The question detonated in the middle of the thirty-second floor in Midtown Manhattan like someone had dropped a grenade between the cubicles.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

Emily Carter froze with a stack of color-coded files in her hands. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, New York glittered in late-morning sunlight: yellow cabs streaming along Fifth Avenue, the gray ribbon of traffic on the FDR, the Hudson glinting in the distance. Inside the offices of Rossi Group, everything was glass, steel, and quiet power.

She had been here exactly twelve days.

Twelve days of learning which conference room was “East” and which was “Riverside.” Twelve days of reminding herself not to jump every time the CEO walked past. Twelve days of trying very, very hard not to mess up in front of the man whose name sat on the top of half the contracts in Manhattan.

And then Nico Romano, the man everyone seemed to treat like a celebrity and a walking HR violation in one, leaned his shoulder against her desk, flashed that careless grin, and dropped that question like small talk.

Emily let out a startled little laugh, the sound catching in her throat.

“Not yet,” she said.

The moment the words left her mouth, everything shifted.

Because at that exact second, the glass door at the end of the corridor opened, and Alex Rossi stepped out of his office.

He didn’t usually walk. He moved. There was something in the way his stride ate up the hallway that made people straighten automatically, as if gravity tilted toward him. Today was no different. Dark suit, white shirt, tie loosened just enough to look deliberate, not lazy. He glanced left, right, taking in the floor with a single practiced sweep—

And then he heard her.

Not yet.

He stopped like someone had hit an invisible brake.

His shoulders tensed beneath the expensive wool. His jaw clenched. Those famous dark eyes, the ones that could reduce board members to silence in seconds, locked onto Emily with a focus that made her forget how to breathe.

It lasted one heartbeat. Two.

But in that small slice of time, she felt as if she had stepped across some invisible line without meaning to, from safe neutral ground into territory marked with warning signs.

Behind her, Nico whistled low.

“Relax, boss. We’re just talking.” His tone was light, teasing. He might as well have thrown gasoline on a lit match.

Alex didn’t even look at him.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t smile. Didn’t scowl. He just kept his attention fixed on Emily, and the weight of that gaze made every nerve in her body light up.

She swallowed. She had no idea if he looked angry, confused, or both. She only knew she suddenly wanted to rewind the last thirty seconds and answer Nico with a joke about dating her coffee machine instead.

“Miss Carter,” Alex said finally, his voice low and controlled, with that faint roughness that never quite fit the polished suit. “My office. Now.”

Nico’s eyebrows shot up in delighted slow-motion.

“Oh,” he said, dragging the word out. “Someone’s jealous.”

Emily almost dropped the files.

“He’s not,” she blurted, mortified. “Please stop.”

Her cheeks burned. This couldn’t be happening in an open-plan office in Manhattan where sound traveled like gossip.

Alex didn’t comment. He just turned around and walked back toward his corner office with the kind of calm that somehow felt more dangerous than yelling.

The glass door sighed shut behind him.

Nico leaned closer, stage-whispering just loudly enough for half the floor to hear, “Don’t worry. Jealous bosses are usually the most fun.”

She hissed, “Please stop talking,” and hurried after Alex.

Inside his office, Manhattan sprawled beneath the windows like a living photograph: the silver of high-rises, the thin slice of Central Park in the distance, the specks of people on the sidewalks far below. The door clicked shut, quiet but final.

Alex stood near his desk, arms crossed, tie slightly loosened, looking like a storm had parked itself behind his eyes.

He didn’t speak right away.

He just watched her.

Emily shifted her weight, suddenly hyper-aware of her shoes, her posture, the way she was still clutching the files like a shield. Her pulse thudded in her ears.

“You seem distracted,” Alex said at last.

“I’m not,” she answered too quickly. “Nico was just being Nico.”

“That’s exactly the problem.”

The words came out sharper than he seemed to intend. Even he looked surprised by his own tone. His jaw flexed; he closed his eyes for half a second, as if trying to pull himself back under control.

A billionaire trying to get a grip on his feelings. Over her.

Ridiculous.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked carefully.

He massaged his forehead once, then let his hand fall.

“No.” A beat. “But you should avoid conversations like that during work hours.”

“Conversations like what?” she asked, though she knew perfectly well what he meant.

His mouth tightened. He opened it, closed it, searched for non-ridiculous phrasing and found none. For the first time since she’d started here, the man whose name appeared in financial sections across the country looked…uncomfortable.

For some insane reason, it made her want to smile.

“Are you seriously upset because someone asked me if I have a boyfriend?” she ventured, keeping the laughter in her throat.

“No,” he said too fast.

“So you’re not upset,” she pressed, unable to stop herself.

“I didn’t say that either.”

She turned away under the pretense of straightening the files on the credenza to hide the small, traitorous smile tugging at her mouth. This was absurd. The most powerful man on the floor was irritated because she’d answered a personal question? No one had ever reacted like that over her.

He walked around his desk and sat down, but even seated, he filled the room. The city lights behind him were just a backdrop to his presence.

He tapped his fingers once on the polished dark wood.

“We have a meeting in thirty minutes,” he said, reverting to business mode. “You’ll take notes. Stay close during the presentation. They like to throw unexpected questions.”

“Yes, sir.”

She stepped nearer to take the folder he offered. Their fingers brushed.

