I'd been halfway through discussing a deal when I felt it—eyes on me. Not the usual glances, the kind that came with reputation and wealth. No. This one was different. Sharper. Warmer. Pulling at me before I even turned my head.
And there she was.
Lyra. Standing by the reception desk with files pressed to her chest like a shield, as if paper could protect her from the way I looked at her. For one brief, reckless moment, I forgot who I was speaking to. The boardroom, the contracts, the noise of the office—all of it blurred into nothing.
It was just her.
I said her name before I could stop myself. Too loud? Too soft? I couldn't tell. All I knew was that I needed her to look at me, to stop pretending I wasn't there.
She froze, then turned, those wide eyes giving me everything she didn't want to say. I walked toward her with steady, measured steps, the kind that came naturally to me in every negotiation. But this wasn't business. This was something I had no practice in.
"You're avoiding me," I said, because it was the truth. She had been. And I hated it more than I should.
"I'm working." The words were crisp, professional. But her grip on those files was too tight, her pulse too quick. I noticed everything.
"Convenient excuse," I murmured, not to taunt her, but because the lie was too transparent.
She bristled, fire flashing in her eyes. "I don't need excuses."
That fire—God, it undid me. There was no fear in her, no shrinking back. Just defiance, like she was daring me to step closer. So I did.
Her scent reached me first, light and maddeningly distracting. I lowered my voice, letting the truth slip between us like a warning and a plea. "You should be careful, Lyra. Some lines… once crossed, can't be uncrossed."
I meant it. For her sake, for Elijah's. For mine. But the way she looked at me, lips parting just slightly, I knew she heard something else entirely.
And then—Elijah's voice cut through the air.
Her brother. My best friend. The very reason I should have kept my distance in the first place.
I pulled back instantly, forcing my expression into its usual calm, impassive mask. By the time Elijah reached us, I was no longer the man unraveling under her gaze. I was Kairo D'Angelo again: untouchable, composed, safe.
But as Elijah clapped me on the shoulder and launched into some new update, I caught Lyra's eyes one last time.
And I knew it. She might have stepped away, but she hadn't let go.
Neither had I.