The following days felt like an extension of that night. Every glance, every word Alexander Blackwood spoke to me seemed to carry a weight far beyond its surface meaning. He was a constant presence in my life now, an undeniable force that I couldn't seem to escape, even if I tried.

And believe me, I tried.

I buried myself in my work as much as I could. It was the only thing that seemed to help me forget about the tension, the unspoken pull between us. I focused on meeting deadlines, crafting presentations, and diving deep into reports. If I kept my head down, if I didn't engage with him beyond the necessary, maybe I could ignore the way my heart sped up every time he was near. Maybe I could pretend I wasn't drawn to him in a way that didn't make any sense.

But it didn't work. Nothing worked.

The office was suffocating in its subtle intensity. It wasn't just Alexander's physical presence that kept me on edge it was the way he seemed to watch me, the way he lingered in my periphery, observing me without ever saying a word. I had grown accustomed to his subtle gestures the way his gaze would always find mine across a crowded room, the way his posture shifted when he addressed me, as though he were always aware of my every movement. There was no escaping it.

I thought I could ignore him. I thought I could avoid him and keep my distance. But now, I wasn't so sure. There was something about him that made it impossible to break free.

It was Thursday when I first noticed how much the tension had escalated.

I had been working on a report, trying to finish the presentation for an upcoming meeting when I felt it the unmistakable presence of someone standing behind me. I didn't have to turn around to know who it was. It was always him. Alexander Blackwood.

I had been doing my best to ignore him the past few days, but his mere proximity made that impossible. He seemed to be everywhere, always in my space, always just within reach.

"Miss Carter," his voice interrupted my thoughts, smooth and measured, sending a shiver down my spine. "You're leaving early again?"

I glanced at the clock. It was just after four. I hadn't planned to leave early, but the idea of being stuck in the office, surrounded by nothing but my work and his presence, felt overwhelming. So, I decided to take a break to clear my head for a few minutes before diving back in.

"I'm just taking a quick break," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, though I could feel the heat creeping up my neck.

He didn't move, just stood there, his gaze heavy on me. His eyes flicked down to my desk, scanning the papers in front of me before locking with mine again.

"That's interesting," he said, his tone casual but the undertone sharp, like a blade beneath silk. "You're usually so focused. But I wonder are you running from something?"

I swallowed hard. What was he implying?

"I'm not running from anything," I replied, perhaps more defensively than I intended.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into the slightest of smirks. "That's not what I'm seeing, Miss Carter. You seem distracted. Is it something I should be worried about?"

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning I wasn't sure I was ready to confront. I knew exactly what he was doing pushing, prodding, testing the boundaries between us. But I wasn't about to let him see how much he was getting to me.

I stood abruptly, gathering my things, trying to break the tension that was creeping in. "I'll be back in a bit," I said, my voice firmer than I felt.

He didn't stop me as I grabbed my bag and walked past him, but his eyes followed me every step of the way, like a predator watching its prey. I couldn't escape him not when he was so determined to keep me in his sights.

By the time I returned to the office, the building was quieter. The afternoon lull had settled in, with only a few employees still working. I sat back down at my desk, trying to focus, trying to pretend that nothing had happened. But when I opened my inbox, there was a new email from Alexander Blackwood.

Dinner. 8:30. Same place. Don't be late.

I stared at the message, my heart racing in my chest. I knew exactly which place he meant - the exclusive restaurant where the city's wealthiest and most powerful people dined. I had never been there, not even for business. It was the kind of place reserved for people who lived in a different world a world that I hadn't imagined I'd ever be part of.

I should have said no. I should have ignored him and told myself that I was done with this. That I was better off avoiding him, keeping my distance. But instead, my fingers hovered over the keyboard, my thoughts tangled in a mix of confusion and curiosity.

Where should I meet you?

The reply came swiftly, almost as if he'd been waiting for it. You know the place. Don't keep me waiting.

I took a deep breath, my heart still pounding. There was no turning back now. I stood up from my desk, grabbed my coat, and left the office, the weight of the decision settling in my chest.

The restaurant was everything I had imagined and more. It was opulent, the kind of place where every detail was meticulously designed to impress. The low lighting and soft classical music created an atmosphere of intimacy, despite the busy hum of conversation that surrounded us.

When the maitre d' led me to the back of the restaurant, I found Alexander sitting in the same secluded booth from our previous dinner. He was dressed in a black suit, his hair meticulously styled, his eyes dark and intense as they met mine. There was no warmth in his expression, but I felt it anyway a kind of heat that radiated from him, drawing me in despite myself.

"You're late," he said, his voice as smooth and deliberate as it had been in the office.

"I didn't think I'd be the one you're keeping track of," I replied, trying to match his cool demeanor.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a half-smile. "You're more important to me than you realize, Miss Carter."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I simply took a seat across from him, my heart pounding in my chest. The conversation flowed easily after that, though there was a strange edge to it. Alexander didn't talk much about work. Instead, he asked questions personal ones. About my childhood. My goals. My fears.

It felt like an interrogation, yet at the same time, it felt... intimate. The way he listened, the way his eyes never left mine. It was as if he was trying to piece me together, to figure me out in ways I wasn't prepared for.

And yet, there was something about the way he looked at me that made me want to tell him everything. To let him see the parts of me I kept hidden.

But I couldn't.

So I deflected, answered his questions with carefully chosen words, trying to keep myself guarded.

The meal continued with an air of tension that was impossible to ignore. Every word, every glance, seemed to carry a double meaning. And as the night wore on, I found myself wondering if I was the one losing control, if I was the one who was being played.

It was only when dessert arrived rich chocolate mousse that seemed almost too decadent that Alexander leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Tell me, Miss Carter," he murmured, his lips almost brushing the edge of my ear, "when will you stop pretending this doesn't excite you?"

I froze. His words hit me like a physical blow, the implication clear. My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, I couldn't speak.

"I what?" I stammered, unsure how to respond.

He didn't give me a chance to collect myself. Instead, his eyes locked onto mine, intense and unyielding. "You heard me," he said softly. "You're lying to yourself if you think you don't feel this. The tension between us... It's palpable, and you know it."

I didn't know what to say. The truth was, he was right. There was something between us something undeniable, something dangerous. And I had no idea how to handle it.

But instead of answering, I simply met his gaze, my pulse hammering in my chest. "Maybe I like a challenge," I replied, my voice steady despite the way my insides were unraveling.

He smiled, the expression predatory yet oddly approving. "Good. Because this game is far from over."

And as we sat there, the weight of his words hanging in the air, I knew that I was already in too deep. This was no longer just about Alexander Blackwood. It was about me, too. About what I was willing to risk, what I was willing to give up, and whether I was strong enough to face whatever came next.

Because I had a feeling this was just the beginning.