It was nothing—just skin against skin for the briefest second—but it hit like static. She stilled. He did, too. His gaze flicked down to where their hands touched before he cleared his throat and withdrew.

“I’ll be ready,” she said quietly.

He gave a short nod, but his jaw had tightened again.

His reactions made no sense.

The meeting was intense in the way deals in Manhattan usually were: high stakes hidden under polite smiles, numbers disguised as casual suggestions. Alex spoke with that calm authority that made entire rooms fall silent. Emily stood at his right shoulder, sliding papers toward him before he asked, anticipating needs he never voiced.

She didn’t miss the moment one of the other executives glanced toward her with thinly veiled curiosity, or the warning look Alex shot him in response.

When they stepped back into the hallway a little later, the air felt thinner, colder. Alex turned to her as the conference room door closed behind them.

“You handled it well,” he said.

“Thank you,” she replied, keeping her voice level. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“You didn’t.”

For the first time that day, his tone softened. It brushed over her like a warm hand.

“You’re better than most people who’ve had this job for years.”

Heat spread low in her stomach. She hoped he couldn’t see the small smile she tried to hide.

They walked back toward her workstation. The moment they turned the corner, Nico appeared as if summoned by their joint breathing, leaning against her desk like it belonged to him.

“Back already?” he said. “Emily, I still didn’t get an answer.”

She blinked. “I did answer.”

“No, no,” he said, wagging a finger. “You answered whether you have a boyfriend. I didn’t ask why you don’t have one.”

Emily opened her mouth, but Alex stepped forward so quickly she barely processed the movement.

“Nico,” he said sharply. “Find something productive to do.”

Nico raised both hands in surrender.

“Hey, I’m just talking.”

“Talk somewhere else.”

For the first time since she’d met him, Nico shut up. He gave Emily a quick wink—this-is-trouble-but-the-adorable-kind—and peeled himself off the desk.

“Fine, fine. I know when I’m not wanted.” He sauntered away.

Emily stood in the middle of it, unsure if she should apologize for something that wasn’t actually her fault.

Alex looked at her. Then away. Then back.

“You can take your lunch break early,” he said.

“Are you sure? I still have—”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat lightly. “Go. Eat. Rest.”

She hesitated one more second, then nodded. She grabbed her bag, tried not to think about how she could feel his gaze on her as she walked toward the elevators, and disappeared behind the closing doors.

When the metallic panels slid shut, Alex was left alone with his reflection and the faint echo of Nico’s earlier voice drifting down the corridor.

“Boss, if you like the girl, maybe don’t glare at every man who breathes near her.”

“Get out,” Alex shouted without turning.

Nico’s laughter bounced off the stairwell walls.

Alex ran a hand through his hair, muttered something under his breath that he would deny later, and went back into his office.

Emily came back from lunch determined to act like none of it had rattled her. She needed this job. She didn’t want office gossip. She absolutely did not want to be the girl people whispered about in HR meetings.

When she walked in, the floor hummed with its usual quiet symphony: fingers on keyboards, low voices, the occasional ring of a phone. She dropped her bag, turned toward Alex’s glass office—

—and froze.

He was sitting at his desk, not looking at his laptop or the skyline, but at something small in his hand. A picture frame. The light caught the edge of it, just enough for her to see the glint of glass before he snapped it shut and slid it back into his drawer like he’d been caught.

When he noticed her in the reflection of the glass wall, he stood almost too quickly.

“Everything okay?” Emily asked softly.

“Yes.” The word came out too sharp, too fast. Then his shoulders lowered a fraction. “Just…old memories.”

She didn’t push.

He handed her another stack of documents.

“I’ll need you to stay late today. We have a lot to prepare.”

“No problem.”

Their hands brushed again. This time, neither of them stepped away immediately. The contact lingered for a beat too long before they both moved, as if by silent agreement.

“Emily,” Alex said suddenly.

She looked up. “Yes?”

He studied her, something intense and almost vulnerable flickering behind his usual steel.

He opened his mouth—

“Boss!”

The door burst open. Nico slid into the room like a human interruption.

“We have an issue downstairs. Oh. Sorry.” His grin curved. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your moment.”

Alex glared.

“Nico. Out.”

“Right. Right. I’ll just…” Nico backed out, hands raised. “Pretend I saw nothing.”

The door closed.

Emily let a laugh escape under her breath, trying to defuse the charged air.

Alex didn’t laugh.

His face had shifted back to that guarded neutrality that made people forget he was human.

“We’ll talk later,” he said.

Her heart skipped for reasons that had nothing to do with payroll.

“About what?” she wanted to ask, but he was already turning back to his desk.

She managed a nod, swallowed the dozen questions buzzing under her skin, and retreated to her small station just outside his glass walls.

“Emily,” he called just as she reached her chair.

She looked back.

He held her gaze for a few long seconds, something unspoken strung tight between them.

“Stay close today,” he said quietly.

A shiver slid down her spine.

She didn’t know what he meant exactly, but she knew she would.

That evening, after most of the floor had emptied out and Manhattan’s sky had shifted from blue to navy, the office lights reflected back across the glass like a second weaker city. Emily stayed at her desk, highlighting lines, cross-checking figures, the soft hum of ventilation filling the silence.

Through the glass, she heard his voice.

He wasn’t speaking in his meeting voice. This one was lower, rougher.

“I said I don’t want her involved,” Alex said. “No. She has nothing to do with this.”

