Tavian waits outside Glasswell’s empty conference suite, his shoulders hunched inside a navy hoodie, nerves crawling beneath his skin. He keeps checking the time, lips gnawed raw, hair falling into green-gold eyes that flick anxiously down the darkened hallway. Each passing footstep in the distance makes his pulse leap. When the door finally swings open, Aelira steps in—a slice of midnight in a tailored charcoal suit, her severity softened only by the stray strands of hair slicked behind one ear.

He exhales, hands jammed into his pockets, voice trembling. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t know who else—” His words collapse beneath the weight of everything unsaid. Aelira’s gaze is direct, searing—her mouth set in a line that teeters between compassion and warning.

She studies him, reading the frantic shift in his posture, the way he rocks slightly on his heels. “You look like you haven’t slept in days, Tavian.” Her tone is blunt, but beneath it lies something dangerously tender. He wants to move toward her, to beg for forgiveness and absolution, but shame nails him in place.

Lyska’s arrival is a storm—boots echoing, bold eyes rimmed in kohl, lips chapped but defiant. She stalks between them, shoving hands through her wild hair, energy pulsing off her in waves. “So are we all finally done pretending?” Her voice cracks, brittle and too loud. “I’m sick of secrets.” She glares at both of them, chin tilted so fiercely it might shatter.

For a moment, no one speaks. Tavian’s chest tightens. Lyska’s sharp mask crumbles, revealing a flicker of fear. Aelira sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, then faces Lyska straight on, all sharp cheekbones and exposed vulnerability. “You want the truth? Fine. I covered for Tavian. I lied. For months. Because no one else gives a damn whether you both survive this place.”

Lyska stares, throat working. Tavian’s voice is barely more than a whisper. “I destroyed everything. My family. This company. I—” He shudders, tears threatening. “I don’t deserve—” But Lyska’s fingers, trembling, reach for his sleeve, curling into the fabric with a desperation that speaks louder than words.

Aelira’s composure finally fractures. She steps close, laying a tentative hand on Lyska’s shoulder, another on Tavian’s back. Her nails dig in, grounding them all in the charged hush. “We’re not alone anymore,” she says, voice breaking. “Let someone carry the weight for a change.”

The dam bursts. Tears slip down Tavian’s cheeks. Lyska’s jaw quivers, her mouth pressing to his ear, breath hot and ragged. “You’re not poison. I need you.” Her confession is a plea and a promise. Tavian turns, catches her mouth with his, the kiss tasting of salt and fear, forgiveness blooming in its wake.

Aelira hovers—then gives in. She draws Lyska into a trembling embrace, their bodies pressed together, heat and longing rising between the three like a fever. Tavian’s arms fold around both women, the circle tight, desperate, unbreakable. For a moment, there is nothing but skin, ragged breath, and the thud of terrified hearts.

The air thickens with the possibility of hope—until a shrill siren slices the quiet. Red and blue lights spill through the window. Aelira jerks back, eyes wide, color draining from her face.

On a wall-mounted screen, the news explodes: GLASSWELL SCANDAL—CORRUPTION EXPOSED. Tavian’s and Lyska’s names flash in digital fire. Police swarm the building below.

Lyska’s hand tightens on Tavian’s. “We have to move. Now.”

Aelira stands, frozen at the crossroads—love or survival. They bolt into the uncertain night, the weight of desire and betrayal trailing behind them like a living shadow.

To be continued...