I froze, staring at the hallway as Victor's mother's voice cut through the office.
"And who is this lady?" she demanded, sharp and storming toward me like a hurricane.
Panic surged through me as my hair fell forward instinctively, hiding my face.
Maybe if I disappeared under this curtain of strands, they wouldn't notice me. I stood slowly, knees stiff, avoiding eye contact. My throat felt tight. I swallowed, cleared it softly. I wanted to apologize—or maybe just run.
Before I could speak, Victor stepped in, his presence slicing through the tension like a calm blade.
"Yes, Miss," he said, steady and firm, yet gentle enough to ease my chest. "About the file… I've sent it to your office. You can go now."
Relief washed over me, uneven, like a tide brushing my skin and retreating too soon. He spoke quickly to his parents, explaining that I had tripped while fetching a file.
His mother hissed sharply under her breath. "Such incompetent staff you have here."
Then silence.
I exhaled slowly, chest loosening. They hadn't recognized me. Thank God, I whispered quietly as I ran back to my office.
And why had Victor defended me? Poor Victor. The weight on his shoulders—the company, his family, endless expectations—must be crushing. He didn't need my mistakes adding chaos. Yet he had stepped in anyway.
My mind drifted to our last conversation—the night I had chased him out, the harsh words, the raw hurt, the promise he made to stay away. I sighed, a deep, exhausted sound. It had been necessary. We couldn't keep betraying Elena—not again.
Dangerous thoughts.
Dangerous feeling.
A sharp bang on my desk snapped me back. My heart skipped.
"Loretta," I muttered under my breath, recognizing her cold authority before she even spoke.
"Organize these files," she said, tossing a stack onto my desk.
I glanced at them.
After yesterday, this felt almost routine. My hands moved quickly, sorting, checking, filing.
Loretta walked around, correcting a minor error, adjusting a note, handing me the next batch with precision. Lists to store on the computer, papers to sign, instructions to follow. I had to read everything carefully—never sign anything without understanding it.
Hours passed in a blur. My fingers moved mechanically, but my mind drifted back to Victor and his parents—the quiet way he shielded me, the tension in the room, the sharp hiss from his mother.
I could feel it even now, like a phantom pressing against my chest.
Finally, the work was done. I leaned back, exhaling slowly. Relief bubbled up, mingled with exhaustion.
The office had been a battlefield, and I'd survived… for now.
Then my phone buzzed.
Dinner at a restaurant at 7?
It was Aaron.
A smile tugged at my lips. Just seeing his name eased a weight I hadn't realized I was carrying. I typed back quickly, asking him to pick me up. My fingers trembled—not from nerves, but anticipation.
When he arrived, I had changed into something lighter, softer, less formal. My heels clicked gently as I walked toward his car.
Evening air brushed my face, carrying faint smells of exhaust, coffee, and bakery sweetness. For the first time that day, my shoulders dropped, tension loosening just slightly.
Aaron greeted me with his usual easy smile, holding the door open. "Long day?"
"You could say that," I replied, slipping into the seat. The leather smelled faintly of his cologne, familiar and grounding.
City lights streaked past as he drove, blurring into colors I didn't notice. I let myself breathe. No boardrooms, no Loretta's cold stare, no Victor's parents, no gossip. Just the hum of the city and Aaron's steady presence beside me.
By the time we arrived at the restaurant, I felt lighter. Soft murmurs of conversation, the clink of cutlery, and the warm lighting soothed me. Aaron led me to a table by the window, and I noticed the streetlights dancing in his dark eyes, playful and bright.
We ordered. He leaned back slightly, studying me with that effortless charm. "So… how's life at the office?" he asked, casual but curious.
"Chaotic," I admitted with a soft, nervous laugh. "But… not as bad as I thought."
He smiled—that smile, the one that made butterflies rise in my stomach. He poked my nose playfully. "Told you it would do you good," he teased, and the tension in my chest eased a little.
We talked about everything and nothing. My first week, the presentations, minor disasters, whispers in the office.
I told him about Loretta's cold gaze, about Victor's parents, about my panic earlier. He listened, genuinely interested, letting me spill without judgment.
We laughed softly; the tension melted with every word.
When dessert arrived, he leaned forward, pushing a slice of chocolate cake toward me. His fingers brushed mine—gentle, grounding, fleeting.
"You know," he said softly, "after all that work, we need a little fun. How about we hit the club tonight?"
.
I didn't hesitate. Nodded instantly, heart racing—not from fear, but excitement. "Yes," I said, feeling the tight knot in my chest unravel. I needed this. Music, distraction, movement. A place that was just mine for a few hours.
The club was alive. Pulsing lights, music vibrating through the floor, bass thudding like a heartbeat. Aaron held my hand as we entered, energy washing over me. He pulled me close as we danced, his hands light but firm on my waist. The heat, the closeness, the rhythm—it all felt electric.
I felt it—the subtle electricity between us. Every glance, every brush of skin, every small smile. More than friendship—but not love. Not yet. For now, only distraction. Only freedom. Only me.
I laughed, swaying to the beat, letting Aaron's presence wash over me. The club was a world apart from the office, from Victor's scrutiny, from Loretta's coldness, from gossip and expectation. For a few hours, there was nothing but rhythm, laughter, lights, and freedom.
And I loved it.
Even if temporary.
Even if fleeting.
Even if slightly wrong.
For the first time in weeks, I let myself feel alive, carefree, happy.