Dinner should have been simple. A glass of wine, Elijah's easy laughter, the usual talk of markets and contracts. That's what I told myself as I sat at the table waiting. Control. Composure. Nothing more.
And then she walked in.
Lyra.
The restaurant's dim lighting softened her edges, but it didn't matter—my gaze caught on her immediately, locking as though I hadn't seen her in years instead of days. The black dress she wore was understated, almost plain, but on her it became something else entirely. Refined. Unshakable. Dangerous.
Elijah stood, pulled her into a hug, utterly oblivious to the way my pulse kicked hard against my ribs.
She slid into the chair beside him, directly across from me. Too close. Far too close.
I tried to focus on Elijah as he launched into a story about a stubborn client, but my attention kept slipping. Every time Lyra lifted her glass, every shift of her fingers against the stem, every flicker of her lashes—I noticed all of it. I hated myself for noticing, and yet I couldn't look away.
She didn't speak much, just nodded, smiled politely. But I could feel it—the weight of her awareness pressed against mine. The same pull that had followed us in every room we'd shared, no matter how hard she tried to pretend it wasn't there.
When Elijah leaned back to laugh at his own joke, I caught her eyes. Just for a second.
That was all it took.
The sound of the restaurant dulled, Elijah's voice blurred, the whole world narrowed to the silent electricity sparking between us. She looked away first, her fingers tightening slightly around her fork.
I forced myself to breathe evenly, to keep my posture relaxed, to play the part of the composed man Elijah believed I was. But inside, I was unraveling stitch by stitch.
"Your sister's been busy," Elijah said, turning the spotlight toward her. "Running circles around half my team lately."
Pride lit his voice, warm and brotherly. Lyra ducked her head with a soft smile.
I didn't speak. Couldn't. If I opened my mouth, I wasn't sure what might come out.
Instead, I raised my glass, letting the cool burn of the wine remind me where I was. Who I was.
Elijah's sister. My best friend's family. Off limits.
But the problem with rules was simple. The more forbidden something was, the harder it became to resist.
And tonight, sitting across from her in the quiet glow of the restaurant, I felt resistance slipping further from my grasp.