By the time Chak reached the car, I had already slipped into that quiet state where thoughts don't fully settle, where everything lingers just beneath the surface, waiting to be understood but not quite ready to be named.
I straightened slightly when I saw him approaching, pushing myself off the side of the car as he unlocked it with that same effortless precision that seemed to follow him everywhere, his focus already set, his expression composed in a way that gave nothing away to anyone who didn't know what to look for.
But I did.
I always did.
We got in without saying much at first, the soft sound of the doors closing sealing us into a space that felt separate from everything outside, quieter, more contained, like the world had been left somewhere behind us.
He started the engine, his movements smooth, controlled, and as the car pulled away from the building, I let the silence sit for a moment longer before finally turning my head slightly toward him.
"Why did you go to your office?" I asked, my tone casual, but there was curiosity in it I didn't bother to hide.
For a second, he didn't answer, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift.
Then—
"I called Phalin."
That made my brows lift almost instantly, the reaction coming before I could stop it.
"Why?" I asked, the question slipping out sharper than I intended, curiosity threading into something a little more pointed.
His gaze didn't shift from the road.
"Because she's my wife," he said simply, like it was the most obvious answer in the world, like it required no further explanation, "and there's an event tonight I assumed she would attend."
Something in my chest tightened at that, subtle but there, impossible to ignore even if I wanted to.
I looked at him for a moment, studying the calm in his expression, the way nothing about him seemed affected by the weight of those words.
"She's not going?" I asked after a beat, my voice quieter now, more careful.
"No," he replied.
A brief pause followed before he added, almost as an afterthought—
"She's going somewhere else."
I didn't ask where.
I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
The silence stretched for a moment, but it didn't feel uncomfortable, just filled with things neither of us felt the need to push further.
Then his voice cut through it again, steady, grounded.
"You're coming," he said.
I blinked, turning my head toward him fully this time.
"With you?"
He nodded once.
"You're my assistant."
The words were simple, professional, almost detached—but they didn't land that way.
Not after everything.
"Of course," I said, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips despite myself, something warmer settling beneath the surface of that answer.
"And the other four?" I asked, leaning back slightly in my seat, watching him more closely now.
"I haven't decided yet," he said.
There was a pause, and then a thought crossed my mind, quick but clear.
"What about Anamarija?" I asked, glancing at him. "She might actually like something like that."
This time, his gaze flickered toward me briefly, considering.
"You're right," he said after a second. "She would."
A small shift in his posture followed, subtle but noticeable.
"I'll call Vikran later."
I nodded, settling back again, letting the conversation fade naturally as the car continued forward, the city slowly giving way to something quieter, more familiar.
By the time we reached the house, the tension from earlier had softened into something steadier, something that didn't press as much but hadn't disappeared either.
It stayed.
Just beneath everything.
We stepped out of the car, the warm air carrying that quiet calm that always seemed to settle once we left everything else behind.
He unlocked the door, and we stepped inside together, the soft click of it closing behind us marking a clear shift from the outside world to something far more private.
More ours.
I didn't move further into the space right away.
Instead, I leaned back against the wall near the entrance, letting the moment stretch just enough, watching him as he moved a step ahead before turning back slightly, as if already aware I hadn't followed.
A small smile curved at my lips, slow, deliberate, the kind I didn't bother hiding.
"Chaky," I said, my voice softer now, laced with something unmistakably playful, something that didn't belong to the office, to the meeting, to anything outside these walls.
"Let's continue where we left off this morning."
The words settled between us, light in tone but carrying something deeper underneath, something that didn't need to be explained.
I held his gaze.
Waiting.
Not uncertain.
Just… knowing.
Chak didn't hesitate.
The moment the words left my lips, something in his expression shifted—not losing control, never that, but softening in a way that felt almost indulgent, like he was allowing himself this, allowing me.
He stepped closer, closing the distance between us with slow, deliberate certainty, his gaze never leaving mine.
"With pleasure," he said quietly.
And before I could respond, before I could even fully process the way his voice dropped just slightly on those words, his hands were on me—steady, sure—as he lifted me effortlessly off the ground.
A small breath escaped me, half surprise, half instinct, my hands moving to his shoulders without thinking as he carried me through the space, not toward the living room, not toward anywhere distant—
but straight into the kitchen.
He set me down on the kitchen island with the same controlled ease, his hands lingering just a second longer than necessary before pulling back, just enough to look at me again.
And then he leaned in.
The kiss wasn't rushed.
It wasn't desperate.
It was slow, deliberate, like everything else he did, his hand coming up to rest lightly at my side, grounding me there as his lips moved against mine with quiet certainty.
