The elevator remained still, the faint hum of machinery the only sound. Glen shifted slightly, feeling the heat of Peter’s presence more intensely than she expected. Every subtle movement he made seemed to brush against her awareness, from the casual adjustment of his jacket to the way his hand lingered near the panel. It was unnerving and exhilarating all at once.

She caught herself brushing her fingers against the champagne bottle, a small excuse to let her hands move when everything else felt frozen. Peter’s gaze didn’t leave her; it followed, tracing the lines of her shoulders, the curve of her neck, the way her hair fell across her face. It wasn’t predatory—it was deliberate, attentive, quietly admiring. That made it feel different. Safe, yet charged.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, grounding, but there was an edge to it now—an intimacy she couldn’t ignore. Glen nodded, almost automatically, though her pulse betrayed her composure. “Yeah… I think so.”

He shifted slightly, closing the distance just a fraction without overtly touching her. The subtle movement was enough to make her chest tighten. The air between them seemed to pulse with anticipation, the quiet of the elevator amplifying every little sensation. Their accidental touches—her elbow brushing against his arm, his fingers grazing the buttons near hers—felt magnified, electric.

Glen’s lips parted slightly as she swallowed, trying to ignore the fluttering in her stomach. She realized she was watching him as closely as he was watching her. Every small glance, every nuanced expression was a message, a silent conversation she hadn’t anticipated. It was thrilling and terrifying in the same breath.

Peter allowed himself to relax for the first time. He had been careful before, keeping his distance, maintaining composure. Now, he let some of the reserve slip, letting his posture soften, letting his curiosity show in the subtle tilt of his head. He watched her reactions, reading every flicker of emotion that crossed her face.

Their eyes met again, longer this time. Neither looked away immediately. Glen felt the pull—the subtle magnetism that had been building since they first locked eyes. It was no longer a question of polite distance; the attraction had surfaced, undeniable and mutual. She found herself leaning slightly closer, almost imperceptibly, testing the space between them.

Peter’s lips twitched into a half-smile, acknowledging the silent acknowledgment. The tension was tangible now, hovering in the warm, enclosed air. The elevator didn’t move, but time seemed to stretch, each second magnifying the closeness, the desire, the quiet intensity growing between them.

Glen’s fingers unconsciously adjusted the bottle again, though it was unnecessary—her mind was elsewhere. Every sense was heightened: the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth radiating from his body, the low, steady sound of his breathing. Her own heart beat faster, a rhythm that matched the slow, deliberate gaze he kept on her.

For a moment, the world outside the elevator didn’t exist. The confined space had become their own private stage, where glances, touches, and unspoken words spoke louder than anything else could. The tension was a living thing, moving between them, tangible, inevitable. And both of them knew—there was no going back now.