“Sweetheart.” The endearment stops my rambling, sends my pulse skittering beneath my skin. “Forget the glass. I care that you were upset enough to shatter it. Come. Let me make sure you’re alright.”
The tenderness nearly unravels me. When was the last time someone had worried about me instead of Aria? When had anyone ever put my wellbeing before property damage? “Yes. Okay.”
“Good girl.” My breath catches at the praise, at how those two simple words can steady my pulse and set it racing in the same breath. “Though perhaps we should be discreet. People do love their gossip.”
“I wouldn’t want to damage your reputation,” I murmur. The words come quieter than intended, tainted by everything I’ve tried not to crave.
He lets out a low chuckle. “Sweet Luna, always thinking of everyone else. Take the side entrance and use the private lift. Less chance of running into the cleaning crew. Although . . .” A deliberate pause hums through the line. “You shouldn’t worry about such things. I would never let anyone smear your good name.”
“It’s yours I’m worried about,” I whisper, then want to bite my tongue.What am I doing?This is dangerous. Stupid. He’s married. My superior. Powerful enough to destroy careers with a word. Yet something about him makes me reckless.
“You’re too precious,” he murmurs, and the warmth of it burns straight through me.Too paternal.Too possessive.I don’t know which part twists deeper. “See you soon?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
The call ends, and I stare at my unrecognizable reflection in the black glass—eyes bright as venom, heart galloping. Not ashamed. Not afraid.
Alive.
Darkmoor Industries cuts throughthe night, obsidian angles sharp enough to cleave the stars from the sky. The private entrance beckons, sleek and silent, glowing faintly with arcane recognition—a privilege Alexander granted only days ago. Not only clearance, but trust. Something fluttered low in my stomach when he pressed the keycard into my palm, his fingers lingering half a heartbeat too long.
I smooth my ivory silk dress for the hundredth time, regretting the impulsive choice to change before coming. The fabric clings like a second skin, whispering secrets with every movement, reminding me I left my hair down tonight instead of binding it in its usual severe twist. What am I doing? This isn’t a date. It isn’t anything. Gods, he probably won’t even notice.
The elevator chimes with a beckoning note.
His office opens into a sanctum of shadow and glass, every surface lined with quiet power. Alexander stands against the shimmer of the city, backlit by a thousand flickering lights. He is all control, all presence, his suit cut to perfection, molded to the sheer force of his body. The tumbler of amber liquor in his hand glows as though it burns from within. And when he turns to me, my breath tangles somewhere between reverence and ruin.
“Luna.” My name slides from his lips, a sentence I’d beg to serve. It’s wrong, how good it sounds. How easily it becomes a reward.
Two weeks ago, I walked into his office desperate and hungry, with nothing left worth keeping. Now I stand in silk, with his trust braided into my spine. Somehow, this is when I falter. When I finally have something that could be taken away.
“You look troubled.” And gods help me, I want him to trouble me more.
I try to step forward, but he’s already closing the space between us. Gliding, not walking, as if gravity works differently in his presence. His hands rest on my shoulders, thumbs grazing bare skin with a precision that anchors me in ways it shouldn’t.
“You’re trembling.” His gaze sharpens, concern darkening the hazel until they almost look gold. “What happened? And don’t tell me it’s nothing. I haven’t seen you this shaken since the night after your parents’ death.”
“I . . .” My voice catches as his thumb traces my collarbone, the touch so achingly gentle it makes my eyes sting. “Dom gave Aria a journal at the gala. One from your archives.”
“Frommyarchives?” His jaw tightens.
I nod, swallowing the panic. “I would’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t know until tonight.”
Alexander says nothing, but the room shifts, the air folding tighter around us.
“She’s been obsessed ever since,” I continue, bitterness threading through the words. “Out of all the groundbreaking work in those pages, do you know what she latched onto?Bonds. Some half-formed theory Mother barely touched. Not even real research. Just conjecture.”
His hand slides to my waist, steadying me. “You’re worried she’ll do something reckless?”
“She’s angry. Unstable.” The admission stings. “There’s no structure anymore. No accountability. Only Dom. He encourages her instability, feeds it. And I’m the one who opened that door. I usedhim to draw her to the gala, to make her listen. But all I did was push her straight back into his hands, and now she’s spiraling.”
“Luna.” Alexander’s voice holds firm. “This isn’t your fault. You offered her your hand, a path back, and she chose another.”
“But if I hadn’t—”
“If you hadn’t what?” His eyes sharpen. “Shown compassion? Tried to pull her from the wreckage of her own self-destruction? Your empathy is not a weakness, sweetheart. It’s a strength. But Aria made her decision, and you were right to come to me.”
His other hand lifts to cup my cheek, thumb brushing lightly across my skin, and I lean into it before I can stop myself. That simple touch unwinds something in my chest.
