Chapter 67: Two Hearts, One Office
Lisa’s POV
By the time I reach my office, my chest is already tight.
Not from stress. Not from Andre. Not from work.
From Leo.
It’s ridiculous, really. We are married — technically, legally — but nothing about us is meant to be romantic. We signed papers for strategy, for protection, for the image. A united front. Nothing more. And yet, over the past few weeks, his presence has begun to slip under my skin in the most dangerous way.
The way his eyes soften when he looks at me.
The way his voice instinctively lowers when he knows I’m on the edge.
The way he stands just a little too close lately.
It’s becoming too much.
So today, I decide I will build a wall.
Not an obvious one. Nothing dramatic. Just a subtle, emotional step back. A little more distance in my voice. A little more space between our bodies. A little more cold in my expressions.
I sit behind my desk, open my laptop, and pretend to be completely absorbed in emails as I hear the outer office door open. Footsteps. Familiar ones.
“Morning,” his voice calls out, light but searching.
“Morning,” I reply, not looking up.
Silence.
Usually, he’d make a joke about the coffee smell or tease me about beating him in. Today… nothing. I sense him standing there, watching me.
“You’re in early,” he says.
“So are you.”
Another pause. Thicker this time.
I can feel him frown without even looking. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes.”
Too short. Too clipped.
I tap at my keyboard unnecessarily. The sound is sharp in the quiet room. I feel his gaze on my face. Trying to catch me, understand me, pull something from me.
“Lisa,” he murmurs. “You’ve barely said two words to me.”
“I’m busy, Leo.”
“With what?” He moves a little closer. “You haven’t even opened any documents yet.”
Damn him.
I finally glance up at him, putting on my most professional expression. Cool. Detached. “I’m reviewing the public reactions to Andre’s statement. We can’t let up.”
A flicker of irritation crosses his features. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know exactly what you meant.” My voice hardens before I can stop it. “And I don’t have time for personal distractions right now.”
Distractions.
The word lands between us like broken glass.
His jaw tightens. I see the hurt mask itself behind control. “Is that what I am to you now? A distraction?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you implied.”
“Leo, don’t twist this.”
“So explain it to me,” he presses, stepping forward until he's only a few feet from my desk. “Because since last night, you’ve been acting like I did something wrong.”
“You didn’t,” I say quickly. Too quickly.
“Then why do you look at me like I’m suddenly a problem?”
Because you are, my mind answers. You’re the one thing I can’t fight or plan against. The one variable I don’t know how to control.
I stand up, needing the motion, the air. “I’m just trying to stay focused. This isn’t about emotions. It’s about the mission — about taking Andre down.”
His eyes darken. “Everything with you is about the mission. Even when it’s not.”
I turn away, walking toward the window just to put space between us. My reflection stares back at me in the glass — tense, conflicted, afraid.
Afraid of him.
Afraid of myself.
“You knew this arrangement wasn’t meant to get complicated,” I say softly, my back still to him.
“It got complicated the moment you broke down in that chair and I held your face in my hands,” he replies.
My heart stutters.
“And again in the boardroom when you needed me to be on your side instead of against you. And again last night when you almost kissed me.”
I spin around. “We didn’t nearly kiss.”
He lifts an eyebrow slightly. “You’re right. We did worse.”
The room feels smaller. The air heavy.
“Leo… we were both tired. Emotional. That’s all it was.”
He takes a slow step closer. “No. That’s not all it was. And you know it.”
My voice drops. Warning. “Please don’t do this.”
“Do what? Say what’s actually happening between us?” His tone isn’t angry — it’s wounded. That’s worse. “I thought we were becoming something, Lisa.”
The words echo.
Something.
I freeze.
Because I don’t know what that something is.
A partnership?
A mistake?
A comfort born of pain?
Or something far more dangerous?
His eyes search my face, waiting for an answer I don’t have.
I open my mouth. Close it. Try again.
“We can’t be something,” I whisper.
“Why?” He’s closer now, and I don’t step back. “Because of Andre? Because of Fiona’s ghost hanging over everything? Or because you’re too afraid to admit you feel the same pace of fire I do every time I look at you?”
My heart pounds violently.
“Don’t say that,” I breathe.
“You’re scared,” he murmurs. “But don’t punish me for it.”
I clench my fists at my sides. “You don’t understand, Leo. I don’t own myself right now. All of this—” I gesture to the room, the files, the plans. “It’s eating me alive. If I let myself feel anything for you, it will control me, and I can’t afford that.”
His expression softens, but the pain doesn’t leave. If anything, it deepens. “So instead, you’ll just shut me out?”
“I’m protecting both of us.”
“No — you’re choosing safety over possibility.”
“Possibility gets people killed in my world!”
“I’m not asking you to fall in love with me,” he snaps, the first real bite in his voice. He drags a hand down his face. “I’m asking you not to pretend that what we feel isn’t real.”
Silence grips the office.
We stand a few feet apart, both breathing hard, both wounded.
“Leo…” I whisper, broken now. “This was never meant to be real. Our marriage, our closeness — it was all for one purpose.”
His voice is low. Devastating. “When did that change?”
I don’t answer.
Because it changed when I started caring if he slept enough.
When I noticed the scars on his knuckles.
When his laughter filled the spaces Andre destroyed.
When his presence made my loneliness quieter.
But I won’t say it.
He nods slowly, as if confirming something he already feared. “Right. I see what this is.”
He turns and walks toward the door.
Each step is a blow to my ribs.
“Leo, wait.” My voice cracks, but I don’t stop him. I don’t chase him. I hate that I don’t.
He opens the door, steps half out into the hall…
Then pauses.
He doesn’t turn around fully. His hand rests on the doorframe like it’s the only thing holding him upright.
In a voice just loud enough for me to hear, he whispers:
“Don’t run from me, Lisa.”
Then he’s gone.
The door closes.
And the silence he leaves behind is far louder than any argument we ever had.
My chest caves inward in a slow, painful ache.
Because the truth is…
I don’m not running from him.
I’m running from how much I need him.