Clear.
Professional.
Boundaries.
He nodded once and continued walking.
Lana stood there, frozen, heat rushing to her face—not from desire this time, but from something dangerously close to embarrassment.
She wasn’t angry.
She was… shaken.
Rejection wasn’t foreign to her. But this kind—the calm, immovable, unbothered kind—was new.
Later that night, alone in her room, she lay staring at the ceiling, replaying every attempt, every failed maneuver.
Nothing worked.
Not charm.
Not wit.
Not vulnerability.
Martin remained exactly the same: a wall of discipline and restraint.
And that, somehow, only made the pull stronger.
She exhaled slowly, fingers curling into the sheets.
“Fine,” she murmured to herself, eyes narrowing slightly, determination sparking beneath the fatigue and fear
