Zevan lounged against the conference table, hair tousled and shirt sleeves rolled just high enough to flash a trail of tattoos peeking around his elbow. His smirk lingered, punctuating every tease tossed toward Caelix, who leaned sleek and calm in his tailored black suit, tie a little too tight to fool anyone. They volleyed banter while prepping slides for the most make-or-break demo of their lives, but under the jokes Zevan’s knee bounced—he lied with bravado, but his pulse stuttered every time Caelix called him out. Caelix’s cool gaze flickered with something sharp, a knowing edge softened only when no one else could see.

The glass doors opened with a deliberate push and in swept Rysa, shoulders squared under a vintage cobalt blazer, eyes blazing, black curls wild and unsmothered. Her gaze locked instantly on Zevan, then Caelix, the challenge clear on her lips before she even spoke. “Is this where the magic happens, or just the show?” Her voice cut through the posturing, slicing the air with a thrill Zevan felt in his gut. For a second, the world shrank to three held breaths.

Caelix grinned, arms folded, voice melting into a low, practiced purr. “Depends who’s watching,” he replied, eyes drifting just a shade too long over her mouth. Zevan’s laugh caught as Rysa dropped into the seat between them, close enough that the citrus bite of her perfume sparked fresh, nervous heat in his chest. He tried a joke, but she met it with sharper wit—her smile was a dare, her stare already undressing him. Their hands brushed passing the clicker without ever meaning to; the warmth lingered as Zevan’s skin remembered every accidental contact.

Somehow, the meeting ended with Luminex’s board both dazzled and divided. Rysa’s numbers were brilliant, her arguments relentless, but she’d made as many enemies as fans in twenty minutes. Zevan watched as her bravado slipped, just for a second, when the door clicked shut—jaw tensed, fingers briefly trembling at her side. He almost reached for her, but she smoothed her blazer and disappeared into the elevator, lashes lowered, unreadable.

Midnight bled through the city windows as Zevan slipped up the staircase to the rooftop bar, tie discarded and shirt unbuttoned at the throat. He found Rysa alone against the railing, hair haloed by neon, posture rigid but defiant—the only place she’d let the world see her raw edges. She didn’t turn, but her voice carried. “You always chase sunsets, or only when you’re running from something?”

He joined her, close enough that their shoulders grazed, close enough that the laughter drained from him. “Maybe I just follow whoever looks best against them.” His voice was quieter than he meant. She faced him, eyes glassy in the half-light. Her guard was a veil—one he ached to slip behind.

They talked, words turning confessional. Her hands fidgeted with the rim of her glass, nails chipped and bitten despite her sharp suit. Zevan watched every nervous motion, saw himself mirrored in the places she tried to hide. She asked about his wanderlust; he lied about being free. He noticed her sadness caught in the corner of her smile.

Then, on a whisper of impulse, she leaned in—one finger tangled in his shirt collar, lips crashing into his. The kiss was reckless, hungry. Zevan’s hands found her waist, gripping tight as if he could anchor them both with touch alone. The city glimmered beneath, but Zevan only cared for the heat of her breath, the arch of her back, the sudden shiver when he pressed her against the cool metal rail. Her perfume—sharp, wild, alive—swallowed him whole. They broke, breathless, foreheads pressed together, both terrified to call this anything but a mistake. He wanted her, needed her, but the ferocity of it left him trembling.

Below, unseen, Theron paused by the elevator, clutching a stack of folders to his chest. He watched the silhouettes entwined above, longing etching deep into his shy, haunted eyes. He wished for courage—to speak, to belong, to touch something as electric as the world they tasted so easily.

In the blue glow of her phone, Rysa saw the new message: “We know what you took.” Her face went hard, mouth set. Zevan, drunk on her heat, didn’t notice its arrival. But her heartbeat thundered with a different terror now, secrets clawing up her throat.

To be continued...