The office looked the same as always glass walls gleaming, phones ringing, heels clicking against polished floors. But nothing felt the same. Not to me.

I walked through the lobby clutching my files like a shield, my eyes fixed on the elevator numbers as if they could protect me from the storm inside my chest. No one else knew. No one else saw. To them, I was just another assistant reporting for duty.

But I knew. And so did he.

The memory of last night clung to me like perfume I couldn’t wash off. The warmth of his lips, the way his voice had softened when he whispered my name, the way dawn had broken while I lay against his chest, praying the moment would never end.

And then the way he had pulled away.

“This can’t happen again.”

The words haunted me. They played over and over in my mind, louder than the storm had ever been.

When the elevator doors slid open to the executive floor, I straightened my posture, smoothing invisible wrinkles from my skirt. I would not let anyone see the tremor in my hands. I would not let them know that my heart was breaking quietly behind my polite smile.

“Good morning, Miss Collins.”

The deep timbre of his voice froze me in place. He was already there, stepping out of his office in a crisp navy suit, every inch the untouchable CEO. His expression was cool, unreadable, as though the night we shared had been nothing more than a passing dream.

“Good morning, sir,” I managed, my voice softer than usual.

His gaze flickered to mine for a fraction of a second too brief to mean anything, too sharp to mean nothing. And then he walked past me, hands in his pockets, discussing schedules with another executive as though I were invisible.

Invisible.

That was worse than anger. Worse than regret. It was as though he had decided the only way to erase the night was to erase me.

The day dragged on with cruel precision. I buried myself in spreadsheets and emails, but my mind refused to stay put. It wandered to him constantly his closeness, his touch, the way his guard had fallen just long enough for me to see the man beneath the title.

By lunch, I hadn’t eaten more than a few bites. By evening, my stomach twisted, not from hunger but from the ache of pretending everything was fine.

Maya cornered me in the break room, narrowing her eyes. “Okay, spill. What’s wrong? You’ve been floating around like a ghost all day.”

“I’m just tired,” I lied, forcing a smile.

Maya wasn’t convinced. “Tired doesn’t make your cheeks turn red when I say his name.”

I froze. “Whose name?”

She smirked knowingly. “Ethan Blackwood.”

My heart lurched. “Maya ”

“Relax,” she said, sipping her coffee. “I’m not saying anything happened. But if it did… be careful. Men like him? They’re storms in suits. They sweep you up and then they’re gone, and you’re left picking up the pieces.”

Her words stung more than she knew. I forced another smile, but inside, my chest ached with the truth I couldn’t share.

By the time I left the office, the sky had cleared, leaving the streets washed clean under the glow of streetlamps. I walked slowly, hoping the night air would steady me.

But as I passed the pharmacy on the corner, I hesitated.

Something inside me an instinct, a whisper made me stop. My steps faltered as my eyes landed on the glowing sign: pregnancy tests stacked neatly in the display.

My throat tightened.

It was too soon. Far too soon. And yet…

My hand trembled against my bag as I forced myself to keep walking. It was nothing. Just paranoia. Just my mind spiraling because of everything that happened.

But the thought lodged itself deep inside me, refusing to let go.

That night, lying awake in my small apartment, I replayed everything again and again. His touch, his kiss, his voice. The way it had felt like something more, something real until the morning came and he pushed me away.

Maybe he was right. Maybe it couldn’t happen again.

But as I pressed a hand to my stomach, my heart whispered a question I wasn’t ready to face.

What if one night was already enough to change everything?