Unspoken Claim

The day at Seraphina Textiles was almost over, and Hillary Seraphina was finishing her last reports. The factory floor had grown quiet, most workers already gone home. She sighed softly, brushing a strand of chestnut hair from her face as she stacked papers neatly.

She didn’t know that someone was still watching her.

Arsen Zverev Valerievich had not left the building. Instead, he stood in the shadow of the doorway, his steel-gray eyes fixed on her.

From the moment he had first seen her, Hillary had been impossible to forget. She wasn’t dressed in jewels or gowns like the women he met at galas, yet there was something about her that drew his gaze without effort. Her beauty wasn’t loud—it was quiet, natural, and it lingered. Even the way she moved carried an unspoken grace.

Arsen had seen thousands of faces in his twenty-one years, but this one… this one stayed.

“You work late,” he said finally, stepping into the room.

Hillary looked up, startled. Her wide brown eyes met his, and for a moment, she froze. The sight of him—tall, sharp, commanding—stirred something inside her chest she couldn’t name.

“Mr. Valerievich,” she said quickly, standing up. “I didn’t expect you to still be here.”

He closed the door behind him with a soft click. The small office suddenly felt even smaller, his presence filling every corner. His gaze moved over her, steady and unyielding, as if he were memorizing her.

“You remembered me,” he said.

“Yes,” she admitted, her voice quiet. She did remember him. Not just from the dinner, but from the way his eyes had seemed to single her out in the middle of the crowd.

Arsen took a step closer. “Good.”

Hillary’s breath caught. She wasn’t used to being the center of such intense attention. Men had looked at her before—she was aware of her own charm, the way people often turned their heads when she walked by—but this was different. This wasn’t casual admiration. This was focus. Control.

She tried to laugh it off lightly, her voice soft. “You make it sound like it was a test.”

“Maybe it was,” he answered smoothly.

Her heart skipped. He was too direct, too certain, and it left her unsteady.

She lowered her gaze to the papers on her desk. “Was there something you needed, sir?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I came to see you.”

Her head snapped up, her eyes meeting his again. For a second, the world seemed to pause.

“Me?” she asked, unsure if she had heard correctly.

“Yes,” he repeated, his tone calm but final. “You.”

Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. Something in the way he said it—deep, confident, possessive—made her pulse quicken.

Arsen stepped closer, the air between them heavy. “You should be careful,” he said, his voice low.

Hillary blinked, confused. “Careful?”

“There are men who notice you,” he continued, his eyes narrowing. “Men who would use that smile, that softness of yours, for their gain. You’re too easy to draw in. Too easy to want.”

Her breath hitched at his bluntness. No one had ever spoken to her like this. His words weren’t just observation—they were warning.

“I can handle myself,” she whispered.

Arsen’s gaze grew sharper. “Perhaps. But I won’t let anyone try.”

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