Lyska yanked her blazer straight, her jaw set in a furious line as she stalked down the glass corridor. Her phone buzzed endlessly—another message from her mother, some fresh disaster at home that was supposed to be her problem. She didn’t bother replying. The icy steel of the executive floor felt safer than her own apartment. Power, she reminded herself, was the only antidote to chaos.

But she could feel Glasswell’s eyes on her, sharp as knives. Tavian barely met her gaze in the open workspace, hunched over his monitor in that too-big navy sweater, glasses slipping down his nose, fingers trembling just enough to give him away. When she brushed past, his scent—soap and static and the faintest hint of something sweet—ghosted over her skin. She shot a glare at Viessa, who was already mid-whisper, lips curling into a knowing smirk.

Lyska speared Tavian with a look, then jerked her head: Follow me. His eyes widened, uncertain, but longing and fear warred inside him as he obeyed, stumbling after her into the empty boardroom. The city lights spilled in through the massive windows, setting ghostly reflections trembling across the polished table. Her breath came shallow as she closed the door, the click echoing in the hush.

He stood awkwardly at the head of the table, hands shoved in his pockets, knuckles white. “Is everything—” he started, but she cut him off, voice rough as velvet. “You know what people are saying, Tavian. About us. About you.”

He looked so small for a moment, braced against the glass, cheeks shadowed with exhaustion and shame. “Does it matter?” His voice barely carried. “Maybe it’s true.”

Her anger bled into something helpless and raw. She stalked to him, letting her fingers trace the line of his jaw. “You don’t get to hide,” she whispered, her lips brushing the corner of his mouth. “I need—” But her words died as he crushed her against the window, desperation overtaking fear, his hands trembling as they found the buttons of her blouse.

Breath tangled in her throat. Their mouths crashed together, bruising and sweet, fingers clumsy with need and self-doubt. Her skirt rode up as she wrapped herself around him, the city burning cold behind her, his body scorching everywhere they touched. Every kiss was a question: Will you stay if you see all of me? Every answer was yes, yes, please—

She broke away, chest heaving, fingers curled in his hair. “I want to forget everything,” she whispered, biting her lip until it hurt, “just for now. Just with you.”

He nodded, choked with longing and guilt, his hands shaky as he pressed her onto the conference table. The world outside didn’t matter; the only reality was the slide of her thighs around his hips, his mouth at her shoulder, her nails digging crescents into his back. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away, staring at his flushed face—so open, so ruined. For a moment, they were just bodies and need and hope, not traitors or victims, not broken, not haunted.

He kissed her hard, again and again, until words failed. She clung to him, gasping, her voice a raw ache. “Promise me we survive this.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, unable to speak, lashes wet. Her heart cracked—because he couldn’t promise. Because he was breaking too.

A sudden banging split the silence outside. Footsteps pounded down the corridor. They froze, breathless, half-dressed, hearts in their throats. Tavian’s phone lit up on the table. An anonymous number: THE BREACH WASN'T YOUR FAULT. SOMEONE SET YOU UP. MEET ME—ALONE.

Lyska stared at the glowing screen, terror blooming. Tavian’s hand found hers, clammy and cold, as the footsteps drew closer, then stopped right outside the door. Shadows passed beneath the frosted glass. One word—betrayal—hung between them, pulsing with every frantic heartbeat.

The door handle rattled.

To be continued...