Miss Reed called back Avery's sister and delivered the message in her usual composed tone. "I'm afraid Avery isn't available at the moment. However, I can represent him in his place."
On the other end, Sylvie didn't sound the least bit surprised. In fact, she had expected that exact answer. She could have reached out to Avery directly if she truly wanted to, but she had her reasons. For some time, her interest had not been on Avery, but on the woman who stood loyally at his side.
The first time she noticed Miss Reed had been at the company headquarters. While most of the board and staff busied themselves with Avery, Sylvie's sharp eyes had caught the secretary's calm elegance, her poise, the way she seemed untouchable. Since then, a quiet spark of curiosity had been growing. But business, family obligations, and the sheer weight of her name had kept Sylvie from acting on it. Now, with a rare stretch of time free from duties, she finally decided to take her chance.
"When would be convenient for you?" Miss Reed asked, voice cool as always.
"Tomorrow," Sylvie replied without hesitation. "That would be ideal."
Once the arrangements were made, Miss Reed hung up and prepared her notes for the following day. She didn't miss the faint undertone in Sylvie's voice. Interest that went beyond a simple business request, but she tucked the thought aside. For now, it was just another meeting.
_______
After Miss Reed left, Avery returned to his desk. The estate was quiet, isolated, a place where he could focus without distractions. Papers were spread before him: drafts of expansion plans, projections for the next quarter, reports from his other ventures. He told himself he should feel at ease here. This was the life he had built before Noël entered it. Order, silence, and control.
But the silence now felt heavier.
He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling for a long moment. Is this what I was, before him? Alone in a cold space, convincing myself this was enough?
He exhaled sharply, forcing himself back to the numbers. Yet the pen stilled in his hand as a sudden, sharp pain bloomed low in his abdomen. His muscles tensed involuntarily, his breath catching.
A wave of dizziness followed. Avery gritted his teeth and gripped the edge of the desk, waiting for it to pass. But the sensation only intensified, hot and restless, burning beneath his skin.
"What's wrong with these suppressants?" he muttered, voice low and strained.
It shouldn't be this soon. He had planned everything carefully, taken the right dosage at the right intervals. Normally, it kept the rut under control—contained, predictable. Yet now it was as though the medication had dissolved into nothing, leaving him raw and exposed.
"Why so early?" he growled under his breath, frustration lacing every syllable.
This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.
The loss of control was something Avery despised, something he had inherited unwillingly from his father. The difference between the two is that Avery knew his limits while his is father's obsession was darker, unchecked, destructive. Avery always thought he could restrain himself where his father could not.
But tonight, with the rut clawing at his core far earlier than expected, Avery felt that fragile assurance slipping through his fingers.
________
The next days, miss Reed arrived at the café Sylvie had chosen. One of those quiet, hidden gems tucked in between the city's louder establishments. It was discreet, elegant, and unmistakably chosen with intention. Sylvie was already seated near the window, sipping tea with the poised calm of someone used to getting what she wanted.
"Miss Reed," she greeted smoothly, her lips curving into a subtle smile. "I appreciate you making time for me, considering how busy you must be."
Miss Reed inclined her head politely, adjusting her glasses. "It's my duty to represent Mr. Cheng whenever he is unavailable. But you already knew that, didn't you?"
Sylvie's smile deepened. "I did. But if duty were the only thing binding you here, I'd have called my brother directly." Her gaze swept over Miss Reed in a way that wasn't entirely professional. "Truthfully, I wanted to see you again. You caught my eye that day at the company."
Miss Reed kept her composure, though her heart picked up speed. She was rarely on the receiving end of such direct interest. All her past lovers never really got to the point when trying to flirt with her. "That's flattering, Miss Cheng, but you must understand my loyalty lies first with Avery. I can't indulge in anything that would jeopardize that."
Sylvie leaned forward, resting her chin delicately on her hand. "And what if loyalty isn't compromised? I admire people who are devoted to their work. It makes me wonder how they are when they devote themselves to someone outside of it."
The words lingered in the air, heavy with suggestion. Miss Reed shifted slightly, caught between professional boundaries and the unexpected pull of Sylvie's confidence. She wasn't naïve, she knew the dangers of entangling herself with someone tied so closely to Avery's world. Yet, Sylvie's intent gaze left her unsettled in ways she hadn't anticipated.
"I suggest we keep this conversation… on professional terms," Miss Reed said at last, steady but not dismissive. "Otherwise, it complicates things."
Sylvie didn't press further. She only nodded, eyes glinting with silent promise. "Professional, then—for now."
_______
That afternoon, at the estate, Avery was anything but composed.
He had locked the door, pacing before finally collapsing into his chair. His whole body felt like it was burning from the inside out. The suppressants that usually numbed the pull of his rut were failing him, their effect thinning like mist under sunlight. A sharp pang coursed through his lower abdomen, forcing a guttural growl from his throat.
He pressed a hand against his desk, the other clutching his shirt as if he could restrain the fever building in his veins. His scent was bleeding into the air—rich, intoxicating, and volatile. He cursed under his breath, shoving at the papers on his desk until they scattered.
"Not now," he snarled, voice hoarse. "Not yet."
But the hunger inside him was relentless, clawing at his control. He pushed a trembling hand down, trying to relieve the ache with quick, harsh strokes. It wasn't satisfying. Nothing was. The suppressants had left him caught between numbed desire and unbearable need. His breaths grew ragged, sweat dampening his temples as he leaned back, fighting for composure.
Every nerve screamed for release, but no matter how hard he tried, the fever only swelled, unquenched. The thought of Noël flickered across his mind. Soft vanilla and peach, gentle eyes and that single image made his rut snap like fire catching dry wood. He groaned low, teeth clenched as his body buckled with heat.
For the first time in years, Avery Cheng realized he wasn't in control. And the truth of it terrified him.