Lila's POV
The office was quieter than usual. Papers rustled, phones hummed, and the city below seemed distant—almost unreal.
I should have been relieved. Instead, unease crawled along my spine.
It had started with the messages. Unknown numbers warning me. Then the file Ethan had uploaded. He hadn't said much, but the weight behind his words lingered.
I was reviewing the donor list when the knock came.
"Lila?"
It wasn't a knock. It was a voice—low, careful, unmistakable.
Ethan.
I looked up and froze, because even in casual office attire he radiated authority. Standing at a height of 6'3 where he towered over my 5'8 frame even when I wore heels. His broad shoulders, straight posture, and an effortless poise made him seem like he filled the room. His hair a dark tousled slick back, with just enough shine to look polished without appearing staged. It accentuated a face that could command attention even in silence: sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and a straight nose. His dark brown eyes were piercing, almost predatory, yet capable of warmth when he chose.
His suit—tailored charcoal, crisp lines, minimal accessories—fitted him like a second skin. Polished shoes didn't click but rather commanded silence. Every detail screamed precision and control. And yet… there was a magnetic quality to him that made it impossible to look away.
"I thought you'd left," he said.
"I like to arrive early," I said lightly, keeping my tone neutral, my posture deliberate. My blazer hugged my shoulders, my dark waves twisted into a low knot, my eyes lined just enough to convey control. Every inch of me screamed discipline—but inside, I was fraying.
"You're tense," he said.
I almost laughed. "I don't do tense."
He didn't move closer. Not yet. But his presence seemed to press against the air around me. Today, the calm in his posture and the alertness in his gaze made the tension I'd carried for hours feel suddenly exposed.
"You don't like uncertainty," he said.
"I like to prepare," I corrected.
"You can't prepare for everything," he murmured.
We spent the morning dividing responsibilities as usual. I handled sponsors, he handled logistics. Everything professional, everything precise.
Yet small things began to slip.
When I bent to retrieve a folder from the cabinet behind him, I felt the barest shift in the air—a subtle step closer, a silent acknowledgment of my movement. My sleeve brushed his arm. Quick. Accidental.
I froze.
He didn't speak. He didn't move. He just let the moment exist, stepping slightly back almost imperceptibly.
Too deliberate.
Later, I was compiling the schedule for our donors when my phone buzzed. Another unknown number.
He's closer to you than you realize.
The message made my chest tighten. I locked the phone quickly.
Ethan noticed.
"Another one?" he asked, voice careful.
I nodded. "Yes. And I've had enough."
"Good," he said. "Because I'm not letting anyone interfere with you."
I blinked.
"What do you mean?" I asked cautiously.
He met my gaze fully for the first time all day. His expression was calm, controlled—but his eyes were different now. Sharp, alert, protective. Not the rival I was used to, not the cold billionaire who measured everything as a game. This was him focused on me, quietly, without fanfare.
"If anyone tries… anyone at all… to threaten you because of me, I'll make sure they regret it."
The words were quiet, measured—but the intensity beneath them set something in my chest alight. Not fear. Not relief. Something… fragile. Vulnerable.
"Ethan…" I started, but he held up a hand.
"Not trying to impress you," he said. "Just stating a fact."
I didn't know what to say. I wanted to brush it off, remind myself he was still a rival. But his gaze held me steady, and I realized… he was serious.
By late afternoon, we were finishing up the day's work. The city outside glowed gold from the setting sun.
I leaned on the window sill, feeling the warmth, letting my loose waves fall freely over my shoulders. The subtle glow of my skin, the quiet intensity in my eyes, the controlled elegance in my posture—it all made me appear untouchable. But I felt the vulnerability he had just recognized like a tremor inside me.
Ethan stood a few feet behind me. I could sense him. His presence was calm but unshakable—like a shadow that moved when you moved, silent, precise, unwavering. Even in that quiet moment, his slightly tousled hair, chiseled jaw, and piercing eyes made him look like someone who could take over the room without saying a word.
"Lila," he said softly.
"Yes?"
"Don't think I'm doing this for show," he said. "I… I mean it when I say I won't let anyone mess with you."
I turned slightly to meet his eyes. No arrogance. No pride. Only quiet determination—and something careful, almost tender, that I hadn't expected.
"I'm not afraid," I said.
"I know," he said. "But that doesn't mean you have to face it alone."
And for the first time since this forced partnership began, I didn't know what to say.
That evening, as I was leaving the office, my phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number:
He's more involved than you think… And that puts you directly in the line of fire.
I froze, gripping my bag strap tightly.
Behind me, I felt a shadow shift. Not a stranger. Familiar. Protective.
Ethan.
I turned slowly.
"Did you hear that?" I whispered.
He gave me one calm, steady look, and without a word, walked beside me—not touching, but unmistakably guarding.
And in that moment, I realized: this competition between us might be dangerous. But he… might be dangerous in a way I hadn't expected.