Emotional distance didn’t arrive loudly.
It slipped in slowly
between unanswered glances,
between mornings without coffee together,
between nights where doors closed a little too firmly.
Elara noticed it first.
Adrian stopped waiting for her in the kitchen. Meetings ran later. Conversations became shorter. Safer. He spoke to her the way he spoke to executives now—measured, careful, distant.
Professional.
Which was exactly what the contract demanded.
So why did it feel like rejection?
She sat on the edge of her bed one evening, scrolling through her phone without really seeing anything. A notification popped up.
Unknown Contact:
Hi. This is Ethan. Adrian’s legal advisor. We met briefly at the gala.
She frowned. Ethan.
Tall. Warm smile. Too observant eyes.
She hesitated… then replied.
Yes, I remember. Is something wrong?
Nothing wrong, came the reply. Just thought I’d check in. You looked uncomfortable that night.
Her fingers paused.
I’m fine, she typed.
Then erased it.
Typed again.
It was overwhelming.
I figured, he replied almost instantly. Being thrown into that world isn’t easy. Especially alone.
Alone.
That word settled heavy in her chest.
The next day, Adrian noticed the change.
Elara laughed more—just not with him. She checked her phone often. Smiled at messages he wasn’t part of.
Jealousy crept in, sharp and unwelcome.
He hated it.
He had no right to it.
Yet when Ethan appeared at the office unannounced, carrying files and that easy charm, something inside Adrian snapped tight.
“Did you need something?” Adrian asked coldly.
Ethan smiled. “Actually, I came to see Elara.”
Adrian’s pen stopped mid-signature. “She’s not part of this meeting.”
“She asked me to review a clause in the contract,” Ethan replied calmly. “Privately.”
That word again.
Privately.
Elara entered a moment later, surprised to see them both. “I hope that’s okay,” she said carefully.
Adrian met her eyes. “Of course.”
But it didn’t feel okay.
Not at all.
They talked in the conference room—glass walls, too transparent to hide tension. Adrian pretended to work, but his focus kept drifting.
Ethan leaned in slightly as he explained something. Elara listened intently. Nodded. Their heads bent closer.
It shouldn’t matter.
It did.
When they finally left together, Adrian didn’t stop her.
He watched.
And that was worse.
That night, the penthouse felt colder than ever.
Elara returned late. Adrian was in the living room, jacket off, sleeves rolled up—like the night everything almost changed.
“You went out,” he said.
“With Ethan,” she replied honestly. “He was helping me understand the contract better.”
Adrian stood slowly. “Is that why you’ve been distant?”
She laughed softly. “Distant? Adrian, you rewrote the rules and then disappeared.”
“That was to protect us.”
“No,” she said. “That was to protect you.”
Silence cracked open.
“I’m allowed to have a life outside this,” she continued. “Outside you.”
“I know,” he said. “I just didn’t expect it to feel like this.”
“Like what?” she asked.
He stepped closer. Too close for professionalism.
“Like I’m losing you,” he admitted quietly.
Her breath hitched.
“That’s not in the contract,” she whispered.
“I don’t care about the contract right now,” he replied.
That was it.
That was the break.
He reached for her—this time without hesitation—his hand settling at her waist, grounding, real, undeniable.
She didn’t pull away.
The world narrowed again.
“Adrian,” she said, voice trembling, “if we do this—”
“I know,” he said, forehead resting against hers. “And I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to.”
For one heartbeat, everything aligned.
Then her phone buzzed.
Ethan.
The moment shattered.
She stepped back, eyes wide. “This can’t happen.”
“But it just did,” Adrian said.
“No,” she said firmly. “Almost isn’t enough anymore.”
She walked away—this time not looking back.
Later that night, Adrian stood alone, staring at the signed contract lying open on the table.
He had broken it first.
Not with words.
Not with touch.
But with truth.
And there was no clause for what came next.
