The night air was cooler than I expected as I stepped out of the car, tugging my shawl tighter around my shoulders. Kairo's mansion stood in front of me like something from a magazine—tall windows glowing gold against the dark, polished stone steps sweeping up to wide double doors. I swallowed, trying not to let my nerves show even though no one could see me yet.
Family dinner, I reminded myself. That was all this was. Just Elijah, just my brother's best friend, just… Kairo.
The last thought made my pulse quicken. I hated that it did.
Inside, the hum of conversation and the soft notes of a piano filled the air. The house smelled faintly of cedarwood and something richer—his cologne, maybe, drifting through the halls even before I saw him.
'Lyra!' Elijah's voice rang out as he spotted me from across the foyer. He crossed the room with his usual easy stride, hugging me tight. 'You're late. I was about to come drag you here myself.'
'I got caught up with work,' I murmured, forcing a smile.
'Work, work, work. One day you'll realize not everything has to revolve around your laptop,' he teased, then gestured toward the dining room. 'Come on, everyone's waiting.'
Everyone. My chest tightened.
And then I saw him.
Kairo stood at the head of the long dining table, dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit without a tie, his jacket undone casually as if he hadn't just walked out of a business meeting but something far more intimate. His gaze flicked up the moment I entered, and for a second the entire room—the laughter, the clinking glasses, the soft music—faded into silence.
His eyes lingered, tracing the lines of my dress, the way my hair fell loose around my shoulders. It was only a second, maybe less. But it burned.
I quickly looked away, busying myself with sliding into the chair Elijah pulled out for me. My fingers brushed over the napkin, smoothing it again and again, pretending I didn't feel the weight of Kairo's gaze still pressing against me.
Dinner began. Conversations layered over one another—Elijah joking with an old friend, someone complimenting the wine, laughter rising and falling. I tried to join in, to focus on the plate in front of me. But every time Kairo spoke—deep, steady, confident—I felt it ripple through me.
Halfway through the meal, Elijah leaned toward me.
'See?' he said, grinning. 'Not so bad being here, right?'
'It's fine,' I said, keeping my voice light. But my eyes betrayed me, flickering toward the man at the head of the table.
And that was when it happened.
Kairo's gaze met mine. Across the plates and glasses, past the chatter, it landed on me like it always did—sharp, unwavering. For a heartbeat too long, neither of us looked away.
I dropped my eyes first, heat crawling up my neck. My fork scraped against the plate, the sound too loud in my own ears.
Elijah didn't notice. No one did. But I knew. And Kairo knew.
Whatever this was—this strange, dangerous pull—it wasn't going anywhere.