The city outside gleamed wet under the storm, rain streaking down the glass walls like silver veins. The office was empty, save for two people caught in the delicate gravity of everything unsaid.
Aria Bennett stood by the window, fingers tracing the outline of a raindrop as it slid down the pane. She could feel Dominic's presence before she even turned. Calm. Silent. Predatory in the most restrained way.
"You shouldn't be standing there," he said, voice low, a quiet rumble that seemed to resonate through her chest.
"And you shouldn't be lingering behind me like that," she countered softly, though the tremor in her hands betrayed her.
He stepped closer, deliberate. Not touching — not yet — but close enough that the air between them was electric.
"You feel it too," he whispered.
"Feel what?" she asked, soft, steady. But her pulse raced.
"That… tension," he murmured. "The unspoken. The lines we both know we're not supposed to cross."
Her lips parted slightly, breath catching. "Lines are made to be respected," she whispered, soft but firm.
"And yet," he countered, lowering his voice, "we are drawn toward them anyway."
The office seemed smaller now, the world outside silenced by the storm. The hum of the lights, the patter of rain, and the charged electricity between them became their only reality.
Dominic reached out, lightly brushing her wrist with deliberate intent — not by accident. Aria's breath hitched. He let his fingers linger, a faint heat spreading along her skin.
"Stop," she whispered, more to herself than to him.
"Or?" he asked, his voice a low growl.
"I…" She couldn't finish. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
Before he could answer, her phone buzzed sharply against her hip.
A text. Unknown number.
"Some lines shouldn't be crossed… some mistakes aren't forgiven."
Aria's stomach dropped. She looked up, eyes wide.
Dominic's jaw tightened. Every inch of him became alert. His usual composed demeanor fractured for a heartbeat.
Selene Whitmore.
She hadn't entered the room, yet her presence was unmistakable. Calculated. Cold. A storm contained in silence.
Dominic straightened, pocketing the file he'd been reviewing. "Stay here," he said, calm but lethal. "I'll handle this."
Aria watched him leave, every step deliberate, every muscle coiled with controlled tension. Alone, the office felt impossibly quiet. The storm outside couldn't compete with the one building inside her chest.
Minutes later, Dominic returned. Mask fully restored, expression unreadable. But something had shifted.
He approached her, hand brushing hers again — deliberate, teasing, a whisper of heat. "We can't ignore this," he said, voice low.
"I know," she replied softly, voice steady but her body betraying her.
"Fire," he murmured, eyes searching hers. "And ice."
The words weren't about the storm outside. They were about them. About Selene. About every dangerous, forbidden thought they'd both been fighting.
Aria swallowed. "And yet…"
"Yet," he finished, "we're still standing here."
A long pause. Rain thrummed harder. Thunder rolled faintly in the distance. The office clock ticked, marking every second of restraint, every second of temptation.
And somewhere far away, but close enough to be felt, Selene's shadow lingered — unseen, calculated, watching. Waiting.
The game had just begun.
And nothing — not fire, not ice, not desire, not power — would ever be simple again.