The morning after the party felt strangely heavy, the kind of heaviness that had nothing to do with sleep and everything to do with the memory of Asher's mouth on mine, his hands possessive on my waist, the way he'd looked at me like he was seconds away from losing control. I woke with the ghost of his breath still lingering on my skin, and even though the contract was supposed to keep things clean, structured, defined… last night had blurred every line until I could no longer tell where acting ended and something far more dangerous began.
I moved through the penthouse quietly, trying not to think about how warm my lips still felt or how my body reacted whenever his voice dipped low and commanding. The kitchen was still bathed in soft morning light when I stepped inside, and for a moment I simply stood there, letting the calm settle my racing thoughts.
That was when the door opened.
And Noah walked in.
I froze for only a second before remembering to breathe. I knew he worked under Asher—one of the few people he relied on completely—but knowing he worked here was very different from seeing him in the penthouse doorway with that familiar easy smile, the one that used to make my younger self hide behind her textbook.
"Elara?" he said, sounding genuinely surprised but unmistakably warm. "Wow. It's been a while."
I felt myself straighten automatically, every nerve suddenly aware of how I looked, how I stood, how close he was. Noah always had that effect—ever since high school, when he used to wait outside the gates to pick up his sister. I used to pretend I didn't notice him, but I always did. Everyone did. He was the effortlessly charming type, the kind who didn't even try and still made people drawn to him.
"It has," I managed softly, hoping my cheeks weren't already flushing. "You… look the same."
He laughed lightly, rubbing the back of his neck, the same gesture I remembered from all those years ago. "I'll take that as a compliment. You look different though. In a good way. More… grown."
My heart flipped stupidly, and before I could stop myself, I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear—a habit I had never managed to break. "Thanks."
Noah walked fully into the kitchen then, and the space felt warmer, brighter, like he carried sunlight with him. His presence was familiar in a way that tugged at old memories—him handing water bottles after sports meets, him teasing his sister in the hallway, him giving me a gentle smile the day I cried during an exam because I thought I'd fail.
He leaned slightly on the counter. "I actually came to drop off some documents for Asher. Thought I'd grab coffee before disturbing the beast."
I laughed despite myself, a soft involuntary sound that slipped out too easily around him. "He's not that bad."
"Oh, he is," Noah said with a grin. "But it's fine. I'm used to taming dragons."
I bit back another smile, but it was too late—he noticed, and his eyes warmed even more. He opened one of the cabinets, looking for mugs, and without thinking, I stepped forward.
"They're on the right," I said quickly. "Top shelf."
He reached up, grabbed the mugs, and then paused, glancing over his shoulder. "Want one too?"
"Sure."
While he started the coffee maker, I grabbed some ingredients from the fridge, not realizing what I was doing until my hands were already moving. Cooking came naturally when I was nervous, especially around people who made my stomach flutter.
Noah noticed immediately.
"Wait… are you making something?"
I froze again, a bowl in hand. "Um… yeah. I thought you might be hungry. You used to like—"
"Your cooking," he finished with a grin. "I remember. You used to bring extra lunch for my sister sometimes, and I'd always steal the fried chicken. You didn't even yell at me for it."
My cheeks warmed. "I did. You just pretended not to hear."
His laugh was warm and bright, like he genuinely enjoyed remembering the past. "Well, I'd never say no to your cooking now either."
Something fluttered painfully in my chest. That wasn't fair. He wasn't allowed to say things like that—not when I was standing in another man's kitchen, in another man's home, wearing clothes chosen by someone who wasn't even supposed to matter to me.
I stirred the batter slowly, trying to steady my breathing. But then—
A shift in the air.
A presence.
I didn't need to turn around to know Asher had entered the kitchen. The space told me—the drop in temperature, the sudden tension threading through the air, the silence that grew sharp and heavy.
Noah greeted him easily. "Morning, boss."
Asher didn't answer immediately. I could feel his eyes on me first—not on Noah, not on the food—on me. His gaze was slow, assessing, unreadable, the kind that saw through everything and everyone.
