Tavian’s fingers trembled over the keyboard, sweat prickling under the stiff collar of his blue oxford. The gleam of monitors made his dark eyes look haunted, but it was the midnight hush outside the server room that truly unsettled him. When the system suddenly whined and the metal door clanked shut, his head snapped up—panic settling in behind his glasses.

He tapped the intercom. Static. The building’s pulse thumped in heavy silence. His heart pounded harder. He was about to try the emergency unlock when he heard a patter of boots—then Lyska’s sharp voice, slicing the quiet. “What did you do?” She stood in the doorway, her hair slightly mussed, white suit jacket tossed over her arm in irritation. Her laptop bag dangled from two ringed fingers, rings glinting defiant in the low light.

Tavian’s mouth opened in apology, but the words stuck. Lyska’s dark eyes drilled into his, one brow arched—not angry, exactly, but ravenously curious. She stepped in, glancing at the tangled cables and blinking servers, then back at Tavian, who stood rigid and awkward, the color high on his cheeks. “We’re locked in,” he stammered, pushing up his glasses. His tie was already loosening, revealing the vulnerable line of his throat.

Lyska shrugged one shoulder, lips quirking as she set her things aside. “You’re lucky I like high-pressure situations.” She perched on the corner of a crate, crossing long legs clad in black slacks, letting her heel sway lazily. “So, genius—what’s your story?” Her voice softened just a little, curiosity edging out her usual bite.

Heat flushed through Tavian’s face. He fidgeted, knuckles whitening as he gripped a cable for support. “I don’t have a story,” he lied, voice hoarse. “Just made a mistake. Again.” His gaze dropped. Shame flickered in his eyes. Lyska’s stare softened—briefly—before she let out a shaky laugh. “Better to admit the truth before it festers.” Her bravado faded, and she stared at the ground, then confessed—quick and raw—her affair with Dersh, her mother’s drinking, the way she sometimes sabotaged herself just to feel something.

The air thickened as truth spilled open between them. Tavian edged closer, drawn in despite himself. Lyska’s hand hovered, then slipped over his—her touch surprisingly gentle. Her thumb traced his knuckles, grounding him. “I’m not broken,” she whispered, “but I like the way you see me.” She smirked, but her eyes glistened, uncertain.

Tavian’s breath shuddered. He glanced at her mouth, the memory of her earlier taunts burning in his chest. Without thinking, he reached up, tracing the messy strand of hair that framed her face. Lyska’s posture shifted—her bravado crumbling as she leaned in, lips close, eyes daring him to break the last rule. Their kiss was sudden, reckless—her fingers sliding under his shirt, his hands shaking as they gripped her waist. His tie fell, her jacket slipped to the floor, their nerves transmuting into hunger.

Clothes tangled as they lowered themselves awkwardly onto the floor, the scratch of carpet and whir of servers heightening every sensation. Lyska straddled him, her palms flat against his chest, gaze searching his face for hesitation. Finding none, she kissed him again—harder, needier, as if she could erase every old scar with her mouth. Tavian’s hands trembled over her hips, lost and awed, craving every second.

They moved together, gasps echoing in the humming dark. Each touch grew bolder, more desperate: Lyska’s laugh dissolving into a moan as Tavian finally abandoned caution and pressed himself to her, letting her lead, letting himself surrender. For a fleeting moment, nothing existed outside the heat between them—the forbidden, the fear, the longing, all burning away.

As dawn crawled between glass slats, Lyska lay sprawled beside him, hair mussed, skin glowing with sweat and satisfaction. Tavian propped himself up, chest rising with uneven breaths. Their clothes were scattered, their secrets between them—tenderness and terror mingling in the hush.

A harsh alarm shattered the quiet. Red lights strobed. Tavian jerked upright, heart in his throat, as a security announcement echoed through the door: “Internal breach detected—containment protocols engaged.”

He met Lyska’s gaze. She was already pulling on her jacket, face draining of color, adrenaline chasing away the afterglow.

“Someone knows,” she breathed.

To be continued...