Chapter FIVE – Fighting Desire
729 Words
Elena pressed her palms to her cheeks, trying to cool the heat that had burned there since last night. She had barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt Alexander’s breath near hers, saw the way his gaze had darkened, the way his hand had brushed her cheek.
It wasn’t supposed to happen. It couldn’t happen.
And yet…
“Darling?”
Elena jumped, turning to see Vivian standing in the doorway of her room, dressed in a silk robe, her hair perfectly coiled despite the early hour. She carried two cups of tea, her smile warm as ever.
“I thought you could use this,” Vivian said, handing her a cup. “You worked late again with Alexander, didn’t you?”
Elena’s throat tightened. She forced a smile. “Yes. It was… busy.”
Vivian sat on the edge of her bed, sipping her tea. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am. You’ve lifted such a weight off his shoulders. He doesn’t say much, but I can tell he’s less… tense these days. You’ve been good for him.”
The words were a knife to Elena’s chest. 'Good for him. But at what cost to you, Vivian?' Elena taught.
She nodded mutely, gripping her cup as if it might anchor her. “I just… want to do well.”
Vivian’s eyes softened. “And you are, my dear. You’re like the daughter I never had.” She leaned over, kissing Elena’s forehead before standing. “Now, finish your tea. You have a long day ahead.”
When Vivian left, Elena’s eyes stung. Guilt sat heavy in her chest. She should distance herself. She should draw boundaries.
But as she walked into Alexander’s office later that morning, the world spun in the opposite direction.
He was already there, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, his tie hanging loose. The sight of him — casual, unguarded — sent her pulse racing before she could stop it.
“You’re late,” he said without looking up.
“It’s eight fifty-five,” she retorted, setting a folder on his desk.
His lips twitched faintly. “You’re learning.”
She tried to busy herself with her notes, avoiding his eyes, but he didn’t let her escape so easily.
“Elena,” he said suddenly.
She looked up. “Yes, sir?”
“I asked you not to call me that.” His gaze locked on hers. “Alexander. Say it.”
Her breath hitched. “Alexan—” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “No. It’s not professional.”
He leaned back in his chair, studying her with unnerving patience. “Professional.” He repeated the word like it amused him. “Tell me, Elena — what exactly do you think is happening between us that could possibly be called professional?”
Her cheeks burned. “Nothing is happening. Nothing can happen.”
He stood, circling the desk slowly, deliberately, until he stood just a foot away. His presence was overwhelming, his cologne dizzying.
“You say that,” he murmured, “but your eyes tell a different story.”
Her pulse hammered. She forced herself to meet his gaze. “And yours?”
A dangerous silence stretched between them. Finally, he smirked faintly. “Mine are honest. Always.”
She exhaled sharply, stepping back. “This is wrong. Vivian trusts me. She trusts you.”
His expression hardened, though his voice remained low. “Vivian and I… are not what we appear. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you know the truth.”
Elena blinked, stunned. “What do you mean?”
But he only returned to his desk, slipping the mask of indifference back into place. “Get me the Montrose file.”
Frustration tangled with confusion as she left the office. She told herself she should stay away, keep her distance.
But deep down, she knew the truth: she was already in too deep.
- Writer