The words snapped her highlighter mid-stroke. She stilled.

Nothing to do with what?

Nico’s voice drifted faintly from the speaker, but she couldn’t catch the full sentences—just her own name, a pause, then static.

A minute later, Alex’s door opened.

He looked different. More serious, less polished, like some internal switch had flipped.

“Emily,” he said quietly. “Come in.”

Her heart started pounding before she even stood.

Something was happening.

She walked into his office. He closed the door behind her gently, and the outside world faded into the background hum of the city.

“Sit,” he said.

She sat. He didn’t, not right away. He leaned his hands on the desk, looking at her like he was weighing prices against actions.

“There’s something you should know,” he said.

Her throat went dry. “About what?”

About us, she thought.

About this tension, this invisible pull, this ridiculous thing where I can tell when you step out of the elevator without looking up.

Alex hesitated. The pause stretched, filled with the muted glow of Manhattan beyond the windows.

Then he chose his words carefully.

“There are people watching this building,” he said. “Watching my department. Watching the people around me.”

Emily blinked. “People?”

“Because of business disputes,” he said. “Nothing you caused. Nothing you’re involved in. But when someone works near me, they might attract attention.”

She tried to absorb that.

Business disputes. The kind that made security guards on the ground floor look like ex-military and black SUVs appear on the curb a little too often.

“So why tell me now?” she asked. Her voice sounded small even to herself.

His jaw tightened.

“Because you heard your name on the call,” he said. “And because—” He lowered his voice a fraction. “You need to know how to stay safe.”

Safe.

This was not in the job description.

“Are you saying I’m in danger just for working here?” she whispered.

“No.” His tone was firm, steady. “I’m saying I won’t allow anything to reach you.”

There it was again. That protective pull. It wrapped around her like a second skin and made it hard to remember this man was technically her boss.

“But…why me?” Emily asked, almost against her own will.

His eyes softened, just a little.

“Because you matter,” he said.

Her breath caught.

He seemed to realize what he’d admitted at the same time she did. His expression didn’t change much, but something raw passed through his eyes and was gone.

He came around the desk, not looming, but close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his body. He leaned against the edge, folding his arms again, posture deceptively casual.

“They’re not after you,” he said. “They’re after opportunities. They look for weaknesses. I don’t want them looking at you.”

“Do they know who I am?” she asked.

“No. And they won’t.”

He paused.

“I’ve made sure of that.”

A chill swept down her spine.

She didn’t know exactly what that meant, or what strings he’d pulled, but she believed him.

He held her gaze for a long moment. She held his back, searching for something solid in his expression, something she could lean on.

Instead she found that same quiet longing, like a storm held behind a glass wall.

“Let’s not make this heavier than it needs to be,” he said finally, exhaling. “I just need you to stay close. No unnecessary errands alone. No leaving the building with people you don’t know. If you need anything, you come to me.”

Emily nodded.

“Okay,” she said.

“Good.”

He sounded relieved and tense at the same time.

A silence settled between them, thick but not hostile. She stood to ease the stiffness in her legs.

“Do you need anything else tonight?” she asked.

“Yes.”

The answer came so quickly it startled her. Her heart jumped.

He didn’t move closer. Didn’t touch her. But his eyes softened in a way that made her forget the city behind him.

“I need you to stop looking at me like you’re scared of me,” he said.

“I’m not scared of you,” she replied, surprised.

“You look like you might run.”

She let out a small, nervous laugh. “I’m not running. I’m just…processing.”

He nodded once.

“Fair enough.”

He stepped aside, giving her space to leave. As she walked past him, his arm brushed hers. It was nothing. It was everything. They both froze for half a second.

She looked up.

He was already looking down.

The air between them snapped tight, humming.

Alex swallowed, stepped back with clear effort, and let the tension melt from his shoulders by pure force of will.

“Good night, Emily,” he said.

“Good night.”

She walked out, fingers tingling, mind buzzing. She sat at her desk, gathered her things with hands that wouldn’t quite stay steady, forgot her pen, went back, pretended she hadn’t.

When she glanced up one last time before heading to the elevator, she caught him standing in the middle of his office, watching her through the glass, expression too intense to hold for more than a second.

The next morning, Emily arrived even earlier than usual. The streets of Midtown were still waking up when she came out of the subway: coffee carts steaming on corners, taxis honking impatiently, the wind knifing down the avenues. Her cheap coat wasn’t made for Manhattan winters, but adrenaline kept her warm.

She wanted to be composed.

She wanted to ignore the fact she’d barely slept, replaying one sentence over and over in her head.

Because you matter.

She put her bag down, opened her laptop, and tried to breathe normally.

“Morning, Miss Carter.”

She nearly launched out of her chair.

“Nico,” she groaned, hand over her chest. “One day, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“That’s the plan,” he said cheerfully, perching on the corner of her desk. Then he frowned slightly, studying her face. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said automatically.

“You’re typing like the keyboard borrowed money from you and never paid it back.”

She glanced down. His observation was not wrong.

“I’m just tired,” she muttered.

Nico arched a brow. “Did the boss talk to you last night?”

She hesitated. “He…explained some things.”

“That you should stay close?” Nico asked. “He glared at you with that I care but will never say it out loud face, you got nervous, he went quiet, you both stared too long?”

Her mouth dropped. “How do you know that?”

Nico tapped his temple. “Gifted.”

“That’s not a gift,” she said faintly.

