Lina stirred, consciousness returning slowly, gently. There was no jarring alarm, no rude sunlight. She simply awoke, the way you do when your body has finally had enough rest. She kept her eyes closed for a moment, registering the deep, unfamiliar comfort of the mattress, the whisper-softness of the sheets against her skin. This was definitely not her bed. This bed was, like, stupidly comfortable.
She sat up and looked around. The room was huge, all grey and white, like something from a movie. And then she saw it. On the wall opposite the bed was this giant photo of Lucas. But it wasn't the Lucas from school. This Lucas looked… legit. He was wearing a dark jacket, leaning against a vintage car on some empty highway, looking off into the distance with this calm, cool expression. And handsome in a way that felt completely foreign. A wave of dislocation hit her. Oh, right.
Then last night came back to her: The reunion, the humiliation of the stain, the sharp, gutting pain in the car where she'd cried in front of him. Him being weirdly nice. The pills and a bottle of water, the heat pad. She groaned, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. The physical pain was now a faint, distant throb. The humiliation, however, was fresh and fully operational. She must have totally passed out after that, because she had zero memory of getting here.
But now she remembered he'd gotten her here and made sure she was comfortable. A flush of gratitude mixed with residual embarrassment warmed her cheeks. She got up and moved to the bathroom.
The bathroom was a revelation—all marble and chrome, with a shower that looked like a spaceship console. A standalone tub that looked out over the city. Towels so thick and fluffy they looked like clouds and products in plain, expensive-looking bottles. It was worlds apart from her own cramped bathroom with its perpetually dripping tap. She showered quickly, the hot water soothing, and wrapped herself in a towel so plush it felt like a crime.
Back in the bedroom, she faced the problem of clothes. Her emerald dress was nowhere in sight. She went to his walk-in closet. Rows of suits, perfectly pressed shirts, casual sweaters. She rifled through, feeling like an intruder. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that would fit her. She reached for the simplest thing she could find: a soft, grey button-down shirt from a pile on a shelf. It was made of a cotton so fine it felt like silk. She pulled it on. It drowned her, the hem hitting her mid-thigh, the sleeves extending far past her fingertips. She rolled them up several times. It would have to do.
Feeling both absurd and strangely vulnerable, she walked back out into the room. Her eyes were drawn again to the photograph. She stood in front of it, her bare feet cold on the floor, and just stared. Who was this person? The Lucas she'd known was sweet, nervous, and entirely forgettable in a crowd. This man looked like he was the crowd. The disconnect was giving her a kind of emotional whiplash.
The door opened.
She turned, her heart giving a stupid little jump. Lucas stood in the doorway, already dressed for the day in dark trousers and a simple black sweater. He was looking down at his phone, but when he glanced up and saw her, he just… froze.
His eyes widened just a fraction. His gaze traveled from her damp, tousled hair, down over the oversized shirt that hung from her slender frame, to her bare legs, and back up again. It wasn't a leer; it was a pure, unguarded moment of absorption. He looked utterly arrested, as if he'd walked in on a scene he'd imagined a hundred times but never thought he'd see. A faint, ruddy color crept up his neck. He seemed to catch himself, his jaw tightening as he forcibly dragged his eyes back to her face, a muscle feathering in his cheek.
"I…" he began, his voice slightly thicker than usual. He cleared his throat. "I just came for my watch."
"Good morning," Lina said, suddenly feeling extra self-conscious. She crossed her arms over the shirt.
"Morning." He moved past her, the air shifting with his movement. He went to the dresser, his back to her. "You're up. How are you feeling?"
"Human again. Thanks to you. Seriously, Lucas, thank you." The gratitude was genuine, pushing past the awkwardness.
He shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable with the gratitude. "It was nothing. You were in bad shape."
"Yeah, well. But still, thank you." She paused, chewing her lip. "But, Lucas… Why am I here, though? In your... place?"
He finally met her gaze, rubbing the back of his neck. "It was late. You were completely out. I'd only driven there once. The route just… left my head. Didn't want to wake you up to ask, and it was simpler to just come here." He shrugged, as if it was the most logical thing in the world.
Of course. This made sense; her neighborhood was not something he would remember after driving there once.
"Right. Of course. Well, thanks."
"Like I said, it was nothing." He gave her a brief, tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Mrs. Dorcas has breakfast ready downstairs. Take your time. I've got an early pitch meeting. There's a car for you whenever you're ready to head out." He was already moving toward the door. He was leaving before the situation—before her in his shirt—could make him think about anything he didn't want to think about. He closed the door softly behind him.
Lina stood there for a moment. Make yourself at home. In a penthouse that probably cost twenty million dollars. Sure.
Downstairs, Mrs. Dorcas had prepared a beautiful, simple breakfast in a sunny nook. Fresh fruit, a perfect croissant, excellent coffee. Lina ate alone at the massive island, the silence of the vast apartment pressing in on her.
"Mrs. Dorcas?" she asked when the older woman appeared to refill her coffee. "My dress from last night… is it…?"
"Dry cleaned and pressed, Miss," Mrs. Dorcas said smoothly. "I'll fetch it."
She returned minutes later with the emerald silk dress, now immaculate, folded with care. The catastrophic stain from the night before was gone without a trace.
"You are an absolute angel , ma'am," Lina said, the genuine kindness almost undoing her.
After eating, she went back upstairs. Slipping into the dress felt surreal. In the bright light of day, it was glaringly obvious it was a party dress, completely wrong for a Tuesday at the office. She couldn't go home to change. Her eyes went to the front hall closet. Inside, among a row of expensive outerwear, she found a long, black, drop-down jacket made of incredibly soft wool. It was simple, elegant, and, most importantly, it covered the dress completely. She put it on. It was another piece of his armor, but it did the job.
"Thank you for everything, Mrs. Dorcas," she said, heading out to the waiting town car.
"Of course, dear. Have a good day."
The car dropped her at Aurum Scents. The atmosphere in the office was crackling with a tense energy. Today was Sign-Off Day for 'Oblivion.' The final, official step with Vega.
She hadn't even made it to her own desk when one of the junior lab techs, a kid named Mark who was always rushing somewhere, nearly collided with her. "Lina! There you are. Carter's looking for you. He said to send you to his office the second you got in."
"Can I at least put my bag down?" she muttered, but followed.
Carter's office was a controlled war zone of papers and samples. He looked up, his usual calm replaced by a sharp focus. "Lina. Good. You're coming with me to Vega. Right now."
She stared at him. "What? Why?"
"For the sign-off. We're presenting the final master bottle and the quality assurance reports. Vega requested the scout who sourced the key ingredient be present. That's you."
A cold trickle of dread went down her spine. "Why? That's a job for you and legal. It doesn't involve me."
"It's in the addendum they sent over last night. Section 4, clause B: 'Key project personnel shall be present for final execution.' That's you. Consider it a compliment. Now grab your things. The car's waiting downstairs."
But as she followed him back to the elevator, a nervous flutter of excitement filled her chest. This felt momentous. Was this really happening? This was a huge opportunity, a rare chance to step onto a major stage. The idea was daunting, but it felt real.