Only after several painfully long seconds did his attention flick to Noah.
"You're early," Asher said, voice clipped.
"And you're grumpy," Noah replied cheerfully, handing him the folder he brought. "So nothing new."
Asher ignored the jab, his eyes drifting back to me, lingering on the bowl in my hands, the ingredients scattered on the counter, the faint blush on my cheeks. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"You're cooking," he said.
It wasn't a question.
Noah chuckled. "Yeah. Elara insisted. I told her her cooking was my weakness."
The words hit like a physical spark in the room.
Asher's eyes darkened—not dramatically, not enough for Noah to notice—but I saw the shift. Heat pooled low in my stomach, not from attraction this time, but from the sudden, undeniable awareness of his jealousy.
He stepped closer, his presence wrapping around me like a shadow. "Interesting," Asher murmured, his tone smooth but edged. "You've never cooked for me."
The sentence landed heavy.
Noah blinked, slightly confused. "You don't… eat home-cooked food, boss. You barely eat."
Asher didn't look away from me. "Even so."
My throat tightened. "I just… didn't think—"
His brow arched. "Didn't think I would appreciate it?"
"I didn't think you'd want it," I admitted softly, the truth slipping out before I could catch it.
Silence.
Thick. Weighted. Dangerous.
Noah looked between us, finally sensing the tension. But Noah had always been bold in a gentle way, and he tried to ease the moment by smiling at me again.
"Well, I want it," he teased lightly. "And I'll gladly be the test subject."
Something in the room snapped.
Asher stepped closer—too close—his voice low, deceptively calm. "You will finish the cooking," he said to me, each word deliberate. "But he won't be the one eating it."
My breath caught.
Noah blinked. "Huh?"
Asher didn't break eye contact with me. "If she cooks, I'll be the one tasting it first."
Heat rushed through me so quickly I nearly dropped the spatula. Noah stared at Asher, clearly thrown off, and for the first time since I'd met him, I saw Noah actually speechless.
Asher moved past me then—not touching but brushing close enough that my skin tightened—and picked up one of the coffee mugs Noah had prepared.
"Noah," he said coolly, "go to my office. Wait there."
Noah hesitated, clearly sensing something territorial in the air, but eventually nodded. "Sure, boss."
He gave me a small smile on his way out, but there was a hint of curiosity in his eyes now, like he had just witnessed something he wasn't supposed to.
The moment the door closed behind him, the kitchen fell silent again.
Asher didn't move.
He didn't speak.
He simply stood there, watching me with a gaze that felt like it stripped every layer off my composure. My pulse hammered so loudly I could hear it echoing in my ears.
Finally, he spoke—soft, slow, dangerously calm.
"So you blush for him," Asher said, voice low enough to make my knees weaken. "You cook for him. You laugh for him."
My breath trembled. "Asher—"
"But you never do any of that for me," he finished, taking one step closer, then another, until the counter pressed into my back and there was nowhere left to go.
His hand rose—not touching, just hovering beside my waist, close enough that my skin tingled.
"Tell me why," he demanded quietly.
I swallowed hard, trapped between the counter and the intensity of his presence, my pulse racing. "It's not like that."
"No?" His voice dipped lower, more dangerous. "Then explain it to me."
I forced myself to hold his gaze, though my heart was tearing through my ribs. "I just… I've known Noah for years. He's familiar. It's easier."
Something flickered in Asher's eyes—something sharp and unwanted.
"And I'm not easy?" he asked softly, almost mockingly.
"No," I whispered before I could stop myself. "You're… you're not easy at all."
He leaned closer, his breath brushing my cheek. "Good. Because its not really easy for you to handle me."
My knees trembled.
He straightened slowly, smirking and adjusting the cuffs of his shirt like he hadn't just pinned me in place with nothing but his presence. "Finish cooking," he said quietly. "I'll be waiting."
And then he left the kitchen, leaving me breathless, shaken, and completely undone.