FATAL TROUBLE | JAY

8 - Hypothesis of Temptation

Y/N'S POV

I stand there, feeling like a dumb child for blurting out something so personal, my heart racing in my chest. His eyes widen for a split second before they narrow, processing my confession. I'm not sure what reaction I expected—pity, disgust, maybe indifference—but the way he looks at me completely disarms me. There's no pity in his gaze, no flicker of disgust, just a raw, unexpected vulnerability that makes my breath hitch. It's a flicker so brief, I almost miss it, but it's enough to plant a seed of doubt in my mind. 

"A prosthetic," He repeats, his voice making me feel both exposed and oddly comforted. There's no trace of judgment in his tone, just a quiet understanding that both unsettles and reassures me.

"Yeah. A prosthetic." I whisper, the word catching in my throat like a shard of glass. My cheeks burn, a traitorous heat blooming under his gaze. "That's why he was looking at my legs. People often stare." I stammer, the words tumbling out in a jumbled mess. It's also the reason I never wear skirts or short dresses, always dressed in a pair of pants and heels that don't give anything away. Losing a leg took a lot more than just the ability to walk. It stole a part of my confidence, a piece of my freedom. It turned every step into a calculated movement, every outfit a deliberate disguise. It turned every glance, every question, into a potential landmine.

"I see," Is all he says before he runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. His reaction is calm, composed—exactly what I needed but didn't know I wanted. There's no pity in his eyes, just a quiet resolve that makes me feel seen, understood. For some reason, I find myself wanting more. "Doesn't mean he gets to treat you like that. You're not some object for people to gawk at. You're their boss, and they need to respect that." He pauses, searching my eyes for any sign of doubt. "And I'll make sure they do."

My chest tightens at his words, a wave of unexpected emotion washing over me. Gratitude, for one. "Thank you," I manage, the words barely a whisper as I tighten my grip on the documents in my hands. The vulnerability feels raw, a crack in the carefully constructed wall I've built around myself. "I have to go back to the office." And with that, I quickly turn on my heels and walk away. But the click of his shoes against the polished floor tells me he's following immediately. Silently. His presence suffocates me, but for some reason,  a strange comfort settles in my stomach despite the irritation.

Reaching the elevator, I press the button, willing it to hurry. The confined space with him feels like holding your breath in a crowded room. Like trying to walk through a minefield blindfolded. Every step could trigger an explosion, every word a misstep. His broad shoulders brush against mine as the doors slide shut, and the space, though small, feels ever smaller with his standing beside me like a looming shadow.

I steal a glance at him only to find him staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched tight. Before I look away, he turns to me and I'm caught in the depths of his dark eyes. The elevator ascends in agonizingly slow increments while neither of us looks away. I don't know if it's a challenge or if we're too engrossed in the silent conversation unfolding between us. His gaze flickers to my lips and I suck in a breath, looking away as a rush of heat floods my cheeks.

When the elevator judders to a halt, the doors open and I rush outside, almost stumbling out into the familiar hallway. The two of us make it to my office where I sit behind my desk and not dare raise my eyes to let our eyes meet. He sits on the couch across from me, stares out the windows, and checks for any signs of trouble all while I focus on his presence. 

He's quiet, too quiet. I steal glances at him, trying to decipher the emotions playing across his features, but his expression remains stoic, unreadable. This man is a walking contradiction, a mystery wrapped in an enigma. I've never encountered someone so composed yet so fiercely protective, so distant yet so undeniably alluring. My own focus keeps drifting to the way his jaw clenches and unclenches, to the way his fingers tap out a rhythm on his knee.