Monday morning.

I walked into the office with a little more bounce in my step than usual, coffee in hand, hair actually cooperating for once, and a quiet, lingering glow on my skin. I guess self-love does that to you.

This weekend had been surprisingly empowering. I kept going back to those photos I’d taken. Not to critique, not to judge, but to admire. I finally felt like I owned my body again. Like I could take up space without apologizing for it.

It was a refreshing feeling.

I didn’t even flinch when I walked past reception and headed for the elevator. Normally, I’d panic about seeing Lucas worry about whether my blouse was wrinkled or if I’d remembered to put on enough lip balm. But today?

I felt unshakable.

When I stepped into the elevator, I caught my reflection in the metal walls. I was wearing subtle makeup, soft pink lipstick, and a cream blouse tucked neatly into a navy skirt. I looked professional but confident. I liked how I looked, and I liked how I felt.

The doors opened on the 17th floor, and I made my way toward my desk like I owned the damn building.

But the moment I walked past Lucas’s office, something in the air shifted.

His door was open.

He was seated at his desk, staring intently at his screen, fingers pressed together beneath his chin like he was trying to control a very specific thought. Or maybe fight one.

Our eyes met just for a second.

And it was… strange.

Not cold. Not warm.

Just charged.

Like static in the air before a storm.

I gave him a polite smile. “Good morning.”

He didn’t smile back. His jaw clenched. His eyes flickered once, down my body, then quickly back to my face.

“Morning,” he said, voice low and gruff.

Okay… weird.

I brushed it off and slipped into my seat, booting up my system. Maybe he was just having a rough start. He did that sometimes. Monday moods. Nothing new.

I started checking my inbox, sipping my now slightly-too-hot coffee, when Anna’s name popped up in my messages.

Anna: Girl, we need to talk. Like, urgently.

I blinked. Weird. I texted her back.

Me: What’s up?

Anna: Tell me you didn’t send those photos to anyone else.

I frowned. My stomach dipped a little.

Me: Of course not. I only shared them with you. Why?

No reply.

I checked my AirDrop history.

Then it hit me.

I had shared the folder.

But had I clicked the right name?

A sinking feeling opened up in my chest as I scrolled through the AirDrop log.

Lucas’s MacBook.

Oh.

My.

God.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

My hand flew to my mouth as heat flooded my face. My entire body broke into a sweat as I stared at the name again, hoping, praying it was a glitch. A one-time misclick. Something that didn’t actually go through.

But that look on his face this morning?

The tension? The way he looked at me?

He saw them.

He saw everything.

I couldn’t breathe.

Oh God. I was going to die. Right here, under my desk. Of humiliation. They’d find my body in a pencil skirt and pumps, clutching my phone and muttering “nudes” over and over.

I wanted to disappear.

I wanted to crawl into the file cabinet and slam the drawer shut behind me.

Had he opened them? Was he judging me? Had I ruined everything?

The worst part?

A tiny, shameful part of me hoped he had opened them.

And liked what he saw.

I was halfway through composing a fake emergency email to justify running out of the office when his voice sliced through the silence like a razor.

“Sofia. My office. Now.”

My fingers froze over the keyboard.

I looked up slowly.

He stood in his doorway, one hand gripping the edge of the frame, his tie loosened just slightly, like he was two seconds away from unraveling—and not just the fabric. His gaze met mine, unreadable, hard, too steady to be casual.

I felt my heartbeat stutter.

Shit.

I stood, legs suddenly unsure of themselves, and walked toward his office like a woman headed to her own execution. Every step sounded louder than it should have. The click of my heels against the marble floors, the subtle brush of fabric against my skin, it all felt louder somehow, like the whole damn universe knew what I’d done.

When I entered his office, he shut the door behind me. Quietly. Deliberately.

The click echoed like a gunshot.

I stood in front of his desk, back straight, hands folded like I was waiting for judgment.

He didn’t sit.

Neither did I.

Instead, he moved around the desk slowly, walking toward me until he stopped just a few feet away. His presence filled the room. Heavy. Sharp. Tense.

“Sofia,” he said, voice low and calm, but there was a dangerous edge there. Controlled. Coiled. “Did you mean to send those photos to me?”

I swallowed.

There it was.

The question.

The one that made my lungs forget how to work.

“I…” My voice cracked. “No. I didn’t. I was trying to send them to my friend. Anna. I didn’t realize until just now. I’m so, so sorry.”

His jaw flexed.

“I see.” He didn’t look away. Didn’t blink. “So it was an accident.”

I nodded, cheeks on fire. “Yes. Completely.”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning my face like he was searching for something. Maybe a lie. Maybe courage.

“Did you take them for her?” he asked.

I blinked. “What?”

“The pictures,” he said evenly. “Were they for her eyes only… or did you want to be seen?”

My breath caught.

I didn’t know how to answer that. Because no, I didn’t mean for him to see them. But when I looked into his eyes, eyes that had seen every inch of me, I didn’t exactly want to disappear, either.

“I… I don’t know,” I admitted quietly. “I took them for myself. Anna just asked to see them because… we’re both doing this self-love thing. I didn’t think…”

“That I’d see you like that?” he finished, stepping closer.

I felt my back instinctively press against the edge of his desk. My breathing hitched.

“No. I didn’t think you’d ever see me like that,” I whispered.

He stared at me for a long moment. And then, to my surprise, he chuckled, but it wasn’t mocking. It was low, rough, and full of something I didn’t know how to name.

“Sofia,” he said softly, “you have no idea what you’ve done to me.”

My lips parted. “Lucas—”

“I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since Saturday,” he continued, his voice dropping into something almost sinful. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you. Laid out in that light. That look in your eyes. That confidence. That body…”

He stepped closer.

Now there was no space between us. Only heat.

“I didn’t mean to invade your privacy,” he murmured. “But you should know… the second I saw those pictures, I stopped seeing you as just my assistant.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

“I can delete them,” he said. “Right now. I should. That’s the professional thing to do.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

“But the truth?” he said, eyes burning into mine. “I don’t want to.”

I stared at him, lips parted, breath shallow. “Lucas…”

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

I didn’t.

Because I didn’t want him to.