiss.
***
The remaining of the day was filled with me thinking about how close we were and how he kept starting at me. At this point, I could no longer tell myself it was all in my head. He was making it so obvious!
Was it because I fell in his office?
I tense whenever he looks directly at me and flinch whenever he calls my name.
I look at the clock and calculate how much tike I have left. I don't know what was going on, but I wanted the day to end as soon as possible.
Once it was 4 pm, I began packing my bag, ready to escape, but one of my colleagues dropped a stack of documents on my table.
"There's a meeting tomorrow, and you need to go through all this."
"Now? Why didn't you give me earlier?" I grumble as I see the amount of papers I have to go through. All my plans to go home early is officially down the drain.
"It was the CEO that requested for me to give these to you now."
He must really hate me.
I nod and unpack my bags. Seems I'll be working overtime today.
Everyone leaves early for the night.
Everyone except me — because Eros needs documents prepped for a morning meeting.
I print them, collate them, and bring them to his office.
He’s standing by the window, sleeves rolled up, veins and muscle on display like an accidental weapon.
He looks… tired.
Human.
It's almost breakable.
He turns when he hears me.
“Is it done?”
“Yes.”
I set the files on the desk, but my hand trembles slightly.
His eyes narrow. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.”
“Belle.”
The way he says my name makes me freeze.
Too direct.
Too soft.
Too familiar.
“Did something happen yesterday?”
Ice shoots down my spine.
He remembers?
No — his expression says he doesn’t.
He’s fishing. trying to place a feeling he couldn't shake. He is sensing something, probably because of the way I've been acting all day.
“N–no,” I lie. “Nothing happened.”
We stand there a few feet apart, but the tension feels like a tight wire pulled between our ribs.
He steps closer. Just a little. close enough bit not too close. Nothing inappropriate. He makes no attempt to touch me or close the remaining distance.
But he is close enough that I feel his heat through my blouse.
He searches my eyes. “You seem different.”
My heart stops.
I force a smile. “Maybe I’m just tired.”
He stares another second.
Two.
Three.
Then he steps back.
But something changed in that moment.
Something woke up.
***
I turn to leave his office.
I almost reach the door when his voice stops me.
Quiet.
Unplanned.
Raw.
“You remind me of someone.”
I don’t turn around. I hold my breath, scared that I'll slip up if i make the wromg move.
“You remind me of someone that I can’t forget,” he continues.
My throat closes.
He doesn’t know he’s talking about me. He doesn’t know I’m right here.
“I’ve been looking for her for years,” he continues. “She disappeared without a trace.”
My eyes sting.
“But sometimes,” he says softly, “I feel like she’s closer than I think.”
I grip the doorknob so hard my hand aches.
“Goodnight, Belle.”
I manage, barely, “Goodnight, sir.”
I step out before he sees the tears I refuse to let fall.
- Writer
