The car ride back to the Frost Tower was silent. Elena sat with her hands clasped in her lap, her pulse still unsettled from the storm outside—and the storm sitting beside her.
Alexander leaned back in the leather seat, staring out the rain-streaked window, his jaw set like stone. But Elena could feel it—the tension coiling in him, the same tension that had nearly broken in the restaurant doorway when his hand touched her hair.
She wanted to speak. To ask him what he was thinking. To demand what this was between them. But before she could, the car stopped.
"Good night, Miss Carter," he said curtly as the driver opened her door.
And just like that, the wall was back.
The next morning, whispers chased her down the office corridors.
"…the assistant, can you believe it?"
"They say Frost brought her to a private dinner with Sophia Bennett."
"Either she's braver than she looks—or stupider."
Elena kept her head high, but the sting was sharp. When she reached her desk, an envelope lay neatly on top of her files. No name, no seal.
Inside: a single sheet of paper.
Careful who you trust. He always comes back to me. – S
Elena's fingers tightened on the note. Her first instinct was to march into Alexander's office, slam the message on his desk, and demand the truth. But she hesitated.
Would he protect her… or push her away?
As if summoned by her thoughts, the office door opened. Alexander emerged, his gaze sweeping across her before softening for the briefest second.
"London meeting. My office. Ten minutes."
He didn't wait for her reply, but as he disappeared back inside, Elena slipped the note into her drawer, hiding it from sight.
For now.
When she entered his office, Alexander was standing by the window, the city sprawling beneath him. He didn't turn as he spoke.
"Last night, you impressed me."
She blinked. "Impressed you?"
"You stood up to Sophia. Few people do." His voice was low, unreadable. Then he turned, his eyes locking on hers. "But be careful. She doesn't play games. She plays war."
Elena swallowed. "And what am I, in her war?"
For a moment, his mask slipped. The look in his eyes was almost—possessive.
"You," he said, voice rough, "are something she can never touch."
The words seared into her, setting her blood alight. But before she could reply, he crossed the distance between them, stopping just inches away.
His hand lifted, as though to touch her again—then dropped. His control held, barely.
"Meeting in five," he said sharply, retreating behind his desk.
Elena's heart hammered as she turned to leave, one thought echoing louder than all the others:
If Sophia was playing war, she was already in the battlefield.
And Alexander Frost was the only shield she had.