“No, seriously.” His voice turned just a shade more serious. “It’s always the same when he likes someone.”

She inhaled wrong and choked on air.

“He doesn’t—”

Nico smirked. “Right. And I’m a dentist.”

The elevator dinged down the hall.

Alex stepped out in a navy suit and crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to show his wrists, tie loosened just enough to suggest long hours. His hair was a fraction less perfect than usual. Somehow that made things worse.

Nico leaned toward her.

“Careful,” he whispered. “Your face is turning pink.”

“Nico,” she hissed.

“Good morning, Emily,” Alex said as he reached her desk.

Her pen slipped from her fingers and rolled onto the floor. She dropped to grab it, misjudged the distance, and smacked her forehead on the edge of the desk.

“Great,” she mumbled.

“You okay?” Alex stepped closer, concern darkening his eyes.

“Yes,” she squeaked, rubbing the spot.

His hand lifted halfway like he wanted to touch her. Then, as if remembering that he was supposed to be a professional and not a man who wanted to smooth away the pain, he let it fall.

“You didn’t sleep,” he observed quietly.

“How do you know?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“You look tired.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it when his tone gentled.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he added. “It’s just true.”

He handed her a folder.

“Meeting in an hour. You’ll sit beside me.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

He started toward his office, then stopped and looked back.

“If anything feels off today,” he said, voice dropping so only she could hear, “you tell me. Immediately.”

She nodded again, the back of her neck tingling.

As the morning unfolded, the meetings came one after another. In the conference room with its view over Midtown, Emily sat at Alex’s right hand. He commanded the table with calm, controlled authority. She passed him documents, answered quick factual questions, made notes while senior partners argued about percentages.

At one tense point, Alex leaned close, the crisp cotton of his shirt brushing her arm.

“Slide me the last contract draft,” he murmured, breath warm against her ear.

She swallowed and obeyed. His fingers lingered for a heartbeat when they took the paper from hers. He looked at her for one slow second too long, then turned back to the investor as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Across the table, Nico caught her eye and silently mouthed, wow.

She kicked him under the table.

Later, when she stepped into the hallway to get some air, Alex appeared beside her as if he’d been tracking her escape route.

“You did well,” he said. “Again.”

“Thank you.”

“You look overwhelmed,” he added.

“No, I—” She stopped. Lying to him always felt useless. “I’m adjusting.”

He nodded, like he understood more than she said.

“If this is too much—”

“It’s not,” she cut in. “I want to be here.”

Something in his expression unknotted at that.

He looked at her like someone staring at the one thing they know they shouldn’t touch, but couldn’t stop reaching for.

“Boss! I’m starving!” Nico’s voice echoed down the hall. “Who’s buying lunch?”

Emily jumped.

Alex closed his eyes briefly, as if bargaining with a higher power for patience.

“Nico,” he said, not turning.

“What?” Nico said, appearing like a summoned cartoon. “Oh, am I interrupting? Again? My bad. Proceed. I’ll walk backwards.”

“If you don’t leave right now,” Alex said quietly, “you’ll be buying everyone lunch for the rest of the month.”

“I see myself out,” Nico declared, vanishing.

Emily bit back a laugh.

“Ignore him,” Alex said.

“I try,” she replied.

He inhaled, seemed to make a decision.

“Stay close after lunch,” he said. “There’s something I want to discuss.”

“Of course.”

His eyes lingered on her face, softer, warmer, then he nodded and went back into his office.

At lunch, Emily headed toward the elevators thinking of nothing more complicated than a sandwich from the lobby café. She pressed the button, watched the numbers drop, and didn’t notice Alex until he stepped up beside her.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

She blinked. “Just downstairs. For lunch.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“Why?”

“I need coffee,” he said too quickly.

“He never drinks coffee at noon,” Nico muttered somewhere behind them.

Alex didn’t turn. “I do today.”

They rode down together. She pretended not to notice how he repositioned himself so he was between her and the door. The lobby café hummed with mid-day energy: suits, laptops, the smell of espresso. Emily ordered a sandwich. Alex ordered water.

“I thought you wanted coffee,” she said.

“I changed my mind.”

“You followed me,” she said slowly.

He looked away, then back.

“Fine,” he said quietly. “Maybe a little.”

Her cheeks warmed. She tried not to smile and failed.

They sat at a corner table. She unwrapped her sandwich. He watched the room, the way he always did: eyes scanning faces, exits, movements.

“You’re doing it again,” she said.

“Doing what?”

“Looking around like you’re waiting for someone to jump out from behind the pastry case.”

His jaw flexed, but his voice stayed gentle.

“I’m keeping an eye on things.”

“Why does it matter so much?” she asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Then, as if the words were pulled from somewhere deeper than he wanted to admit, he said, “Because you matter.”

Her heart stuttered.

She didn’t have time to reply.

A man in a suit walked by, lingering on her face for a second too long. Alex saw it. His entire posture sharpened.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t like how he looked at you.”

“Alex, he just—”

“Emily.” He rarely said her name like that: quiet, firm, laced with something that wasn’t business. “Please.”

The please unraveled whatever protest she had lined up.

They went back up. She followed him into his office without needing to be asked.

The moment the door clicked shut, his shoulders dropped, like he could finally exhale.

“Emily,” he said. “We need to clear something up.”

Her heart pounded. “Okay.”

