I step inside anyway, the bell chiming above the door, the familiar scent of incense and polished stone settling me. Gothic calm. My sanctuary.
“Morning, boss,” Roxy chirps from the desk, and then her voice trails off, and she freezes. Her eyes lift slowly, and then widen in a way that makes my stomach drop.
I feel the shift instantly. That instinctive pause women make—the silent, visceraloh.
Roxy stands, smoothing her skirt, her cheeks flushing as her gaze drags openly over Drago’s broad shoulders, his tailored suit, the quiet menace that clings to him like a second skin.
“Uh… hi,” she says, blinking like she’s forgotten how speech works.
Drago gives her a polite nod.
“Roxy,” I say quickly, forcing brightness into my voice, “this is… Drago.”
Just Drago. Nothing else. There isn’t a title that would explain him anyway.
“Nice to meet you,” she says, extending her hand, still staring like she’s fighting the urge to gawk.
Drago takes it briefly.
“Likewise.” His accent slips through just enough to make her swallow.
“Wow,” she says, then clears her throat. “Do you… Need anything? Coffee? Water? I mean?—”
I shoot her a look.
She winces. “Right. Professional.”
Drago’s mouth twitches, the smallest hint of amusement flickering before it’s gone.
“I’ll be with Lily,” he says calmly.
Notfor now. Notif needed. With.
Roxy nods immediately. “Of course. Totally. Take all the time you need.”
Inside my office, I drop my bag onto the chair and move straight to my desk, suddenly desperate for routine. My laptop boots up, the quiet hum grounding me in a way my body desperately needs.
Drago closes the door behind him, then locks it. The sound clicks too loudly in the room.
I turn slowly. “You know you don’t have to?—”
“I do,” he says evenly.
He stays by the door, arms folding across his chest, his gaze sweeping the room like he’s mapping exits, angles, and blind spots. Like this space is already a battlefield. In reality, it’s just a lot of windows and a security feed in the corner.
I sit, fingers hovering over the keyboard, trying to breathe normally.
And then I feel it.
His attention isn’t constant or obvious, but it’s there all the same. Every time I shift in my chair. Every time I tuck my hair behind my ear. Every time I lean forward to type.
I catch him glancing up. Watching. Not my body, not like that. My face. My reactions. My breath.
It’s maddening.
I clear my throat. “You can sit, you know.”
“I’m fine.”
