Elladyn Mazaire clutches a battered tote and her flimsy confidence as she slips through the doors of The Meridian Tribune. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, already too bright, already too much, and before she makes it ten steps into the bustling cavern of desks, a coffee cup buckles in her grip and hot liquid splashes across a stranger’s crisp white shirt.

“Oh my god, I’m so—” she blurts, cheeks blazing, already grabbing napkins.

The stranger—tall, dark-haired, a half-smirk in his blue eyes—shakes off the burn, eyes lingering on her instead of the stain. “Hey, there goes my shot at a normal Monday. You must be the new kid. Welcome to the chaos.” His voice is a blend of lazy amusement and something softer, smoky on the edges.

Rivan Beldar. She recognizes the name, even if she hadn’t meant to. Senior crime reporter. Newsroom legend. Definitely dangerous, if only for her nerves.

Embarrassment nearly swallows her, but he leans in, voice low. “I’ll call it even if you tell me what’s in your bag. You look like you’ve packed for a war zone, not a newsroom.”

She laughs—a cracked thing, but real. “Maybe I have.”

He grins. The moment hangs, taut as a piano wire, before movement elsewhere yanks them apart. Across the room, a bristling copy chief—quick to spot fresh blood—tries to corner her over protocol. Rivan steps between, effortless in his protectiveness, his tone edged with humor that gentles the confrontation. In the hum of gossip and deadlines, he draws her in, making her feel less like prey.

But a stray glance catches pain coiled at the base of his smile. It knocks something loose in her: recognition, maybe, of ghosts that linger just out of sight.

Afternoon blurs with introductions, the taste of anxiety, and the impossible pressure to prove herself. Elladyn spends too long pretending not to notice Rivan’s gaze drifting over to her—studying, curious, almost tender. Every brush of his hand when passing copy stirs something reckless and warm.

In a rare lull, she checks her phone. A simple message, chilling in its precision: You really think you’re safe here, Ella? Her fingers go numb. She deletes it, tucks the fear away, and forces herself back into the noise.

Hours later, the newsroom empties out. Rivan lingers, head bowed over notes, the clack of his fingers on the keyboard a solitary metronome. He doesn’t see Elladyn watching him, doesn’t know the way she memorizes the angle of his jaw, the heavy drop of his shoulders.

She means to slip out unnoticed, but a printer jams and her soft curse betrays her.

He laughs, sliding behind her, his body unsettlingly close—heat radiating through worn denim, voice hushed, “Here, you gotta hit it just right.” His hand covers hers, both of them stilled by the sudden throb of intimacy. She smells paper, ink, something darker.

“Is fixing printers part of your official job description?” she teases, pulse hammering, breath quickening with the nearness.

He holds her gaze this time. “Depends who’s asking.”

The silence widens, delicious and terrifying, until she breaks away, cheeks flaming, muttering something about catching the elevator. But he’s beside her before the doors close, and they’re alone in that metallic box, surrounded by low, golden city light and palpable longing.

She faces forward, heart pounding. He shifts closer. The air goes thick and electric. Her nerves fray—everything hurtling, heightening—until suddenly she turns, meeting his eyes, standing her ground. “Are you always this reckless with new hires?” Her bravado, brittle but brave.

He laughs, low, and in the pause that follows there’s nothing but want. He reaches up, fingers tracing the line of her jaw—gentle, aching with restraint. Their breaths tangle in the inch of space left. As the elevator shudders to a stop between floors, Rivan moves, his lips catching hers with desperate hunger.

She presses back, helplessly, her fingers in his shirt, their bodies colliding with a gasp—soft at first, then hungry, then wild. He cradles her face, kissing her deeper, letting down a mask she already senses has weighed him down for years. Her hands slide beneath his collar, trembling, searching for something honest in the mess.

When the doors finally open, they break apart, lips swollen, breath ragged. She laughs shakily, running fingers through her hair. “Guess that’s one hell of a first day.”

He just looks at her, bruised and dazzled, want obvious in every muscle.

Later, as she disappears down the hall, Rivan stands in the now-empty lift, hand trembling as he checks his phone—again. Another message, just three words this time, as sharp as a wound: Your guilt will destroy you.

He looks up, searching for Elladyn’s silhouette through the glass. She’s gone. His reflection stares back, eyes hollow, secrets surfacing.

The elevator hums. Somewhere, two hearts race in the dark.

To be continued...