Enchanted With My Security

A New Attraction

The weeks that followed my first workout with Francis shifted something deep inside me quietly, but irrevocably.

I hadn’t expected that a single gym session just an hour of shared effort and small talk could unravel the carefully guarded boundaries I’d spent years building. But each time we crossed paths whether it was a quick hello in the garden, a nod in the office, or another routine at the gym, the thread between us tugged tighter.

It wasn’t just the growing familiarity anymore.

It was a pull. Immediate. Sharper than I wanted to admit.

And it was… his body.

One afternoon, after a particularly brutal leg day, I had just completed a set of squats. Francis stepped forward to demonstrate a stretch, and when he bent, the hem of his shirt rose just enough for me to catch a glimpse of his abs.

I don’t know what hit me harder, the surprise or the heat.

My breath caught in my throat. I turned my head away before I stared too long, but the image had already imprinted itself in my mind. It followed me long after I left the gym.

It wasn’t just his physical presence, though God knows it would’ve been enough. It was the contrast: power held so quietly. Strength without ego. Command without show.

It made my pulse race in a way I hadn’t felt in… years, if I’m being honest.

I told myself to ignore it. I was Marie Montgomery CEO, strategist, problem solver. I’d built a company from the ground up. I didn’t get distracted. Especially not by someone with a six-pack and a soft voice.

But despite my best efforts, I’d catch myself daydreaming in board meetings. Pen in hand, lips pressed tight, while my mind drifted to the memory of the way his muscles flexed under his shirt, the smooth lines of his torso, the steadiness of his voice in my ear.

Then came the moment I couldn’t deny it anymore.

We were stretching. He moved closer to adjust my form his chest barely inches from mine. The air between us crackled. I could feel the warmth of his body, smell the faint hint of his cologne clean, earthy, grounding.

My breath hitched. My body betrayed me, flushing with heat.

“You’re doing great,” he murmured.

I could barely nod. The words didn’t register, not really. His presence pressed against the walls I’d so carefully built and they didn’t just crack. They collapsed.

That night, lying in bed, I replayed it all his hands guiding my posture, his abs just visible through his shirt, the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t watching. I’d never seen Francis like this before. Or maybe I had—and I’d just refused to let myself see it.

I was falling for him.

God help me, I was falling for the man who used to open my gates. And not just for his body for the steadiness. The quiet. The way he made me feel like I could let go.

At the next session, I could barely focus.

His voice was calm, instructional as ever. But my eyes kept wandering tracing the outline of his arms, the ripple of muscle across his back. Every movement made my thoughts spiral. It wasn’t professional anymore. It wasn’t safe.

He caught me staring. Just briefly.

“Let’s take it slow today,” he said, his tone light but laced with something knowing. That smile—that maddening, gentle curve of his lips—undid me.

“Slow is good,” I replied, hoping he couldn’t hear how uneven my voice had become.

But nothing about us felt slow anymore. The tension between us pulsed thick, unsaid, and dangerous.

By the end of our session, I could barely tell whether my body ached from the weights or from holding back the feelings pressing against my chest.

As I grabbed my things, he offered another easy, warm smile the kind that felt like a secret we hadn’t spoken out loud yet.

I smiled back, heart thudding, and turned toward my car.

That’s when my phone buzzed.

I glanced down at the screen.

An unknown number.

A single message.

Just four words:

**“You don’t know him.”**

I froze.

The gym, the sunlight, the warm echo of Francis’s smile—it all blurred.

A chill snaked down my spine.

My fingers hovered over the screen, suddenly trembling.

I didn’t respond.

I couldn’t.

I just stood there, heartbeat roaring in my ears, as the first thread of doubt cut through everything I’d just started to believe.

Who sent that message?

Why now?

And more than anything…

What didn’t I know about Francis?