Chapter 5 Cracks in the armor

The storm raged on outside the Aspen estate, a relentless wall of snow and wind that seemed to mirror the turmoil churning in Elena Marquez's chest. She lay awake in the guest room, the plush bed doing little to ease the tension coiling through her. The memory of Lucas's kiss burned like a brand-fierce, fleeting, and followed by a rejection that stung more than she wanted to admit. His words echoed in her mind: We can't. I'm your boss. As if she needed the reminder.

As if she hadn't spent two years building walls to keep him at a distance, only for him to tear them down in a single, reckless moment.

The room was dark, save for the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the snow-dusted windows. Elena stared at the ceiling, her thoughts a tangle of anger, longing, and something dangerously close to hope. She wanted to hate him for pulling back, for retreating behind his icy facade, but she couldn't shake the rawness in his voice when he'd spoken in the utility room. Everyone, he'd said, listing the people who'd hurt him. His father. His sister. The world. It was the closest she'd ever come to seeing the man beneath the billionaire, and it terrified her how much she wanted to know more.

She rolled over, checking her phone: 3:17 AM. Sleep was a lost cause. Throwing off the covers, she slipped into a sweater and leggings, her bare feet cold against the hardwood floor. Maybe a glass of water would settle her. Maybe it would drown the ache in her chest. She padded down the hall, the estate silent except for the storm's muffled howl, and made her way to the kitchen.

The space was bathed in shadows, the stainless steel appliances gleaming faintly. She filled a glass from the sink, her movements mechanical, when a creak behind her made her freeze. She turned to find Lucas standing in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim light from the hall. He wore a plain black t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair disheveled, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

"Couldn't sleep?" His voice was low, rough, like he'd been wrestling with his own demons.

She gripped the glass, her pulse spiking. "Something like that." She wanted to snap at him, to demand why he'd kissed her only to shut her out, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she took a sip of water, using it as a shield.

He stepped into the kitchen, his bare feet silent on the tile. "The storm's worse than I thought. Roads are closed until at least tomorrow night."

"Great," she said, her tone drier than she intended. "More quality time."

He flinched, just barely, but she caught it. "Elena, about earlier-"

"Don't." She set the glass down, harder than necessary. "You made it clear. We're keeping this professional. Fine. Let's just get through this and finish Project Alpha."

His jaw tightened, his hands clenching at his sides. "You think that's what I want?"

"I don't know what you want, Lucas!" Her voice rose, the frustration spilling over. "One minute you're kissing me, the next you're acting like it was a mistake. You can't have it both ways."

He took a step closer, his eyes blazing. "You think I don't know that? You think I wanted to-" He stopped, running a hand through his hair, his composure cracking. "I'm trying to do the right thing here."

"The right thing?" She crossed her arms, her heart pounding. "What does that even mean? You're the one who kissed me."

"And you kissed me back," he said, his voice low, almost accusatory. The truth of it hit her like a slap, and she looked away, her cheeks burning.

"Fine," she said, quieter now. "I did. But you're the one who drew the line. So why are you here, in the middle of the night, acting like you care?"

He exhaled, his shoulders sagging slightly. "Because I do." The words were soft, almost lost in the storm's howl, but they landed like a thunderclap. He stepped closer, close enough that she could see the tension in his jaw, the conflict in his eyes. "I've spent years keeping people out, Elena. It's how I survive. But you-" He paused, his voice rougher. "You're different. And it scares the hell out of me."

Her breath caught, her anger faltering. She wanted to push back, to protect herself, but the rawness in his voice held her captive. "Then why pull away?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why shut me out?"

"Because I'm your boss," he said, his tone bitter. "Because I have no right to drag you into my mess. You deserve better than that."

She stared at him, her heart twisting. "You don't get to decide what I deserve, Lucas. I'm not some fragile thing you need to protect."

He looked at her, really looked, like he was seeing her for the first time. "I know you're not," he said, his voice softening. "That's why this is so hard."

The air between them crackled, the storm outside fading to a distant roar. Elena's pulse raced, her body screaming to close the distance, to finish what they'd started. But before she could move, the lights flickered, plunging the kitchen into darkness. The generator's hum faltered, then stopped, leaving only the sound of their breathing and the wind's relentless wail.

"Damn it," Lucas muttered, breaking the spell. He grabbed a flashlight from a drawer, his movements brisk. "Stay here. I'll check the generator."

"I'm coming with you," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. He shot her a look but didn't protest, leading the way to the utility room.

The concrete space was colder now, the air heavy with the scent of oil. Lucas crouched by the generator, his flashlight beam dancing across the gauges. "Fuel line's clogged," he said, his voice tight. "I can fix it, but it'll take a minute."

Elena held the flashlight, her hands steady despite the chill creeping into her bones. She watched him work, his fingers deft as he loosened a valve, his focus absolute. It was the same intensity he brought to everything-code, business, even that kiss. She pushed the thought away, focusing on the beam of light.

"Talk to me," she said, needing to fill the silence. "You said people hurt you. What did you mean?"

He paused, his hands stilling. For a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer. Then he spoke, his voice low, almost lost in the storm. "My father was... demanding. Nothing was ever enough-not my grades, not my ideas, not me. He saw weakness as failure, so I learned to hide it. And my sister, Clara-she left when I was sixteen. Just walked away, no explanation. I thought I'd done something wrong."

Elena's chest ached, the pieces of him falling into place. "You didn't."

He glanced at her, his eyes shadowed. "I know that now. But back then, it broke something in me. Trusting people-it's a risk I don't take lightly."

She nodded, her throat tight. "I get it. My mom... she's sick. Cancer. I've been taking care of her and my brother since I was twenty. You learn to rely on yourself, because no one else shows up."

He looked at her, his expression softening. "That's why you stay. The job."

"Yeah," she said, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat. "It's not just a job. It's survival."

He turned back to the generator, his movements slower now, like her words had settled into him. "I'm sorry," he said, so quietly she almost missed it. "I didn't know."

"You didn't ask," she said, but there was no bite in it. Just truth.

He tightened the valve, and the generator hummed back to life, the lights flickering on. He stood, wiping his hands on a rag, his eyes meeting hers. "I'm asking now."

Her heart stuttered, the weight of his gaze pulling her in. She wanted to say more, to tell him about the nights she'd spent crying over hospital bills, the dreams she'd buried to keep her family afloat. But the words felt too heavy, too raw. Instead, she handed him the flashlight. "We should get back to work."

He nodded, but as they walked back to the kitchen, his hand brushed hers, a fleeting touch that sent a spark through her. She pulled away, her walls snapping back into place. She couldn't afford to let him in-not when he could break her heart as easily as he'd kissed her.

The rest of the night passed in a haze of work, the storm's intensity forcing them to focus. Elena sent updates to the team, her emails sharp and efficient, while Lucas dove back into his code, his frustration replaced by a quiet determination. But the air between them was different now, charged with the weight of their conversation, the ghost of that kiss.

By dawn, the storm had eased slightly, the snow falling in lazy drifts. Elena stood at the office window, watching the first light paint the mountains in shades of pink and gold. Lucas joined her, his presence a quiet warmth at her side.

"We'll get through this," he said, his voice low. "The project. The storm. All of it."

She glanced at him, her heart tugging at the softness in his eyes. "Yeah," she said. "We will."

But as she turned back to the window, she knew it wasn't just the project or the storm she was worried about. It was him-Lucas Varnell, the man who was starting to feel like more than her boss, and the risk of letting him too close.