Chapter 5: Too Close
1290 Words
Staying late was not part of my plan. But apparently, I didn’t get to have one anymore.
The office had slowly emptied over the past hour, the constant movement and low conversations fading into silence. Now, it was just the quiet hum of the building and the occasional sound of footsteps in the distance.
I sat at my desk, staring at the screen, trying to focus on the report in front of me. Trying—and failing.
Because my mind kept drifting back to one thing. Him.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered under my breath, pushing the thought away again.
I had work to do. Important work. Work that actually mattered. Not… whatever this situation was.
Still, something felt off. Too quiet. Too controlled. Like I was waiting for something to happen. And that was the problem. I didn’t like waiting.
A soft knock on my door pulled me out of my thoughts.
“Come in,” I said.
Adrian stepped inside, his expression as unreadable as ever. “You’re still here,” he noted.
“You told me to stay.”
“I told you he told you to stay.”
I frowned slightly. “Is there a difference?”
“Yes.”
That was all he said. Of course.
I leaned back slightly. “Does he usually keep people this late?”
“When necessary.”
There it was again.
“That word doesn’t explain anything,” I said.
“It’s not meant to.”
I sighed quietly. “Do you ever give straight answers?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“This isn’t one of those times.”
I almost smiled. Almost.
“Am I supposed to be doing something specific?” I asked.
“You are,” he said.
“Which is?”
“Waiting.”
That again.
“For what?”
Adrian looked at me for a second. Then, “You’ll know.”
I shook my head slightly. “That’s not helpful.”
“It’s accurate.”
He turned toward the door, then paused. “Ava.”
I looked up.
“Be careful.”
My brows furrowed. “About what?”
A brief silence. Then—
“You’ll figure that out too.”
And just like that, he left, leaving me with more questions than answers.
Another hour passed. Then two.
By now, the building was almost completely empty. The silence had changed. It wasn’t calm anymore. It felt… intentional.
Like everything had been cleared out for a reason. Like I wasn’t just working late—I was being kept.
The thought made my chest tighten. No. That was ridiculous. Right?
I exhaled slowly and stood up, stretching slightly. I needed a break. Even just a minute.
Grabbing my phone, I stepped out of my office and into the hallway. It was dimmer now, the lights softened, the atmosphere quieter than before. Too quiet.
I walked slowly, my heels echoing faintly as I made my way toward the break area. Almost there—
“Leaving already?”
I stopped. That voice. Of course.
Slowly, I turned. Ethan stood at the end of the hallway, his jacket gone, sleeves slightly rolled up, like he had been working just as late. Or pretending to.
“I was taking a break,” I said.
His gaze moved over me briefly, not in a way that felt inappropriate—but not entirely professional either.
“A break,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
A small pause. Then—
“You’ve been here for hours.”
“So have you.”
That earned me a slight look. Not annoyance. Something closer to amusement.
“I don’t take breaks,” he said.
“That sounds unhealthy.”
“It’s efficient.”
I crossed my arms lightly. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Yes.”
Silence stretched between us. Not uncomfortable, but not easy either.
“Walk with me,” he said.
There it was again—that same tone, like it wasn’t a request.
I didn’t move. “I’m working,” I said.
“You’ve been working.”
“And I’m not done.”
“You are for now.”
I frowned slightly. “That’s not your decision to make.”
A pause. Then—
“It is.”
Of course it was.
He turned slightly, already walking, not checking if I followed—assuming I would.
That alone almost made me stay where I was. Almost.
But something in me—curiosity, defiance, maybe both—pushed me forward. I followed.
We walked in silence for a moment, the hallway stretching ahead of us, empty and quiet.
“You don’t like being told what to do,” he said finally.
“That depends on how it’s said.”
“And how did I say it?”
“Like I don’t have a choice.”
“You don’t.”
I stopped walking.
He didn’t. Not immediately. Then he turned back, his gaze finding mine.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “That.”
A brief pause.
“You assume too much.”
“I don’t assume,” he said. “I decide.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“It is here.”
I held his gaze, refusing to back down. “I’m not everyone else here.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then stop treating me like I am.”
Silence. Heavy. Charged.
He stepped closer—not enough to be inappropriate, but enough to feel it. That shift. That tension.
“That’s exactly why I don’t,” he said quietly.
My breath caught slightly. I hated that—the way he could say something so simple and still make it feel like more.
“You keep saying things like that,” I said. “Like there’s something different about me.”
“There is.”
“And what is it?”
A pause. Then—
“You don’t know your limits yet.”
That hit harder than I expected.
“And you do?” I asked.
“Yes.”
The confidence in his voice—unshaken, certain—irritated me. Challenged me.
“Then maybe you’re wrong,” I said.
Another step closer. Now the distance between us felt too small.
“I’m not wrong often,” he said.
“That sounds like arrogance.”
“It’s accuracy.”
I shook my head slightly. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re still here.”
That—
That made my chest tighten.
Because he wasn’t wrong.
I could have walked away. Should have. But I didn’t.
“Go home,” he said suddenly.
I blinked. “What?”
“You’ve done enough for today.”
“And earlier you said—”
“I changed my mind.”
Just like that. Like everything else. Controlled. Decided. Final.
I exhaled slowly. “Fine.”
I turned to leave. Then—
“Ava.”
I closed my eyes briefly, then looked back.
He was watching me again, but this time it wasn’t sharp or challenging. It was something else. Something quieter. More dangerous.
“You’re going to have to learn something,” he said.
“And what’s that?”
A pause. Then—
“You can’t stay unaffected.”
My stomach dropped slightly. “Watch me,” I said.
His gaze didn’t waver, and the faintest hint of a smile touched his lips. “Let’s see.”
I turned and walked away before he could say anything else, before I could think too much about what just happened.
But one thing was clear—
This wasn’t just tension anymore.
It was something building.
Something neither of us was stopping.
And I wasn’t sure who would lose control first.
- Writer
