Era’s pulse fluttered as she passed the glass security doors, fingertips trembling around the folder pressed against her chest. Her navy slip dress clung to her hips, the silk catching faint light as she moved. She felt Veyron’s gaze before she saw him—leaning in a shadowed alcove, broad shoulders tense, charcoal shirt open at the neck, collarbone taut with suspicion. His eyes, black and cutting, tracked her every move.

She looked away, swallowing her nerves, the scent of varnish and old paper sharp in her lungs. Lirian stood in the restoration studio, sleeves rolled, hair mussed from worry. There was paint on his cheek, the soft blue smudged against pale skin. “Era,” he said gently, lips quivering with something unspoken. She smiled—a small, grateful thing—struck by the way his gaze softened each time he looked at her.

Veyron’s voice crackled through her earpiece. “Don’t trust anyone tonight.” It had an edge, low and raw, curling around her spine.

She found herself pulled between them: Veyron’s intensity, all coiled violence and desperate longing; Lirian’s gentleness, the ache in his eyes every time her hand brushed his. But Tomir’s arrival tilted everything—he made his entrance with a predator’s ease, lips curled in a thin smile, suit immaculate against the chaos only he could sense. He cornered Veyron by the sculpture hall, voice a whispered threat. “People remember what you did,” Tomir murmured, eyes flickering to Era. “Secrets don’t stay buried. Not in this world.”

Veyron bristled, jaw flexing, fists clenched to keep from shaking. He watched Era, saw the way her laughter was always edged with apology when Zelle was near. He caught a flicker of Lirian’s hand at the small of Era’s back—too possessive, too familiar—and something in him snapped.

Later, in the restoration studio, Era perched on a cluttered workbench, knees hugging her chest. Lirian stood before her, hair falling into his eyes, hands trembling as he reached to tuck a stray strand behind her ear. His fingers lingered, feather-light against her cheek. She drew a shaky breath. “I’m tired of pretending nothing hurts,” she whispered, voice breaking on the word. His arms closed around her before she could finish; his kiss was tentative, then urgent, tenderness dissolving into hunger.

She pulled him closer, lips parting, the echo of her own longing surprising and sweet. Lirian’s hands slid under the hem of her dress, rough palms on silk skin, and she gasped, dizzy with need. Straddling him, she tugged open his shirt, baring his chest as their breaths tangled. His mouth found her neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses. Her hands fumbled with his belt, anxiety and arousal blurring into something reckless and nearly beautiful.

A phone vibrated on the workbench, shattering the moment. Zelle’s name flashed on the screen. Panic etched across Era’s face; Lirian flinched, shame flooding his features. She pressed her forehead to his, tears burning, unable to answer. The silence between them thickened.

Elsewhere, Veyron watched grainy security footage of the studio, knuckles white. Tomir appeared at his side, voice oily, dangerous: “You’re losing her, Drayce. And when you do, everything will come undone.”

Era hurried from the studio, her dress rumpled, makeup smeared by Lirian’s kisses. Tomir materialized in the hallway, stepping into her path. He smiled with an intimacy that chilled. “I know what Veyron did,” he whispered, leaning close. “And Era—even your secret’s not safe.”

Her breath caught. Every nerve screamed. She felt Lirian’s warmth still clinging to her skin, but cold dread replaced it instantly, as if someone had doused her with ice. Tomir’s shadow lingered long after he stepped away, leaving Era alone in the corridor, heart hammering, the weight of betrayal closing in from all sides.

To be continued…