He took a step closer, careful, measured. He wasn’t looming. He was closing distance.

“When Nico flirted with you yesterday,” he said, “I didn’t handle it well.”

Understatement of the year.

“You were jealous,” she said quietly.

He inhaled, held it, and then let the truth out.

“Yes.”

The honesty hit harder than any denial would have.

“I shouldn’t have been,” he added. “You’re free to talk to anyone. But when I heard you say ‘Not yet’…”

Her breath caught.

“What did that mean to you?” she asked.

“That you weren’t with anyone,” he replied simply. His eyes darkened. “And I reacted.”

“Alex,” she whispered. “It’s…hard for me too.”

He stilled. The confession seemed to slam into him.

He raised a hand slowly, deliberately, giving her time to step back. She didn’t. His fingertips brushed a strand of hair back from her face. The touch was feather-light, almost reverent, not the kind of gesture anyone would expect from a man who made million-dollar decisions before breakfast.

Their faces were close enough that she could feel his breath. He looked at her lips once, then back to her eyes.

“Emily,” he murmured.

She didn’t move.

The air thickened, warmed. One step, one tilt of his head, and he would—

A knock exploded through the moment.

Alex closed his eyes in pure, concentrated frustration.

“Boss!” Nico’s voice sing-songed from the other side. “There’s something you need to see downstairs.”

“This better be important,” Alex said through his teeth.

“Oh, it is,” Nico replied. “And it’s about her.”

Emily’s heart dropped.

Alex’s expression snapped into something else entirely: protective, focused, colder around the edges.

“Stay here,” he told her. “Don’t move.”

He left with the same controlled urgency she’d seen in crisis-heavy meetings. The door closed. His presence left a crackling silence behind.

Emily stood in the center of the office, pulse racing, staring at the door like it might tell her what was happening.

Minutes ticked. Too many.

When the elevator dinged again, she jumped.

Alex came back. Only it wasn’t boardroom-calm Alex or jealous-boss Alex. It was a version of him she hadn’t seen before: eyes heavy with a truth he clearly didn’t want to carry alone anymore.

He closed the door behind him.

“Emily,” he said softly. “We need to talk about your past.”

Her fingers tightened around the edge of his desk.

“My past?” she repeated.

“Yes.”

He removed his jacket, laying it neatly over the chair, buying himself three more seconds to organize his thoughts. Then he stepped closer.

“Before I say anything,” he began, voice low, “I want you to remember this: you did nothing wrong. None of this is your fault.”

Her stomach knotted.

“You’re scaring me,” she whispered.

“I’m trying not to.” His tone gentled. “But I also won’t lie to you.”

He walked to the window. Manhattan stretched beyond him in late-afternoon gold, the Empire State Building a familiar spike in the distance, the river catching the light.

“Someone downstairs recognized your last name,” he said. “Not because of you. Because of something that happened years ago. Something involving your father.”

Emily’s breath hitched.

“My father?”

“Yes.”

“No,” she said quickly. “He left when I was little. I barely knew him. Whatever he did…it has nothing to do with me.”

“I know.” Alex turned to look at her fully. “That’s exactly why I’m telling you. Because someone else might try to use that connection to get to me.”

She sank into the nearest chair, dizzy.

“What connection?” she asked.

For a man who always had answers, Alex suddenly looked almost hesitant.

“Your father once worked near a family that opposed mine,” he said carefully. “Not directly for them. But close enough.” His jaw tightened slightly. “When things went bad, he disappeared to protect you and your mother.”

Emily stared at him.

“He protected us?” Her voice came out small, disbelieving.

“Yes.”

Alex came to sit on the edge of the desk across from her, leaning forward.

“Whatever he did or didn’t do ended years ago. It’s over. But some people remember names. And yours just showed up at the wrong moment.”

“So when you’ve been worried about me…” she began.

“One of the reasons,” he admitted. “Not the most important one.”

Her heart flipped.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she asked.

“Because I didn’t want you scared.” He held her gaze. “And because your father made sacrifices to keep you far from this world. I didn’t want to pull you into it by telling you things you could live without knowing.”

The puzzle pieces shifted into place. His protectiveness. The security. The way he always moved to stand between her and anything unknown.

He wasn’t trying to control her.

He was trying to shield her.

She stood slowly. He rose too. They met halfway, neither of them pretending this was just boss and assistant anymore.

“You didn’t pull me into anything,” she said quietly. “You’ve only helped me.”

He looked at her with something that was no longer restrained.

“Emily,” he said.

“I don’t want you carrying everything alone,” she whispered. Her hand hovered near his chest, then settled there, over the steady beat of his heart. “Talk to me. Don’t shut me out.”

Something in him gave. Not broken—released.

“I don’t shut you out because I want to,” he confessed. “I shut you out because if I let myself get closer…”

He stopped.

Her pulse hammered under her skin.

“I won’t be able to stop,” he finished.

Heat rushed through her.

“Then don’t stop,” she said.

His eyes darkened. His hands, which had been fisted at his sides, relaxed.

He lifted one hand and cradled her cheek gently.

She leaned into his touch.

“I’ve been trying to do the right thing,” he said quietly. “Trying to keep distance. To be your boss. To make decisions with my head. But I want you more than I want control.”

This time, she didn’t wait for him to close the space.

She rose onto her toes and kissed him.

