Chapter 4 The Rules We Make

By Monday morning, Elara had convinced herself that Friday night had meant nothing.

She buried the memory beneath spreadsheets and internal memos, suppressing every thought that tried to resurface: the warmth of Aidan's voice, the softness in his eyes, the way he'd said she was rare.

She wouldn't read into it. She couldn't afford to.

In this world-his world-there were rules. Unspoken but ironclad.

And rule number one was simple: Don't fall for someone who can destroy you.

The firm's weekly strategy meeting began promptly at 8:00 a.m. Sharp suits filled the glass-walled conference room, voices overlapping in hushed tones, fresh espresso scenting the air. Elara took her usual seat near the end of the long mahogany table, notebook ready, posture straight.

Aidan entered five minutes later.

He wore black today. Crisp, immaculate, his presence commanding the room without a word. He nodded to the partners, greeted a few with quiet precision, then glanced-just once-in her direction.

Elara looked down immediately.

The meeting launched into a frenzy of projections, client feedback, and upcoming negotiations. She took notes, asked one carefully measured question, and otherwise kept her voice to herself.

But she felt him. His gaze. The weight of it.

Afterward, as the room emptied, she packed up her notes quickly, determined to escape unnoticed.

"Elara."

His voice froze her mid-step.

She turned slowly. "Yes, Mr. Callahan?"

A subtle twitch crossed his face at the formality, but he recovered quickly. "Could you stay back a moment?"

Her pulse jumped. "Of course."

When the last person left, he closed the door behind them.

And suddenly, it was just the two of them, surrounded by glass, with the whole city spread beyond the windows.

"I read your analysis on the CloudSpark projections," he said, walking to the far end of the table. "Your cost-risk evaluation was smarter than the one legal submitted."

"Thank you," she said carefully.

"I want you on the call this Thursday with their executive team. You'll listen. Take notes. Learn the rhythm."

Elara hesitated. "That's... not usually a junior associate's job."

"Exactly."

He turned, folding his arms. "You're not here to be ordinary. Don't act like you are."

Something in his tone-low, firm, almost challenging-made her spine straighten.

"I won't," she said, voice steady.

He studied her, gray eyes unreadable. "Good."

A long silence stretched. Then:

"Elara," he said, voice softer now. "Do you know why I noticed you the first day?"

Her heart tripped. "Because I slammed into you?"

He smiled faintly. "No. That was memorable, yes. But that's not why."

She didn't speak. She wasn't sure she could.

"I noticed because you didn't freeze up," he continued. "Most people do. They either retreat or try to impress. You just... were. Raw. Real."

She swallowed hard, heat rising in her cheeks. "I don't think that makes me special."

"It does here."

The room felt smaller, more intimate, like the walls had closed in around their words. Every breath she took felt measured, dangerous.

"I should get back to my desk," she said quietly.

He nodded, stepping aside. "Of course."

But as she passed him to leave, he spoke again, low enough that only she could hear:

"Be careful, Elara. There's a fine line between standing out-and being exposed."

She paused, then turned to meet his gaze. "Are you warning me, Mr. Callahan?"

A shadow crossed his face, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "I'm warning myself."

She didn't know what to say to that-so she said nothing at all.

And as she walked out of the conference room and back into the cold, humming rhythm of the office, one thought echoed louder than any logic she tried to cling to:

This wasn't just attraction.

It was a collision.

And she had no idea who'd survive the impact.