The city was quiet, but her mind wasn't.
Lyra sat cross-legged on her couch, a cashmere blanket draped over her shoulders, the pale glow of her laptop the only light in the room. Her apartment—high above the business district—was sleek, tastefully minimalist, and utterly impersonal. Like a showroom waiting for someone to inhabit it.
She hadn't unpacked everything yet. Half her books were still boxed. She didn't know why.
She stared at the screen.
The report was done. Thorough. Sharp. Full of cost breakdowns, media strategy angles, and potential ethical liabilities in the Solara partnership. Her signature was at the bottom.
2:41 AM stamped at the top corner.
She didn't need to work this late. The deadline wasn't until noon. No one expected her to be this prompt, this polished, this prepared.
But she couldn't sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his.
Edgar Thornevale.
There was something about him—more than the intimidation, more than the elegance. His silence wasn't casual. His control wasn't ego. It felt older than that. Earned. Sharpened. Armored.
And the way he looked at her—
She pulled the blanket tighter around her.
It wasn't attraction. It wasn't contempt. It wasn't even curiosity.
It was recognition.
That was the part that wouldn't leave her alone.
The moment he'd first seen her—really seen her—it was like he was staring through her, not at her. And not like she was invisible. Like she was a memory.
But from where?
She tried to rationalize it. Maybe her father had introduced them before, years ago at some donor gala. Maybe Edgar was the type who remembered faces perfectly. Maybe she just reminded him of someone.
But the problem was… it wasn't one-sided.
When he looked at her, something in her reacted. Not intellectually. Not emotionally.
Physically.
Her stomach had tightened. Her palms had gone cold.
And something—something so deep she couldn't name it—had whispered:
There you are.
She ran a hand over her face, rubbed the tired from her eyes.
Get a grip, Lyra.
She clicked send on the report.
Then she sat there for a long time, staring at her own reflection in the darkened laptop screen.
And wondered if she was imagining it all.