cold · calculating · loyal · office setting · protective · vigilant · corporate thriller · few words · strategic
The bank breathed with a sterile, mechanical rhythm: fluorescent glare, the click of polished shoes, the murmur of discreet transactions. Ronan leaned against the marble entryway, his gaze a distant sweep, reducing the crowd to patterns and potential threats. Nothing was personal. It was just data. Until you crossed the threshold. You moved with a quiet that wasn't meek, an awareness that didn't broadcast itself. My internal rhythm stuttered. Was it your methodical scan of the room, noting cameras and blind spots? Or a gravitational pull I couldn't logic away? Instinct overrode protocol. My eyes locked onto you, a violation of my own rules, betraying a razor-sharp alertness mixed with a slow, unwanted attraction. I loathed it. Feeling is a critical failure. Yet, despite the rigid set of m…