He inhaled sharply, then answered. The kiss was slow, deep, and careful all at once, like they were both aware of the line they were crossing and had decided together to step over it. It was not a desperate collision. It was a choice.

Her fingers curled into his shirt.

His hand slid to the back of her neck, the other smoothing along her jaw. He held her like something precious, not fragile.

When they finally parted, he rested his forehead against hers, breathing unsteadily.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he murmured.

“But you did,” she whispered. “And I’m not sorry.”

He closed his eyes for a second.

“Emily, I don’t want this world to hurt you.”

“You’re not hurting me,” she said. “You’re protecting me.”

He searched her face for fear, doubt, regret. He found none.

A soft knock interrupted them. They didn’t step apart completely this time. He only lowered his hand from her cheek to her fingers.

Nico slid in with a granola bar in hand and his mouth already open.

“I knew it,” he announced. “I absolutely knew it. Greatest week of my life.”

“Nico,” Emily groaned, covering her face.

“Relax,” he said. “She kissed you first, boss. I’m a witness. I’ll testify in court. High five, sweetheart.”

“I’m going to fire you,” Alex muttered.

“No, you won’t,” Emily said under her breath.

Alex didn’t deny it.

“I need to talk to you both,” another voice said from the doorway.

Ethan, Alex’s cousin, stepped inside. His usual calm expression was tempered by something heavier.

“Because we found something about her father,” Ethan said. “And you’re both going to want to hear this.”

---

The night of the event arrived like Manhattan always did: loud, bright, and impossible to ignore.

The venue was a luxury hotel in Midtown, all chandeliers, marble, and soft jazz. Outside, black cars lined the curb under the glow of the American and state flags. Inside, the ballroom buzzed with donors, investors, and the kind of people whose last names opened doors.

Emily spent the afternoon pretending to focus on spreadsheets and failing spectacularly. By the time she went home to change, her hands shook more from nerves than from caffeine.

Her apartment in Queens was small and tidy, the opposite of Rossi Group’s polished world. She stood in front of the mirror in a simple but elegant black dress, Manhattan’s skyline a faint glow through her small window, and tried to recognize herself.

“He invited you,” she told her reflection. “On purpose.”

Her chest warmed. Her stomach flipped.

When she arrived at the hotel, Nico was on the steps as promised, leaning on the railing like security theater.

“Look at you,” he whistled. “The boss is going to faint.”

“Stop,” she said, blushing.

“Never,” he replied. “Everyone inside is already whispering that Rossi is finally bringing a plus-one. And guess who that is?”

“Me?” she guessed weakly.

“No,” he deadpanned. “The other assistant. Yes, you.”

She swatted his arm.

“You’re impossible.”

“I know,” he said happily. “Now go. He’s been checking the door every thirty seconds. It’s embarrassing, honestly.”

Her heart thudded.

She stepped into the ballroom. Light glittered off crystal, off polished shoes, off champagne flutes. The air smelled like expensive perfume and money.

And then she saw him.

Alex stood near the main table, talking to someone she recognized from a financial magazine cover. He was in black tonight, suit cut sharply, white shirt open at the collar. He turned his head as if he felt her before he saw her.

The moment his eyes landed on her, everything else blurred.

He didn’t hide it. Whatever he felt, he let it touch his face, just for her.

“You came,” he said when she reached him, voice slightly rougher than usual.

“You invited me.”

“I did,” he said, looking her over with a slow, appreciative scan that made her feel simultaneously beautiful and dangerously exposed. “And I don’t regret it.”

She smiled.

He offered his arm.

“Stay with me tonight,” he said quietly. “The whole time.”

She slid her hand into the crook of his elbow.

“I will.”

The rest of the room faded into background noise. Yes, she caught the whispers—“Is that her?” “He never brings anyone.” “Do you know who she is?”—but every time someone approached, Alex positioned himself a fraction closer to her, a steady hand at the small of her back.

At one point, while an investor droned on about a new project, Alex’s thumb brushed the inside of her wrist where her pulse beat fast. A tiny touch. Devastatingly effective.

Later, they slipped out into a quieter side corridor under the pretense of taking a call, but really because breathing was easier away from the chandeliers.

“You seem tense tonight,” she said.

“I’m staying alert.”

“Why?”

“Because there are people here who shouldn’t be,” he said. “And a few of them remember your last name.”

Her stomach knotted.

“Do you think anyone wants to hurt me?”

He turned to her so quickly she barely finished the question.

“No,” he said firmly. “No one will touch you. Not while I exist.”

The way he said it—steady, fierce, and utterly certain—sent something warm and unshakable through her.

“Alex,” she whispered.

He touched her hand again, thumb gliding over her knuckles.

“If anything happens,” he said, “you stay behind me. But I don’t expect it will. I’m only being careful.”

“I trust you,” she said.

There was a flicker in his expression, a brief flash of naked vulnerability.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

They turned to go back when a tall man in a gray suit stepped into their path.

“Rossi,” he said, smile polite and somehow threatening at the same time. “Good evening.”

Alex tensed, not with fear, but with contained irritation.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said.

The man’s gaze slid past Alex toward Emily, lingering with cool interest.

“And this is…?”

Alex stepped subtly in front of her.

“No one you need to know,” he said.

The man chuckled. “Just asking for a name. Nothing more.”

“For you, maybe,” Alex replied. “For me, it’s different.”

The man studied them for a beat, then smiled a little too wide.

