The apartment feels strangely quieter after Noah leaves—like his presence stirred something in the air and now the silence is settling thick and heavy around me. I stand at the kitchen counter, rearranging spoons, shifting cups, touching things that don't need to be touched. Anything to avoid thinking about the way Asher has been watching me since the door closed behind Noah.
I can feel his gaze even when he's not looking directly at me—sharp, steady, controlled. It prickles against the back of my neck, makes my fingers clumsy and my heartbeat uneven. Eventually, avoiding him becomes impossible.
I draw in a slow breath.
"Asher… is something wrong?"
He doesn't answer at first. Instead, he pushes away from the wall he'd been leaning on, the tightness in his jaw clear even under the warm apartment lighting. It's the look he gets when he's holding himself back—when the first words that want to leave his mouth are not the ones he allows himself to speak.
"You're different around him," he finally says, voice low—not accusing, but sharpened with something else. Something I can't name yet.
My fingers curl around the kitchen cloth. "He's… familiar. That's all. I've known him for a long time."
"Long enough to cook for him the way you did."
His eyes narrow—not in anger, but in a kind of confused, wounded curiosity that hits far deeper than any harsh tone would have.
I blink. "I cook for people all the time."
"No," he murmurs. "Not for me."
The words punch the breath out of me.
He doesn't sound irritated. He sounds puzzled—genuinely unable to understand why I did something for Noah that I've never done for him. The realization stings unexpectedly.
"I didn't realize it mattered," I whisper.
His expression flickers—surprise, frustration, something vulnerable he's trying to bury. "It shouldn't," he says, though his voice betrays him. "I just… I don't understand you sometimes."
My heart thuds hard. "I could say the same about you."
That makes him look at me fully, directly, without hiding behind calm professionalism or cold restraint. For a moment, neither of us move. The air between us grows thick—charged, unsteady, filled with emotions neither of us know how to handle properly.
He takes a breath like the weight in his chest is too heavy.
"Do you think he liked you? Back then?"
The question catches me off guard. "Asher, I was in school. Everyone had crushes back then. And yes… I liked him a little at that time."
"That's not what I asked," he says quietly.
The memory flashes in my mind—Noah smiling shyly at the school courtyard, the way he always greeted me politely when he came to meet his sister. Maybe he did like me. I never let myself think too much about it.
"I thought he was just being kind," I say softly.
"And now?"
"He's still kind. But that's all."
Asher's gaze lingers on my face as though trying to read the truth beneath my words. Then he steps closer—slow, controlled, but undeniably deliberate. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him.
"I don't like the way he looks at you," he murmurs.
The admission slips from him like something he didn't plan to say.
My breath catches. Not because of the jealousy, but because of how raw and unguarded it sounds coming from him.
"And I don't like how you look away," he adds quietly, "every time it gets too real between us."
A soft tremor runs through me—because he's right.
Because this is real in ways I never expected it to be.
"Asher…" My voice comes out as a whisper, half apology, half confession.
But before I can continue, his phone vibrates sharply on the counter—a jarring interruption that slices the moment clean in half.
He glances at the screen. The softness in his face shuts down. The Asher Sterling the world sees—the CEO, the controlled negotiator—slides seamlessly back into place.
"I have to take this," he mutters, stepping away.
The moment evaporates.
But the ache stays, lingering like an unfinished sentence.
He disappears behind the study door. The low drone of his voice seeps faintly through the walls—cold, clipped, businesslike. A reminder that he belongs to a world where vulnerability is a weakness, not something he can afford.
I lean against the counter, exhaling slowly. My hands are still warm from his nearness. My heart still unsteady from everything unspoken.
"He doesn't like the way Noah looks at me…"
The words echo again—dangerous, intimate, a truth neither of us are ready for.
When Asher steps out minutes later, he looks drained. His sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, hair slightly mussed. But it's his eyes that catch me—the exhaustion there isn't physical.
"You didn't have dinner," he observes quietly.
"I wasn't hungry," I say softly.
He nods, but he doesn't believe me. He walks closer, stopping just a foot away—close enough that I can see the conflict in his eyes.
"Elara… about earlier." His voice lowers to a rough whisper. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"You didn't. I just… didn't expect…"
I can't finish the sentence.
His expression softens. "I'm not good at this."
"At what?"
"Whatever this is between us," he confesses. "I didn't plan it. I didn't expect it. And I don't know what to do with it."
My breath catches again.
"But you meant what you said about Noah," I whisper.
He nods once. "Yes."
"Why?"
He hesitates. For a long, fragile second.
"Because," he murmurs finally, "I don't want anyone else getting close to you in ways I haven't figured out how to be."
The words crash through me like a wave.
"Asher…"
Instead of reaching for me, he steps back. Not avoidance—protection.
He's afraid of crossing a line even he doesn't understand yet.
"You should rest," he says gently. "I still have things to finish."
He walks away, disappearing into the dim hallway.
And for the first time, I truly understand:
Asher Sterling isn't cold.
He's warmth trapped behind walls—dangerously bright, painfully controlled.
And I'm starting to want to step into the fire he's trying so hard to hide.