Elena's POV
I didn't know whether to jump up and scream or run out of the office when Adrian told me the news.
"You're going to coordinate my parents' wedding anniversary," he said, leaning casually against his desk, arms crossed. His eyes were fixed on me, sharp and unyielding, yet there was something softer in the way he regarded me — a quiet challenge, like he was testing me, seeing how I would react.
I blinked, unsure whether this was a joke or a test of my sanity. "Me? Really?"
He nodded, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're the only one I trust to get this right."
Trust. The word wrapped around me like a ribbon I hadn't realized I was waiting for. It made my chest tighten in ways I wasn't prepared for. I swallowed hard, words caught in my throat.
"Adrian… I—I'll do my best," I whispered, my voice trembling slightly despite my efforts to steady it. I knew he could hear the small tremor. He always noticed. Always.
He stepped closer, closing the tiny gap between us, and the heat from his presence settled over me like a tangible force. I could feel it in the small of my back, in the way my pulse stuttered. His gaze lingered on mine, just a second too long, and I caught myself imagining what it would feel like if he reached out and touched my hand — just a small, fleeting brush — and my heart leapt at the thought.
"You always do," he murmured, voice low and soft, yet carrying that quiet authority that made me feel both protected and exposed at the same time.
The next few days were a whirlwind.
I called florists, scoured event halls, and obsessively double-checked every detail of the anniversary celebration. Each call, each email, each decision felt heavier than the last. I was constantly aware of Adrian's presence — sometimes just standing silently nearby, sometimes leaning over my shoulder to glance at a document, his proximity sending shivers down my spine. Even the smallest touch — a hand brushing my shoulder as he passed by — made my chest race and knees weak.
It was maddening. And intoxicating.
One afternoon, while reviewing the guest list together, I accidentally dropped a stack of invitations. Papers cascaded across the floor like confetti, a sea of ivory and gold scattered at our feet.
"Here," he said immediately, bending down with practiced ease to gather them. His hand brushed mine as he handed me the last one, and I felt my pulse spike, hot and fast. My fingers lingered on his briefly, unwilling to pull away.
"You okay?" he asked, voice low, careful, intimate — the kind of tone he only used when speaking to me.
I nodded, barely able to breathe. "Yes. Thanks."
His thumb lingered against my fingers, brushing lightly, almost tenderly. "Be careful, Elena," he murmured, almost under his breath, and straightened, the steel returning to his posture. But I had felt it — the protective edge, the quiet possessiveness — and the warmth that settled in my chest refused to fade.
Every meeting, every phone call, every minor decision now felt charged, electric. I noticed the way Adrian studied me — the slight bite of my lip when I was nervous, the trembling of my hands as I juggled too many tasks, the way I sometimes flinched at the sound of my own laughter when I thought no one was watching.
He never failed to notice. He'd lean close, just enough for me to feel the heat of his body brush mine in the hallway, as if our closeness was a secret we both acknowledged but dared not speak aloud. And in every subtle touch, every lingering glance, I felt the unspoken conversation between us — a language made of restraint, desire, and an intimacy that didn't need words.
I wanted to tell him how it made me feel — how alive it made me, how safe and yet thrilled — but every time I opened my mouth, the words dissolved into the air, impossible to catch.
The night I presented the final plans to him, the office had emptied except for us. There was a quiet stillness, the kind that only comes after a long day's work, heavy with anticipation and unspoken tension.
"You did well," he said quietly, walking behind me as I sorted the last papers. His hand brushed my shoulder — a fleeting, almost accidental touch — but the contact lingered far too long, leaving a shiver trailing down my spine.
"Thank you," I murmured, my voice smaller than I intended.
He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he leaned closer, so close that I could feel his breath tickling the shell of my ear. "I want you to know… I notice everything you do," he whispered. "Every little thing."
My heart thumped audibly in my chest, and a blush crept across my cheeks. "I… I notice you too," I whispered back, voice barely audible.
For a moment, his gaze darkened, shadowed with something unspoken, and the space between us became electric, charged with the weight of everything we weren't saying aloud. Then, almost imperceptibly, he stepped back, regaining the calm, composed mask of the CEO he showed to the world. "Tomorrow," he said, voice steady now, "we'll run through the final checklist. Make sure nothing's overlooked."
I nodded, trying to appear professional, but I couldn't shake the warmth of his hand where it had brushed mine, the intensity in his eyes, or the words we hadn't said but had hung in the air like fragile promises.
I stayed after he left the office, my thoughts swirling around him, the closeness we'd shared, the subtle intimacy of the moments we had stolen in plain sight. And then he returned — quietly, as if he had remembered something he had left behind, yet it wasn't a file or a document.
He approached me from behind, and before I could turn, he leaned down and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to my temple, just above the corner of my eye. The warmth radiated through me like a current, making my breath catch.
"Elena," he murmured, voice low and private, "you've done everything perfectly. More than that… you've… impressed me."
I swallowed hard, words failing me again, and he chuckled softly — a rare, unguarded sound that made something twist inside me. Then, as if he couldn't resist any longer, he leaned down once more, brushing his lips to my forehead in a tender, possessive gesture. My knees nearly buckled at the closeness, the intimacy, the raw honesty in that single act.
"I…" I began, voice trembling, "I don't know what to say."
He straightened, eyes dark, searching mine with an intensity that made my heart ache. "You don't need to say anything," he murmured. "Just know… I see you. And I…" He paused, swallowing, and the silence stretched long and heavy. "…I care. More than I probably should."
The words wrapped around me, a quiet admission that neither of us had dared voice before. My chest tightened, warmth pooling in my stomach, in my limbs, in my very bones. I stepped closer, closing the distance just slightly, and whispered, "I care too."
He froze, eyes widening for a brief second, before he exhaled sharply, regaining his composure. "Tomorrow," he said finally, voice calmer but still low, "we'll make sure everything is perfect."
I nodded again, but my mind wasn't on schedules or flower arrangements. It was on him — on the subtle brush of his hand, the lingering heat of his touch, the stolen kiss to my forehead, and the way the space between us had shifted, irreversibly.
And for the first time, I realized — this project, this anniversary, wasn't just about celebrating another year of love between his parents. It was about the closeness that had been growing quietly, dangerously, impossibly, between Adrian and me. About the tension that made my pulse quicken and my breath shallow every time he was near. About the moments that seemed too intimate for an office but too necessary to resist.
I stayed in the office long after he left, replaying every glance, every touch, every whispered word, and a smile tugged at my lips despite the tension still coiled inside me.
Because for the first time, I wasn't just planning an anniversary for someone else's love. I was living it — in the smallest, most delicate ways, through stolen touches, fleeting kisses, and the undeniable pull that drew us together, even when the world demanded distance.
And I wouldn't trade a second of it. Not for anything.
*****