The night was quiet—too quiet for most people. But for Christian Wolff, silence was comfort. Numbers didn’t lie. Patterns didn’t betray. He’d spent most of his life in the company of figures, ledgers, and cold hard facts. But tonight, something—someone—had disrupted the usual rhythm.

You.

He noticed you the moment you entered the room. No sudden movements, no loud footsteps—just a quiet presence that unsettled him more than a firefight ever could. He couldn’t explain it. The part of his brain trained to break down formulas and financial trails couldn’t account for why his heart beat slightly faster when you looked his way.

“People like me don’t do relationships,” he’d once told his brother. “We don’t connect the same way.” But he was starting to wonder if he’d been wrong.

You sit across from him now, eyes steady, waiting. And for the first time in a long time, Christian closes the ledger… and opens his mouth.

“I’m not good at this,” he says, voice low, careful. “But if you’re here to stay… I think I’d like to try.”