Luca Volkov had built an empire on control — and lost all of it the moment Elena Moretti walked back into his life.

He couldn’t get the boardroom out of his head.

The look she gave him — polite, distant, merciless — hurt far more than hatred ever could.

Her voice.

Her composure.

Her lie: I’m not close to you.

He should have been relieved.

Distance was safe. Distance kept her alive.

So why the hell was his chest burning like he’d been gutted?

He stood in his office, staring out over the Manhattan skyline, fingers curled against the glass as if he could crush the city for daring to put her near him again.

A soft knock.

He didn’t turn. “Enter.”

Damian Hale stepped in — sharp black suit, colder eyes, and a reputation for violence that rivaled Luca’s.

“We may have a problem,” Damian said.

“We have ten,” Luca muttered.

Damian raised a brow. “This one wears heels and makes you stupid.”

Luca didn’t respond. He didn’t have to.

“Elena Moretti stays,” Damian added. “Legally, she’s the best shot we have at shutting down the corporate attack before it escalates.”

Luca closed his eyes. The universe wasn’t punishing him — it was laughing.

“If someone targets me,” Luca said quietly, “she becomes collateral.”

Damian scoffed. “That’s not your real fear.”

Luca finally turned, jaw wired tight.

“What is my ‘real fear,’ according to you?”

“That she still matters to you,” Damian replied. “And you can’t protect what you still want.”

Luca didn’t punch him. He wanted to.

“You think I’m stupid enough to want her again?” he said.

“No,” Damian answered. “I think you never stopped.”

Before Luca could respond, the intercom buzzed.

“Mr. Volkov, Ms. Moretti is here for the legal briefing.”

Luca’s pulse hammered.

Damian smirked. “Good luck not ruining her again.”

Luca ignored him and opened the door.

Elena walked in — pencil skirt, silk blouse, hair pulled into a neat bun, professionalism weaponized. She didn’t smile. She didn’t look away.

“Mr. Volkov,” she said, voice smooth.

He hated that she called him that.

Damian excused himself, shooting Luca a good luck surviving this look.

Silence settled — the charged, dangerous kind.

“You’ll be working closely with me,” Luca said, keeping his tone flat.

Her laugh was small but cutting.

“I don’t think ‘closely’ is something we should ever do again.”

He ignored the hit. “The threat we’re facing requires shared access to—”

“Stop,” she interrupted. “We both know you don’t want me involved. So let’s make it simple: if you want me to withdraw, fire me. If not, stop creating drama where there isn’t any.”

“Drama?” Luca stepped forward. “You think this is drama?”

She didn’t back down. “You’re acting like you still have the right to decide what affects me.”

His restraint snapped.

“You think I wanted you here?” he asked, voice low and rough. “I’ve spent five goddamn years making sure you were far from the things that could hurt you.”

She didn’t blink. “And in the process, you became the thing that hurt me.”

Silence — brutal.

He swallowed hard. “You’re not safe around me, Elena.”

“I wasn’t safe loving you,” she answered.

He flinched, almost imperceptibly.

She gathered her documents. “Now, if we’re done measuring pain, can we do our actual jobs?”

Luca forced his breathing to steady. “Fine. Professionalism only.”

Elena nodded. “Good. Then let’s start.”

She leaned over the table to spread out the files — pure professionalism — and every molecule of Luca’s restraint frayed.

The subtle scent of her perfume.

The soft curve of her neck.

The memory of her pressed against him under the rain, whispering choose me.

He stepped back before instinct buried reason.

He had once sworn he would never touch her again — not unless he could promise the world wouldn’t punish her for it.

But the problem with love — especially the kind he felt — was that it didn’t disappear just because it was dangerous.

“Elena,” he said quietly.

She didn’t look up. “We’re working.”

“No.” His voice cracked. “We’re pretending.”

She finally met his eyes.

“That’s the difference between us,” she whispered. “You pretend you don’t love me. I pretend I don’t care anymore.”

This time he didn’t stop her when she walked out.

But when the door shut, Damian’s earlier words came back like a curse:

“You can’t protect what you still want.”

Luca knew he should let her go again.

But something dark, destructive, and desperate inside him already knew:

He wasn’t going to survive watching her want someone else.

And if he couldn’t have her…

No one else would.