The sweater fit perfectly.
Soft beige, warm against her skin, with sleeves that fell just past her wrists. The black slacks were simple, tailored enough to feel professional but comfortable enough to move in. Elara had dried her hair, slipped into the new clothes, and returned to her desk with a quiet smile.
She didn’t know who had chosen them.
But she had a feeling.
Later that afternoon, she stepped into the hallway to deliver a file to the executive wing. Her steps were quiet, her thoughts still lingering on the morning’s rain.
As she turned the corner, she nearly collided with someone.
Lucas.
He stopped just in time, eyes catching hers.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
His gaze dropped—just briefly—to the sweater.
Then back to her face.
Elara swallowed.
“Mr. Draeven.”
Lucas’s voice was calm.
“You look warmer.”
She blinked, then nodded.
“I am. Thank you.”
He didn’t smile.
But something in his eyes softened.
“Good.”
She hesitated, then added—half teasing, half sincere:
“It’s not too formal. I didn’t want to look like I borrowed someone’s gym hoodie again.”
Lucas’s lips twitched—just slightly.
“No. It suits you.”
Elara smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Well, whoever picked it has good taste.”
Lucas didn’t respond immediately.
But his gaze lingered.
“They do.”
She felt her cheeks warm, but she didn’t look away.
“I was actually on my way to drop this off,” she said, holding up the file.
Lucas reached for it, their fingers brushing briefly.
“I’ll take it.”
The touch was light.
Barely there.
But it made her pulse skip.
He didn’t say anything else.
Just nodded once and turned toward the executive doors.
But before he stepped through, he paused.
“Elara.”
She looked up.
“Yes?”
Lucas didn’t turn around.
But his voice was quieter now.
“If it rains again… bring an umbrella.”
She blinked, then laughed softly.
“Noted.”
As Lucas walked away, Elara stood there for a moment longer, her fingers brushing the sleeve of the beige sweater she hadn’t chosen herself.
How did he know?
She hadn’t told anyone she’d gotten soaked.
Only Mina had seen her—offered her a towel and a hoodie.
No one else knew.
And yet… clothes had arrived.
Warm. Dry. Her size. Her style.
Not flashy.
Not expensive.
Just… right.
Did Mina say something? Or… did he just know?
The thought lingered as she turned back toward her desk.
And for the first time, she wondered if the seal between them wasn’t just a mark.
Maybe it was a signal.
A whisper.
A tether that pulled when she needed help—even before she asked.