Lessa’s arms were crossed tight over her chest, white blouse sleeves wrinkled, jaw flexing as she watched Corven’s laughter—too loud, just a bit too free—with Vyn, the new distributor. Vyn leaned in, a half-shaved stubble catching the light, tie loosened like he’d just rolled out of someone’s bed. His charm was impossible to ignore; Corven’s green eyes sparkled with wary fascination as they shared an inside joke about the failures of imported oak.

Lessa cleared her throat, hard enough to make them look her way. Her lips pressed into a straight line, and she shot Corven a look that could’ve soured milk. “Shouldn’t you be double-checking the fermentation tanks?” she snapped, the edge in her voice surprising even herself.

Corven’s posture stiffened, a shadow flicking through his gaze. “Thought you could handle quality on your own,” he threw back, voice an octave rougher. Still, he took a half-step toward her, hands curling into the pockets of his dark jeans, tension in his shoulders.

Vyn arched a brow, mouth curving with mischief, then slipped away, sensing the static. Left alone, Lessa and Corven stood toe-to-toe, hearts hammering in their chests, a brittle silence swelling between them. “You enjoy this,” Lessa hissed, breath shaking, “parading in front of everyone, letting them think you’re some savior.” Her fingers twisted the fabric of her skirt, anger barely masking the fear that she might lose him—not to Vyn, to herself.

Corven’s jaw clenched. “You think I want to be rescued?” His voice trembled with all the words he’d swallowed for weeks. He brushed hair from her face, searching her eyes for forgiveness, or maybe just a way back to the softness they used to share.

The fight heated quickly, too quickly. Lessa accused him of keeping secrets, of needing everyone but her. Corven fired back, voice breaking, “I only want you. But you—you keep running.” Hurt flashed across his face, raw and unguarded. He meant every wounded word, and in the sag of his broad shoulders, she saw the boy who’d once begged her to stay.

Tears stung Lessa’s eyes, but she blinked them away, fists balled against her sides. The tension snapped—Corven dragged her into the office and locked the door behind them. The air vibrated between them as he pressed her against the desk, his hands at her waist, trembling with desperation. She kissed him hard, gasping as he hoisted her onto the desk, urgency in every movement—his mouth searching, hers answering with equal ache.

Lessa’s skirt bunched at her hips; Corven’s hands found her thighs, skin burning where he touched her. Tears streaked down Lessa’s cheeks as they undressed in frantic shoves, mouths never breaking apart. Every thrust was a question, every gasp an apology. “Don’t leave,” she whispered, voice shattering. “Don’t let go.” Corven pressed his forehead to hers, breath ragged, eyes glassy with love and regret. They held each other through the tremors, clinging as if the world would split in two.

Afterward, their bodies twined, Corven smoothed damp hair from Lessa’s brow. She stared at the ceiling, chest hitching, a smile flickering through the sadness. “I hate that you make me feel this much,” she murmured, voice small.

He laughed—a soft, almost broken sound. “Good. Means I’m not the only one terrified.” His thumb traced her jaw, reverent.

Elsewhere, Senne perched on a battered sofa, the blue glow of her phone illuminating her sharp cheekbones and tired eyes. Her child slept on her lap, lashes fanned across a chubby cheek. Senne scrolled, thumb pausing on a group photo of festival staff—Corven, Lessa, Briq, herself at the edge. Her gaze lingered on Lessa’s forced smile, the haunted look just below the surface. Senne tucked a blanket around her sleeping child, resolve hardening in her eyes. She had a secret, and she wasn’t the only one.

Later, Lessa lingered after hours with Senne at the inn, wine glasses half-empty between them. Senne’s lips curled in a half-smirk as she watched Lessa fumble with her words, trying not to spill too much. “You ever get tired of pretending?” Senne asked, voice low, searching.

Lessa hesitated, eyes darting away. “Every minute. But pretending is safer than losing everything.” She flinched as she said it, almost wishing she could pull the words back, but Senne just nodded, her own secrets simmering behind her cool exterior.

In the darkness outside, Vyn spoke quietly into his phone, voice barely above a whisper. “Lirae is more vulnerable than we thought. Proceed.” His eyes glinted with satisfaction, and as he hung up, a sliver of moonlight traced the cruel curve of his smile.

To be continued...