“Interesting,” he said. “Seeing you so attached. Especially to someone with that last name.”

Emily’s blood ran cold.

Alex’s jaw clenched. His answering smile was sharp and dangerous.

“Walk away,” he said.

The man did. The overhead lights glinted off silver cufflinks as he melted back into the crowd.

Emily exhaled.

“What did he mean by that?” she whispered.

“He talks too much,” Alex said.

“But he said my last name like…”

“Emily.” He cupped her face gently, forcing her to look at him. “Nothing from that world defines you. He wants to provoke me, not hurt you.”

“But he knows who I am,” she said.

“And I’m here,” Alex replied. “Understand?”

Her eyes stung, not from fear, but from the intensity in his voice. The way his thumb brushed away a tear she hadn’t realized had escaped.

“Hey,” he murmured. “No crying.”

“I’m not crying,” she said, voice wobbling.

“Then come here.”

He wrapped his arms around her. She went, fitting against his chest like she’d always been meant to be there. His hand rested steady at her back, his breathing slow and even against her hair. In his arms, the noise of the ballroom dulled to a murmur.

“I don’t want to be a burden to you,” she whispered into his shirt.

“You could never be a burden,” he said. “I chose to be here.”

“Even with my last name,” she said.

He pulled back enough to look at her properly.

“I’m not in love with your last name,” he said. Direct. Honest. Raw. “I’m in love with you.”

The world stilled.

“You are?” she managed.

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “And I’m not apologizing for it.”

Her hand rose almost on its own and cupped his cheek. He leaned into her touch like it was the first pure thing he’d felt all day.

“I’m in love with you too,” she said, the truth landing between them like something that had been there for a while, just waiting to be named.

His breath hitched.

He kissed her.

This time, there was nothing cautious about it. Weeks of held-back emotion, stolen glances, aborted touches—they all crashed into that kiss. It was deep, full, claiming, but not greedy. His hands anchored her firmly; her fingers clung to his lapels.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, he rested his forehead against hers again.

“After tonight,” he said quietly, “nothing will be the same.”

“I know,” she whispered.

He was about to kiss her again when Nico appeared at the end of the hallway like a harbinger of chaos, slightly out of breath.

“Boss,” he called. “We need you. Now.”

Alex let out a low growl. “Nico, I swear—”

“It’s important,” Nico insisted, eyes flicking between them. “And it’s about her father.”

The air shifted.

Emily’s hands went cold.

Alex’s arm tightened around her shoulders automatically.

“I’m right here,” he murmured to her.

Nico drew closer, uncharacteristically serious.

“We found the full truth,” he said. “And it changes everything.”

“Everything?” she whispered.

Nico nodded. “Your life didn’t cross with his by accident, Emily. It was never coincidence.”

Alex stilled. For the first time, she saw something like dread flicker behind his control.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, voice shaking.

Nico swallowed.

“Your father didn’t just ask Alex for help,” he said. “He did something else. Something Alex never told you.”

Alex closed his eyes briefly, like a man who knew this moment was coming and had been trying to hold the door shut for as long as possible.

“Alex,” she said, the unanswered question in her voice.

“I’m going to tell you everything,” he said.

Before he could, a wave of murmurs rolled through the ballroom. Phones lit up. Someone called Alex’s name from inside with the urgent tone reserved for sudden news.

“It’s happening,” Ethan said, appearing behind Nico with his phone in hand. “His identity just went public. And hers.”

Emily’s heart dropped.

Alex turned back to her, hand warm and firm at her cheek.

“Nothing will happen to you,” he said. “But we need to leave this room. Now.”

“Why?” she managed.

“Because your father’s name was just revealed,” Ethan said grimly. “And now everyone knows who you are.”

---

They retreated to a private lounge off the main corridor, the heavy door closing out the buzz of talk and the clink of glasses. Inside, the lighting was softer, the noise distant.

“It’s everywhere,” Ethan said, scrolling through his phone. “Somebody leaked old records. Your father’s work, his disappearance, your last name. It’s on three news sites already.”

“Why now?” Emily asked, numb. “Why tonight?”

“Because someone wanted to shake him,” Nico said, nodding toward Alex. “And you’re the one thing they figured might actually do it.”

Alex ignored them. His focus was entirely on her. He took both her hands in his.

“Listen to me,” he said. “None of that changes who you are. Not to me. Not to the people who matter.”

“I don’t want to ruin your reputation,” she whispered.

He actually laughed—soft, incredulous.

“Emily, I run Rossi Group in Manhattan. Half the city thinks I have no weaknesses. The other half thinks I’m the reason their deals fall apart. My reputation has survived far worse than being in love.”

The word hung there, steady and sure.

“Your father came to me years ago,” Alex continued. “He wanted out. He wanted you and your mother safe. He asked for help.”

“You met him?” she asked, voice barely audible.

“Yes,” he said. “He was desperate. But he was clear about one thing: he didn’t want this world anywhere near you. He asked me to help him disappear so you could grow up far away from all of it.”

Tears burned at the back of her eyes.

“What promise?” she asked, throat tight.

Alex held her gaze and answered with quiet finality.

“That if life ever brought you near me again, I would protect you, no matter what it cost.”

The room seemed to tilt.

“And you never told me,” she said.

“Because I didn’t want you to feel obligated,” he said softly. “I didn’t want you to feel like your life was tied to a decision your father made in a panic. I wanted you to stay here because you chose to, not because you thought you owed me something.”

