Cyran’s hands were trembling as he reached for his coffee, so he jammed them in the pockets of his black jeans instead. The bright office lights made every tired line on his face seem deeper, eyes shadowed and rimmed in red. He tried not to look at Vessa across the room, but her presence buzzed at the edge of his vision—a flash of crimson lipstick, the glint of a silver chain at her throat, her dark curls half-tamed by a haphazard twist. She wore a fitted silk blouse, vintage and loose at the wrists, and her skirt clung to her hips. She looked like a vision conjured by hunger and regret.

Rhion’s voice cut through the air as she strode in, all icy precision: “Cyran, the brief I sent last night? I need your revisions by noon.” She wore a tailored blazer, her hair in a severe knot, every inch of her posture demanding control. Her gaze lingered on Vessa for a second too long—calculating, hungry, as if weighing everything Vessa had that she couldn’t touch.

The day staggered on in a haze of glances and clipped words. Rhion found Cyran alone in the copy bay, her heels soundless on the cheap tile. “You look tired,” she murmured, voice low. She leaned in, her perfume sharp, invasive, and Cyran flinched but didn’t move. His jaw tightened as she brushed her fingers over the vein in his wrist, pulse fluttering. “You’re not the only one carrying too much,” she whispered, her words slipping through layers of practiced detachment.

He should have pulled away. Instead, he let her hand linger. He craved oblivion—craved being wanted by someone, anyone. Rhion’s eyes were all challenge as she led him to her office, the glass walls now dark with the city night. She pushed him back against the door, her mouth searching, insistent. Their kiss was a knife, frantic and hungry. Her blazer slid off, and his hands fumbled, desperate, grasping for something real. Their bodies tangled gracelessly—her breath ragged, his mouth finding her collarbone, every touch rough with self-loathing. It was messy, fast, half-dressed; she bit down a cry against his shoulder and he clung to her like drowning, neither looking at the other when it was over.

He left her office with his shirt half-buttoned, shame painted raw across his face. The corridor outside was empty but for Gaven, watching with a smirk, arms crossed. Gaven’s eyes glittered meanly with some private satisfaction, but said nothing as Cyran passed, heart pounding in his throat.

Moments later, in the art room, Vessa faced her own devastation. She was a portrait of breaking—lips pressed bloodless, eyeliner smeared, her eyes hollow. She wore oversized headphones, but no music played. Gaven entered quietly, concern knitted into his brow. He sat beside her and reached out, but she jerked away, her voice cracking: “Not you. Not now.” Her defiance barely masked the hurt trembling through her.

She stormed from the room, heels echoing. Gaven watched her go, his expression twisting—resentment, longing, defeat. He punched the table, skin split on impact, but the gesture did nothing to ease the bruises inside.

Later, the lights in the agency flickered—Cyran searched every hallway, frantic, desperate for Vessa. His mind was a blur of guilt and longing, flashes of Rhion’s hands and Vessa’s smile colliding in painful contrast. But Vessa was nowhere to be found, her desk empty, her camera abandoned. The building felt suddenly hollow.

He checked his phone—one message, just a number: Vessa’s contact. His breath stuttered as he opened it: You think you can keep secrets here? You’ve already betrayed her. And I’m closer than you think.

Cyran’s chest tightened in panic and shame. He called her, but she didn’t answer. Panic flickered into outright terror as he realized Vessa was gone, unreachable, her pain his fault.

Far above, one window glowed in the dark—Rhion watched the city with trembling hands, her reflection fractured across the glass. She touched her lips as if searching for the softness she’d stolen, suddenly unsure if she’d won or lost.

On the agency group chat, a new message appeared: If you want your secrets safe, meet me on the rooftop at dawn. Or everyone finds out everything.

To be continued...