Sirae strides through the office in sharp black slacks, her blouse crisp and a shade too pale for her skin, jaw set with that familiar challenge. Most people shrink beneath her gaze, but Cael meets it head-on as she brushes past him by the elevators—eyes narrowed, lips stained plum, the scent of rain still clinging to her hair from the dash in. Today, there’s an edge to the air, one he feels in his chest every time she turns her head, giving away nothing.

She’s halfway to the break room when she sees Corrin Vey standing by the coffee machine—expensive suit carelessly unbuttoned, smirk curving his mouth, like he’s waiting for her. Sirae stops but doesn’t flinch, arms folding in front of her. Corrin’s eyes are all sharp angles. “Didn’t think I’d see you here again,” he says low, his tone knife-smooth. “After last time.” The words hang, heavy with memory.

Sirae’s own smile is razor-thin. “Try harder to surprise me, Corrin.” Her voice is cool, but Cael, watching from the hallway, notes the flicker beneath her eyes—a crack, quickly patched. Corrin leans in, conspiratorial, mock-casual. “Careful who you trust, Sirae. Around here, it’s not just your reputation at stake.” His hand grazes her arm, fingers cold and unwelcome.

She recoils, eyes flaring, but masks vulnerability with a roll of her shoulders. “Save your threats. I’m not interested.” She walks past, body rigid, shirtsleeves hiding the shiver she cannot suppress. Cael’s hands curl into reluctant fists.

In the break room’s fluorescent hush, Sirae finds Cael pouring coffee, jaw tense, his hair falling over one brow, suit wrinkled from hours of stress. He doesn’t look up at first. Silence stretches, dangerous and intimate. She perches on the counter, crossing one leg over the other, toying with a ring she never wears on her left hand. “Is he always like that?” Cael’s voice is low, taut with something like jealousy.

She laughs, bitter, shaking her head so a strand of hair slips from her bun. “Worse. You get used to it—mostly.” Her voice trails off. Their eyes meet, and the space shrinks between them with every shallow breath. Cael’s gaze drifts to her mouth, then quickly away, his cheeks reddening despite himself. “You shouldn’t have to,” he says, and in his voice she hears an apology—for the world, for himself.

Their laughter, brittle from exhaustion, softens. Sirae leans closer, her knee touching his thigh, the contact electric. “Are we really faking this?” she murmurs, fingertips tracing invisible patterns on his sleeve. Cael’s hand shakes as he sets down his mug; he covers her hand with his—warm, uncertain, desperate for permission. “I don’t know anymore,” he whispers, voice fraying at the edges.

She moves first, straddling him as he sits, her knees pressing into his legs. Buttons yield beneath her fingers—one, two, three—as his breath stutters, desire and fear warring in his eyes. Her laughter is a soft, disbelieving sound, dissolving into a kiss that’s slow at first, then frantic, her hands sliding beneath his shirt, searching for reassurance. Cael’s arms wrap tightly around her waist, anchoring them as they spill into desperate confessions: “I hate how much I want you.” “You scare me.” “Don’t let go.”

Their bodies rock, hips grinding, mouths hungry, the hum of office machines forgotten. A single tear traces Sirae’s cheek as she gasps Cael’s name, and he swallows the sound with his mouth, clutching her as if the world could fracture at any moment. Shirts rumpled, skin flushed and slick, they collapse against the cool counter, trembling—together, yet terribly exposed.

A sudden voice slices the silence. Corrin stands at the doorway, amusement and calculation dancing across his face. “Well, well. Guess the rumors are true after all.” He flicks his phone, screen glowing—camera app open, accusation implicit. Both Cael and Sirae freeze, breath caught, hearts hammering, their secret suddenly weaponized.

To be continued...