I leaned into it without hesitation, responding just as naturally, letting the moment settle, deepen—
and then I pulled back slightly, just enough to break it.
"I'm hungry," I murmured, my voice softer now, the words brushing between us.
For a second, he just looked at me.
Then something almost amused flickered in his eyes.
"I'll cook," he said calmly, as if it had already been decided, "and you'll stay right there and watch me."
I tilted my head slightly, a small smile forming before I nodded.
"Okay."
He didn't wait for anything more.
Turning away, he moved around the kitchen with that same quiet efficiency, sleeves pushed back slightly, hands already reaching for ingredients, for utensils, for everything he needed without hesitation, like the space belonged to him just as much as the boardroom had.
And I stayed exactly where he told me to.
Sitting on the island.
Watching him.
I didn't even try to hide it.
My gaze followed every movement, every shift of his hands, the way he worked with calm precision, focused but not distant, present in a way that felt different from how he carried himself anywhere else.
Every now and then, he'd step closer.
Just for a second.
Just enough to lean in and press a brief kiss against my lips, or the corner of my mouth, or my temple—
and then he'd pull away again, returning to what he was doing like nothing had interrupted him at all.
But it had.
And we both knew it.
Time passed like that, quiet, steady, filled with small moments that didn't need to be named, until the soft sounds of cooking faded and the scent of food settled into the space around us.
When he finished, he didn't say anything right away.
He just turned back to me.
And then, just like before, he stepped closer and lifted me again without effort, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
I let out a quiet breath, my hands settling against him as he carried me the short distance to the table, setting me down carefully into the chair.
This time, he didn't linger.
He moved around to the other side and took his seat across from me, the shift subtle but clear—back to something steadier, something quieter.
Plates were already set.
Food still warm.
For a moment, we just looked at each other.
Then, without needing to say anything, we started eating.
Simple.
Calm.
But underneath it—
everything from before was still there.
Before he could close that last bit of distance himself, I moved first.
It wasn't rushed, not clumsy or uncertain, just a quiet, deliberate shift as I stepped into him and let myself settle onto his lap, the movement natural in a way that surprised even me, like I had already decided before my mind had time to catch up.
His hands found me instantly.
Of course they did.
Steady at my waist, grounding me there without hesitation, without question, like there was nowhere else I was supposed to be.
I looked at him, close enough now to see every small shift in his expression, every controlled breath that wasn't quite as even as before, and a slow smile curved at my lips.
"Time for dessert," I murmured, my voice softer now, edged with something playful, something that didn't belong to the world outside this space.
His gaze didn't leave mine.
"Fifteen minutes," he said calmly, but there was a quiet weight beneath it, something measured, something intentional. "Before we go back to the office."
I held his gaze for a second longer, then let my hand lift, my fingers brushing lightly against the front of his shirt, tracing slowly downward, unhurried, feeling the fabric beneath my touch.
"That's enough," I replied just as softly.
The words settled between us, simple, certain, carrying more than they needed to.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
And then his grip tightened slightly at my waist, pulling me just a fraction closer, his control still there, always there—but thinner now, like something he was choosing not to hold onto as tightly as before.
My fingers continued their slow path along his shirt, not teasing, not rushed, just aware, deliberate, every small movement drawing the moment out instead of pushing it forward too quickly.
His gaze dropped briefly, following the motion, before lifting back to mine again.
And this time—
there was nothing distant left in it.
His hand at my waist tightened just enough to pull me closer, closing what little distance remained between us, and this time neither of us hesitated.
The kiss came naturally.
Not rushed, not careless, but deeper than before, carrying all the quiet tension that had been building since morning, all the things we hadn't said but had felt anyway. His hand slid slightly higher along my side, steady, grounding, while I leaned into him without holding anything back.
I could feel the shift in him.
The control still there—but thinner now, softened at the edges.
My fingers moved almost on their own, tracing the line of his shirt before slipping to the first button, then the next, unfastening them slowly, one by one, not in a hurry, not trying to rush the moment but stretching it instead, letting every second settle.
He didn't stop me.
Didn't even try.
His breath shifted just slightly against mine, and when my hand finally slipped beneath the fabric, warm against his skin, the contact felt grounding in a completely different way, more real, more immediate.
The kiss deepened for a moment—
then slowed.
Not breaking completely, just easing, his forehead resting lightly against mine as the air between us steadied again.
"Careful," he murmured quietly, his voice lower now, controlled but edged with something softer, something that hadn't been there before. "You said that was enough."
A small smile formed at my lips, close enough that he could feel it.
"I did," I replied just as softly, my fingers still resting against him, not pulling away.
The pause that followed wasn't empty.
It was deliberate.
Measured.
Fifteen minutes.
And somehow—
it felt like more than enough.