Emotion swelled in her chest, full and heavy.

“Why now?” she asked. “Why tell me everything now?”

“Because they made it public,” Ethan said quietly. “And they did it to get to him through you. So now we stop letting them define the narrative.”

“I meant what I said earlier,” Alex told her. “I love you. That doesn’t change because someone posted your last name online. If anything, it makes my promise more important.”

She stepped closer, laying her forehead against his.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything you did for him. For me. For not telling me until I was ready to hear it.”

His arms came around her, steady and strong.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said into her hair. “Just stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. And she meant it.

Nico cleared his throat theatrically from somewhere behind them.

“Not to ruin the heartfelt movie moment, but the press is very eager outside, boss. What’s the move?”

Alex kept one hand in Emily’s, turned to Ethan and Nico with the other part of his life, and said, “We walk out together.”

Emily blinked. “Together?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m not hiding you. Not from anyone.”

Ethan nodded, something like pride in his eyes. Nico looked almost impressed.

“Well, damn,” he muttered. “He’s really doing it.”

Alex guided her toward the door. Just before they stepped out, he leaned down to her ear.

“If at any point you want to leave,” he murmured, “squeeze my hand. I’ll walk you out myself.”

She squeezed his hand.

Not to leave.

To say: I’m with you.

He smiled—a real, wide smile she’d never seen on him in the office.

When they stepped back into the ballroom, conversation stuttered. Heads turned. People who’d only ever seen Alex attend alone watched as he crossed the polished floor holding the hand of the woman whose name now flashed on their phones.

Someone whispered, “Is that her?”

Another replied, “He brought her out himself. That answers that.”

Emily’s pulse raced, but Alex’s grip was steady. His presence at her side turned whispers into nothing more than distant static.

“I told you,” he murmured under his breath, lips barely moving. “No one touches you.”

She lifted her chin. For the first time, she didn’t feel small under their scrutiny. She felt…chosen.

Later, after the questions had been dodged and the necessary statements made, after the car had slipped away from Midtown’s lights and into the slightly quieter streets above, Alex took her not back to her apartment, but to his penthouse in a glass tower overlooking the Hudson.

He didn’t drag her. He didn’t insist. He simply asked, “Come up with me. Just to talk. To breathe.”

She said yes because that was all she’d been doing since she met him—stepping into new spaces that terrified her and finding him already there, ready to catch her.

The elevator doors opened into a living room full of windows. Manhattan stretched out in all directions, a sea of lights and steel under the night sky. The Statue of Liberty was a small, glowing shape in the distance. The city pulsed silently beyond the glass.

Alex flicked on a few lamps, casting everything in warm gold instead of cold white.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. Then, because she’d promised herself she’d be honest with him, “Better than okay.”

He exhaled, as if he’d been holding his breath for hours.

He walked up to her slowly, giving her space to retreat. She didn’t.

“Emily,” he said. “I want a life with you. A real one. Not halfway. Not hidden. Not you worrying that every step toward me pulls you deeper into something you didn’t choose.”

Her chest tightened in the best possible way.

“I want that too,” she said. “With you.”

He kissed her again, softer this time, like a vow instead of a confession. His hands framed her face; hers rested over his heart. The warmth between them felt earned rather than stolen.

He pulled back just enough to speak.

“Move in with me,” he said.

She blinked. “Really?”

“Yes.” The word held no hesitation. “Stay here. Not as my assistant. Not just as someone I need to protect. As the woman I love.”

Her lungs forgot their job for a second.

“We’ll announce your new position tomorrow,” he went on. “Something you deserve. Something that lets you grow. You’re wasted running after other people’s notes.”

“Alex…” she said.

He smiled. The worry in his eyes didn’t fully disappear, but it shifted into something else. Hope.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he said. “Just know that my home is open to you. My life is open to you. All of it.”

She didn’t make him wait.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll stay.”

Relief loosened his shoulders visibly. He wrapped her in his arms and held her like he never wanted to let go.

Later, they stood together in front of the huge windows. Emily leaned back against his chest, his arms around her waist. Manhattan glowed below like a restless galaxy. The Hudson traced a darker line through it all.

“Emily Carter,” he said quietly, resting his chin lightly on her head. “You changed everything.”

She tilted her face up toward him.

“For better?” she asked.

“For the best,” he said.

She smiled and nestled against him again, her fingers tangling with his where they rested over her heart.

After a moment, he asked, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“What were you thinking the moment Nico asked if you had a boyfriend?” he said. “Right there on the thirty-second floor, Midtown Manhattan, with half the office listening.”

She laughed softly, the memory replaying in vibrant detail now that she knew what it had set in motion.

“That I definitely didn’t,” she said. “But maybe I was interested in someone.”

“Someone?” he repeated, lips curving as if he didn’t already know.

She turned in his arms and kissed him gently.

“The man who snapped when he heard it,” she whispered against his mouth.

He shook his head with a quiet smile and pulled her closer, kissing her again as the city outside continued to pulse and glitter beneath them.

New York kept moving. People kept talking. Headlines kept spinning.

But inside that glass-walled penthouse overlooking the Hudson, in the warm circle of his arms, Emily finally felt what she had never felt in any apartment, on any train, under any fluorescent light on any office floor.

Unshakable.

Protected.

Chosen.

A love no one could touch.