By Tuesday, the Annex had become a golden cage. Elara had spent most of Monday buried in spreadsheets, but today, Mr. Sterling had requested her presence on the sixty-fourth floor to help coordinate with the other junior analysts.
Walking into the bull-pen felt like stepping back into the real world. The air was filled with the sound of ringing phones, the hum of the printer, and the frantic chatter of the other interns.
"Well, if it isn't the Golden Girl," Sarah remarked, looking up from her monitor. She didn't look angry—just deeply curious. "We were wondering where they stashed you. Someone said you were working in the Attic with the executives."
"I'm just doing data entry for the acquisition," Elara said, taking a seat at a communal table. She felt a wave of relief. Being around people her own age made the intensity of Rowan Thorne feel like a dream—or a fever.
"Data entry? Right," a guy named Leo laughed, sliding a tray of files toward her. "Sterling says you're a wizard with logistics. Help us out? We've been staring at these freight costs for two hours and the numbers aren't balancing."
For the next few hours, Elara finally felt like a normal twenty-something. She joked with Leo about the terrible office coffee, helped Sarah fix a formula in Excel, and debated the best place to get cheap tacos after work.
"You should come with us tonight," Leo suggested, leaning back in his chair. "The whole team is going to a bar down the street. No suits, no stress."
"I'd love—" Elara started.
But the words died in her throat.
The sixty-fourth floor was an open-concept layout with a massive atrium in the center. Way up on the fifty-eighth floor, the executive balcony overlooked the entire floor.
Elara looked up.
Rowan was there.
He was standing with his back to the light, leaning his elbows on the railing. He wasn't talking to anyone. He wasn't on his phone. He was looking directly down into the bull-pen.
Directly at her.
Even from that distance, the weight of his gaze was suffocating. It felt like a physical touch, a hand resting on the nape of her neck.
"Elara? You okay?" Leo asked, frowning.
"I... I think I should get back to work," she whispered, her heart starting to hammer.
She tried to focus on the files in front of her, but the feeling wouldn't leave. Every time she laughed at something Leo said, she felt the gaze sharpen. Every time she leaned in to look at Sarah's screen, the air around her seemed to grow colder.
She wasn't just being watched; she was being monitored.
"I'm going to get some water," Elara said, standing up abruptly.
She walked toward the breakroom, her loafers silent on the floor. As she filled her cup, she glanced at a small security camera tucked into the corner of the ceiling. The little red light was pulsing.
She felt a sudden, desperate need to know if she was imagining things. She took a different route back to the elevators, ducking behind a pillar.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
It was a text from an unknown number.
The blue light of the monitor is better for your eyes than the glare in the breakroom. Don't wander too far, Elara. We have a meeting in ten minutes.
She stared at the screen.
She hadn't given Rowan her personal number.
It wasn't on her resume; she'd only provided her professional email and a temporary Google Voice number for the HR portal.
When she stepped back into the Annex on the fifty-eighth floor, Rowan was already there, sitting in the chair at her desk.
He was holding the small, cheap plastic keychain she'd left next to her computer—a little lucky cat Maya had bought her at a street fair. It looked absurdly small in his large, powerful hand.
"You like to socialize," he said. It wasn't a question. He didn't look up as she approached.
"I like my coworkers, Mr. Thorne," Elara replied, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and indignation. "Is there a problem with me working with the team?"
Rowan stood up, slowly. He moved toward her until she was backed against the glass wall. He didn't touch her, but trapped her between his arms, his hands resting on the glass behind her head.
"The problem," he whispered, leaning down so his breath fanned her cheek, "is that you belong in the quiet. Out there, you're a distraction. In here..." he trailed off, his eyes darkening as they traced the line of her throat. "In here, you're mine to watch."
He reached out, his thumb finally brushing the corner of her lip, she stopped breathing , erasing a tiny smudge of ink she hadn't noticed.
"Don't go to the bar tonight, Elara," he said, his voice dropping into a low, possessive growl. "You wouldn't enjoy the company."
"Is that an order?" She asked in a shaky voice.
"It's a fact," he said, stepping back and straightening his tie as if he hadn't just been looming over her. "Now, show me the maritime insurance projections. I want to see how your 'wizard' mind works."