A trembling hum lingers in the archive, fluorescent lights flickering above the narrow aisles. Era’s breath comes ragged as she stares at rows of boxed paintings, pulse fluttering beneath pale skin. Her blouse clings to her, thin silk damp at the small of her back. Shelves close in behind her—a trap, somehow—her hands fisting nervously at her sides.

The sharp click of heavy boots on linoleum sends a shock through her. Veyron appears, broad-shouldered and silent, his navy shirt stretched over muscle, security badge glinting at his chest. His eyes pin her in place—dark, unreadable, alive with something hungry and raw.

He moves fast, almost predatory. “You shouldn’t be down here alone,” he murmurs, voice rough, low. His hand lands against the metal shelf behind her, boxing her in. Era’s eyes dart to his lips, then back to his gaze—already she’s lost herself, shivering at the scent of him, crisp cologne cut through with sweat.

“I needed…a list for tomorrow,” she stammers, but the words twist in her throat as Veyron leans closer, pressing his body to hers—hot, solid, overwhelming. She gasps, cheeks flushing as he brushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering just a second too long, tracing the line of her jaw.

“You’re always running,” he breathes, frustration and desire sparking in his eyes, “but you keep ending up in my arms.” His mouth is on hers suddenly, fierce and urgent—his kiss greedy, possessive, lips parting hers with a desperation that leaves her reeling. Era clutches at his shirt, knuckles white, as his hands slide beneath the edge of her blouse, fingertips burning along her spine. Their hips press together, and her knees threaten to buckle as he breaks the kiss only to drag his mouth along her throat, teeth grazing her skin. She whimpers, pleasure and fear knotted tight as his grip brands her waist.

“Veyron, someone—”

He silences her with another kiss, voice muffled and broken. “Let them see. Let them know you’re mine,” he whispers, and something inside her shatters—she surrenders, lips parting, breath mingling as he takes her mouth again, need escalating in frantic waves.

His hands slide lower, possessive and rough, and Era arches against him, trembling under the weight of longing and the shame of wanting, always wanting, what she shouldn’t. Finally, he tears himself away, chest heaving, eyes stormy with conflict. She touches her swollen lips, dazed.

Veyron watches her—something wounded flickers beneath his desire. Without a word, he turns and stalks out, leaving her shaken, air around her charged with what nearly happened. Era catches sight of her reflection in the shiny cabinet—a girl flushed and wild-eyed, mouth bruised, blouse askew, every secret suddenly impossible to hide.

Later, in the breakroom, Veyron lingers by the monitors, jaw set, arms folded across his chest, watching Era through a dozen small screens. He’s coiled taut as a spring. Lirian appears by her side in the gallery upstairs, soft-spoken and elegant in ochre corduroy, sleeves rolled to reveal slender wrists marred by paint stains. He speaks close to Era, lips barely moving, his hand resting gently at her shoulder as she shudders beneath his touch.

Era glances at Lirian, her eyes shining with the sheen of tears and confusion, her whole body leaning subtly toward his warmth. Lirian smiles, a gentle, haunted thing; he tucks her hair behind her ear, then drops his hand, regret flashing for an instant.

Veyron’s fists clench as he watches them—rage, jealousy, betrayal warring inside him. The monitor flickers, freezing on the image of Lirian’s head dipping toward Era’s, their closeness electric. Something inside Veyron snaps. He growls low in his throat, knuckles whitening, a plan already forming—one that will change everything.

To be continued...