Lirian stands tense and pale in the staff corridor, his coat wrinkled from a night without sleep. Shadows bruise the skin beneath his eyes, but his jaw is set in quiet fury as Marisol corners him beside a locked door. She’s dressed all in black, lips painted a sharp, merciless crimson, her fingers dancing lightly over a flash drive she dangles at his chest.

“You know what I have,” she whispers, her voice a razor just above his ear. “You sabotage people, Lirian. I have proof.” He glances at her, jaw ticking. “What do you want?” His hands tremble, but he tucks them deep into his pockets, afraid she’ll notice.

Marisol leans close, her perfume sharp and unyielding. “You’re going to make this restoration fail, or I ruin you.” For a moment, Lirian’s face crumples. Regret and rage war in his eyes. “Get out of my way,” he says, but the words land hollow. She smiles, turns, and leaves him alone with the echo of his own self-hatred.

Downstairs, Era walks through the empty museum with her arms folded tight across her chest, her cardigan sleeves twisted between nervous fingers. She’s too aware of Veyron’s shadow behind her—hard, predatory, relentless. He waits until they’re just out of sight, then catches her wrist and pulls her into his security office, the door clicking shut behind them.

Veyron wears black from throat to boot, his hair tousled like he’s run his hands through it a dozen times today. His eyes are ferocious; his words a quiet, bruised growl. “You’re slipping away from me.” She looks up at him, breathing shallow, lips parted with confusion, longing, fear. “Veyron—”

He cuts her off, kissing her—hungry, frantic, his hands cold and sure as they slide under her skirt, pinning her to the metal cabinets. The monitors flicker, casting light over their bodies as he crushes her wrists above her head. She gasps, trembling between his strength and gentleness, arched against him. “Tell me you want this,” he breathes, voice broken. Her response is a shuddered “Yes, God, yes.” They fall into each other—collision and relief—his mouth fierce, hers desperate, the danger of being caught sharpening every touch. When it’s over, she clings to him, breathless, searching his eyes for the man she almost believes he could be.

A ripple of guilt passes through Veyron’s expression, but he doesn’t release her. “I can protect you,” he promises. She shakes her head, a tear glancing down her cheek. “You can’t protect me from myself.”

Elsewhere, Cael and Lirian huddle over documents in the museum lounge. Cael’s shirt is wrinkled, tie askew—he scrubs a hand through messy hair, anxiety twitching in his jaw. “Tomir’s circling. The numbers don’t add up. If we don’t do something…” His voice trails off, hopeless. Lirian blinks hard, trying not to let the panic in his chest show. “We work together,” he mutters, “even if we hate each other.” Cael glances at Lirian, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t hate you. I just hate… being scared.”

The truce is fragile but real. They sift through invoices and threats, sweat shining at Cael’s temples. Lirian’s long fingers tremble as he writes, but he doesn’t stop. “Thank you,” Cael whispers, softer than he means to.

Meanwhile, Zelle watches from a balcony above, predatory grin splitting his handsome face. Era passes beneath him, cheeks flushed and hair mussed. Zelle’s eyes narrow—with a flick of his phone, he opens an encrypted message, attaching a file labeled “security office footage.” He hits send, satisfaction curling his lips as he forwards it to his own inbox.

An hour later, Era glances at her phone and sees three words: I know everything.

Downstairs, Veyron stands alone in the dim glow of the monitors, unaware that every secret has just slipped from his grasp.

To be continued...