Camilla didn't sleep.
Not because she didn't try—she did. She changed into her softest pajamas, wrapped herself in her favorite throw blanket, and played her go-to chill music on low volume. But her mind had only one playlist that night, and it was stuck on repeat:
Dominic Blake kissed me in an elevator.
And I kissed him back.
Again and again, she relived it. The charged silence. The way his hand slid into her hair. The hunger in that kiss. And the look in his eyes when the elevator doors opened—as if he'd just broken every rule he set for himself and didn't regret a damn thing.
But she had rules. She'd made them for a reason.
No dating bosses. No romantic entanglements that could jeopardize her professional future. And definitely no falling for a man like Dominic Blake—untouchable, unreadable, and far too powerful.
By 5 a.m., she gave up pretending to sleep and instead brewed a double-shot coffee. Her heart didn't need the caffeine. Her nerves were already dancing.
When she walked into Blake Enterprises, she was fully armored in a crisp cream blouse, a pencil skirt, and heels sharp enough to kill. Her makeup was flawless, her expression unreadable.
If anyone looked at her today, they'd see nothing out of the ordinary.
But the moment she stepped off the elevator and saw him already in the office—tie on, suit tailored to perfection, hair ruffled just enough to look annoyingly good—she almost tripped.
Their eyes met.
There it was. A flicker. A spark.
Then it was gone.
Dominic turned back to his screen. "Morning, Camilla."
"Good morning, sir."
Sir. She hadn't called him that in weeks. Not seriously. He noticed. His jaw twitched. But he didn't comment.
The rest of the morning passed like a standoff. She worked with robotic precision, pretending not to feel his gaze on her every time she passed by his office.
By lunch, she couldn't take it anymore.
She knocked on his door. "Can we talk?"
He nodded. "Close the door."
As she did, she felt the tension coil tighter.
"I didn't plan for that to happen," she began, standing stiffly in front of his desk.
"I know."
"I don't want this to mess up what I've worked for."
"I know that too."
Silence. He stood slowly, walked around his desk, and leaned against it, arms crossed. His eyes locked with hers, unreadable. "Then tell me what you want."
She blinked. "What?"
"I'm not the guy who plays games, Camilla. I can bury this. Pretend it never happened. But I won't act like I didn't feel something real in that elevator."
Her heart skipped. "It was a kiss."
"It was a line being crossed."
She swallowed. "A dangerous one."
"Yes." His eyes darkened. "But I don't regret it. Do you?"
She hesitated too long.
"That's what I thought." He pushed off the desk and came closer. "So, again, tell me—what do you want?"
Her breath caught. Her mind raced. She couldn't deny the chemistry. She couldn't pretend she hadn't dreamt about kissing him since week three on the job.
But she also couldn't forget what she'd seen happen to other women—whispers in the breakroom, promotions dismissed as favoritism, careers destroyed because they got too close.
"I want a future here," she whispered. "Not gossip. Not scandal."
Dominic nodded slowly, but something in his jaw clenched. "Understood."
And just like that, the wall went back up.
Professional. Polished. Ice-cold.
Camilla felt the loss like a slap.
"You're dismissed," he said gently. "I have a call in five."
She turned to leave, hating the way her chest ached.
"And Camilla?" he added.
She paused at the door.
"If I can't have you professionally or personally... I'll make damn sure I don't forget you."
She didn't respond. Couldn't.
But her hands trembled all the way back to her desk.