Ellory stands in the elevator, lips pressed white, fingers twisting the hem of her emerald blouse. She stares at her reflection—bare skin visible at the collar, the light fabric barely hiding the thin, pale lines where old scars meet new courage. When the doors open on SkyEdge’s glass-walled lobby, the air smells sharp: espresso and ozone, ambition knifing through nerves. Silar waits by the front desk, suit jacket slung over his shoulder, dark hair perfectly tousled. There’s an ache behind his eyes—something close to desperate—but his lazy smile snaps into place the instant he sees her.

She walks past him without pausing, her shoulders squared, mouth set with a tremor of defiance. “You don’t own me,” she says, not quite under her breath. He flinches—a fleeting, genuine hurt—then catches her wrist, thumb grazing skin just above her pulse. “You sure about that?” His voice is lower than usual, roughened by exhaustion and something raw. Her cheeks flush, not from embarrassment, but from knowing—finally—that she can make him tremble.

Joren watches them from across the sales floor, sleeves rolled to the elbow, tie crooked. Tension knots his spine; his knuckles whiten where he grips his phone, reading and rereading a message he never sends. When Ellory looks up, he offers her a small, hopeful smile—quiet but steadfast. For a heartbeat, she wants to run to him, to lose herself in the gentle safety he always offers.

But Mirelle storms past in scarlet heels, hissing at Silar. “Tael’s going to kill this deal if you don’t fix things. Keep your playthings in line.” Her eyes slash to Ellory, cold and measuring. Silar tries to bite back a retort, jaw clenching, but Ellory interrupts, stepping between them. “I’m not anyone’s plaything. And I’m not a secret anymore.” Her voice shakes, but her chin lifts. Silar’s mask crumbles, just for an instant.

Later, after hours, Ellory finds Joren on a quiet balcony, city lights shimmering below. He’s slouched against the railing, tie gone, hair mussed by worry. She sits beside him, knees almost touching, the heat between them suddenly electric. “You don’t have to keep saving everyone,” she murmurs. His eyes shine, vulnerable. “I wish you’d let me save you. Or maybe just—let me love you.” His confession lands like a promise and a threat.

She reaches for his hand, threading their fingers together. He studies her, voice cracking. “Are you sure?” There’s a pause—her fear, his hope—stretching out, almost unbearable. Then she leans in, her breath warm against his cheek, lips trembling as they find his. The kiss is gentle, almost reverent at first, but grows urgent as he gathers her in, hands shaking at her waist, her scars pressed to his skin and welcomed. She guides his touch, unhiding everything, letting him see, letting herself feel. Their bodies move together, slow and searching, every sigh threaded with honesty. When she gasps against his throat, it’s not from shame but relief—he adores every broken, beautiful part of her.

After, they lie tangled. Joren brushes a strand of hair from her face, eyes wide with hope and fear. “You could still change your mind,” he whispers. She kisses him again, fierce. “Not this time.” For the first time, she believes herself.

But as Ellory dresses, heartbeat still fluttering, she finds a sleek metal key in her blazer—Silar’s, slipped there to remind her of everything she's trying to leave behind. She stares at it, heart hammering, torn by guilt and longing.

She returns to the office, tension crackling in her every step, and finds Silar waiting by the mirrored wall. His eyes search hers—wounded, pleading. Without a word, Ellory presses the key into his palm. “I’m done,” she says, voice unsteady. “I’m not yours to keep.” The words break something loose inside him; he smashes his fist into the mirror, shards tumbling, his reflection splitting into pieces. Blood beads along his knuckles, but his eyes never leave hers.

Down the hall, Joren stands waiting, uncertain and hopeful. Ellory hesitates between them, tears catching the light, the future wide open and perilous. The sound of shattering glass echoes.

To be continued...