His hand is on my thigh.
Warm. Possessive. Moving slowly upward with deliberate intent that makes my entire nervous system stand at attention.
I'm still sitting on his desk. He's still standing between my legs. The city lights are still glittering behind him. Everything is exactly as it was before the phone interrupted us.
Except now there's no pretense. No excuse. No thin justification about work or strategy or professional boundaries.
This is exactly what it looks like.
"Tell me to stop, Bella." His voice is rough, barely controlled. "Tell me you don't want this. Tell me to walk away."
I should. Every rational part of my brain is screaming at me to push him away, to stand up, to leave this office and never come back.
But I don't move.
I don't say anything.
My silence is answer enough.
His hand slides higher, and I feel my breath catch. His eyes are locked on mine, watching every micro-expression, reading every response my body gives him.
"I've been thinking about this for three years." His other hand finds my waist, steadying me. "Every late night working together. Every time you challenged me. Every moment you looked at me like I was just a man instead of your boss. I've been imagining what it would be like to finally touch you like this."
His fingers trace patterns against my skin through the fabric of my skirt. Not quite crossing the line, but making his intentions crystal clear.
"Three years of watching you. Learning you. Waiting for you to stop running." His voice drops lower. "And now you're finally here. Finally letting me show you what I've wanted to do since the moment you walked into my life."
I'm trembling. My hands grip the edge of the desk so tightly my knuckles are white. I'm torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer, between logic and desire, between what I should want and what I actually want.
His hand moves higher still, and suddenly I'm not thinking anymore. I'm just feeling—the warmth of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, the overwhelming sensation of finally surrendering to something I've been denying for so long.
"Dominic—" His name comes out as barely a whisper.
"Tell me you want this." His eyes are absolutely dark, consuming. "I need to hear you say it, Bella. I need you to admit what we both know."
My mouth opens. The words are right there. But I can't form them because—
A sound.
Distant but distinct.
The elevator.
We both freeze.
His hand stills. His eyes shift toward the door.
"Someone's here." His voice is tense. "At this hour."
Reality crashes back in with brutal force. We're in his office. His hand is on me. We're seconds away from crossing a line that can't be uncrossed.
And someone is coming up to this floor.
"Get up." He steps back, his professional mask sliding into place with practiced ease. "Fix your appearance. Now."
I scramble off the desk, my legs shaky, my hands fumbling to straighten my skirt. My reflection in the window shows flushed cheeks, swollen lips, wild eyes.
I look exactly like someone who was about to—
"Bella." His voice is calm now, controlled. "Your office. Go."
I grab my bag and rush through the connecting door just as I hear the elevator ding.
Through the wall, I hear a voice I recognize immediately.
Marcus.
My blood runs cold.
"Where is she?" Marcus's voice is loud, angry, echoing through the executive floor. "I know she's still here. Her car is in the parking garage."
"Mr. Bennett." Dominic's voice is ice. "It's late. What can I help you with?"
"You can tell me where my fiancée is." Marcus sounds desperate, hurt. "And you can explain why she's been working until midnight every single night for the past two weeks."
"Ms. Chen is a dedicated employee. She's working on critical projects—"
"Bullshit." Marcus's voice cracks. "I know what's happening here. I'm not stupid. She comes home smelling like your cologne. She checks her phone constantly. She can't look me in the eye anymore."
Silence.
Then Dominic's voice, dangerously quiet: "What exactly are you accusing me of?"
"I'm accusing you of fucking my fiancée."
The words hang in the air like a grenade.
I should go out there. Should interrupt this. Should do something other than stand here frozen in my office, my appearance still disheveled, the evidence of what almost happened written all over me.
"That's a serious allegation." Dominic's voice is controlled fury. "Do you have any proof? Any evidence? Or are you just a insecure man who can't handle that his fiancée has a demanding career?"
"I know she's here." Marcus's footsteps are moving. "Bella! I know you're here! Come out and talk to me!"
He's heading toward my office.
