But he lets me leave.
As I step back into the night, one thought repeats over and over in my head.
This was a mistake, and I’m not sure I care.
Chapter
Five
Orpheus
The silence she leaves behind is louder than the club ever was.
I stand in the center of my office long after the door seals shut, long after her footsteps fade from the hall, long after the night should have returned to its familiar numbness. It doesn’t.
Her scent lingers.
Not perfume. Not anything artificial. Just her. Warm skin. Soap. Something faintly floral that I can’t name and don’t want to forget. It clings to the air, to the furniture, to me. I breathe it in slowly, deliberately, like it might disappear if I rush.
I feel awake.
Not alert. Not aware.
Alive.
That realization shocks me more than anything else tonight.
I move toward the desk, resting my palms against the edge as memories replay in my mind. Her voice. Calm but firm. The way she looked at me when she told me I didn’t need to tear people apart to prove a point.
No one speaks to me that way.
No one.
Anyone who has dared usually winds up at my feet, headless. I’m feared for a reason.
Yet she did. Without fear. Without apology. Not reckless. Not stupid. Just honest.
I exhale and scrub a hand over my face.
I’ve never cared how my staff feels. They’re loyal. Efficient. Replaceable. Respect has always been enforced through consequence, not kindness. That’s the way power works.
Yet, when I see Priam’s face in my mind, stiff with restraint, something twists uncomfortably in my chest.
She saw that part of me. The ugly part. The ruthless edge I usually don’t bother hiding.
She didn’t flinch.
She didn’t praise it either.
Instead, she told me to be kinder to my staff.
I straighten slowly, irritation and something far more dangerous coiling together inside me.
This is why I should leave her alone.
She’s too soft for my world. Too genuine. Too human.
I should let the night swallow her back into obscurity. Let her be another fleeting enigma in an otherwise endless existence.