I have seconds to decide: Hide and let Dominic handle this? Or face Marcus and try to explain what he already knows?
My door opens.
Marcus stands in the doorway, and the moment he sees me, his face crumbles.
"Jesus Christ, Bella." His voice breaks. "Look at you."
I must look guilty. Must look exactly like someone who was caught. Because his expression shifts from hurt to rage in an instant.
"How long?" His hands clench into fists. "How long have you been sleeping with him?"
"I'm not—we haven't—"
"Don't lie to me!" He's shouting now. "I can see it on your face! I can see it in the way you're standing there looking terrified and guilty!"
Dominic appears in the doorway behind Marcus. His expression is unreadable.
"Mr. Bennett, I think you should leave—"
"Don't." Marcus spins on him. "Don't you fucking dare tell me what to do. You've been manipulating her. Using your position to—"
"To what?" Dominic's voice is deadly calm. "To give her opportunities? To recognize her brilliance? To treat her like the extraordinary woman she is instead of taking her for granted?"
"You're her boss—"
"And you're a man who doesn't deserve her." Dominic steps closer to Marcus, and there's something dangerous in his posture. "You make her feel small. You make her believe she should be grateful for your mediocrity. You offer her a comfortable prison and call it love."
"Dominic, stop—" I try to intervene.
"No." He doesn't look at me. His eyes stay locked on Marcus. "He needs to hear this. You deserve someone who sees you, Bella. Who challenges you. Who makes you feel alive instead of safe."
"That's not your decision to make!" Marcus's voice is raw. "She's engaged to me! She chose me!"
"Did she?" Dominic's smile is cold. "Or did she just accept the path of least resistance? Did she say yes because it was easier than admitting what she really wanted?"
Marcus looks at me. Really looks at me. And I can see the moment he understands.
"You love him." It's not a question. It's a realization that destroys him. "You actually love him."
I want to deny it. Want to tell Marcus he's wrong, that this is just a moment of weakness, that I'll come home and we'll work through this.
But I can't.
Because Dominic is right.
I've been choosing the path of least resistance my entire life. I've been playing it safe. I've been settling.
And I don't want to anymore.
"Marcus, I'm so sorry—"
"Don't." He holds up his hand. "Don't apologize. Don't make this worse."
He pulls the engagement ring from his pocket—the one I gave back two weeks ago when I couldn't stand wearing it anymore.
"I was going to ask you to put this back on. To come home. To remember what we had." He looks at the ring in his palm. "But we never had anything, did we? You were always his."
He drops the ring on my desk.
"I hope he's worth it, Bella. I hope this obsession he has with you is everything you're giving up your integrity for."
He walks out.
The silence he leaves behind is deafening.
I stare at the ring on my desk. At the symbol of the life I just destroyed. At the evidence that I've made a choice I can't undo.
Dominic walks into my office and closes the door.
"Bella—"
"Don't." My voice shakes. "Don't say anything. Don't try to justify this. Don't tell me this was inevitable."
"But it was." He moves closer. "You know it was."
"I just destroyed a good man." Tears are streaming down my face now. "I just broke someone who loved me."
"He didn't love you." Dominic's voice is certain. "He loved the idea of you. The version of you that fit into his comfortable life. He never loved the real you."
"And you do?" I look at him through my tears. "You love me? Or are you just obsessed with owning me?"
His expression shifts. Something vulnerable breaks through the control.
"Both." He says it simply. "I'm obsessed with you. And I love you. And I don't see a difference anymore."
He reaches for me, and this time I don't pull away.
He pulls me into his arms, and I let myself break. I cry into his chest while he holds me, his hand stroking my hair, his voice murmuring reassurances that sound like possession disguised as comfort.
"It's okay," he whispers. "You made the right choice. You chose truth over comfort. You chose me."
And that's the most terrifying part.
I did choose him.
I chose obsession over love. Intensity over stability. Dominic over Marcus.
I chose the man who will consume me completely over the man who would have loved me safely.
And I don't know if that makes me honest or broken.