Morning broke clean and wet over the city. The storm had left everything sharp and bright — streets gleaming with puddles, towers sparkling with fresh-washed glass, air carrying that metallic chill only rain could leave behind.
Inside Ather Tower, the lobby was alive again. Staff drifted in waves through the revolving doors, shoes tapping against marble floors still slick from umbrellas. The smell of coffee clung to the air, mixing with perfume and cologne. Conversations hushed whenever someone important crossed the polished space, but today the whispers didn't die down completely.
They carried.
"Did you hear? She almost collapsed last night."
"No—Ice Queen? Impossible."
"Ask the analysts. They said he caught her."
"Him? The new one? Light?"
"Yeah. Always around her. Or… around both sisters."
Aurelia walked through the crowd, tablet clutched tight against her chest. Her heels clicked with precision, but her sharp ears caught every fragment. The PA's gaze flicked left and right, seeing faces bend close, staff leaning too eagerly into gossip. She held her silence, though the crease between her brows deepened.
The elevator chimed.
Lunox stepped out first, descending from the executive floors like frost descending from a peak. Black sheath dress sculpted to her form, blazer tailored razor-sharp, heels a muted onyx strike against marble. Her bun was sleek again, not a strand out of place, face calm and perfect.
The lobby hushed instantly, whispers swallowed back into throats. But silence couldn't erase memory. Eyes still darted. Curiosity still burned.
Beside her, Orion followed.
Dark grey suit, crisp white shirt without a tie, the simplicity of his look only sharpening the effect. His stride was steady, unhurried, as though the stares sliding across him didn't exist. His silver gaze didn't shift, didn't falter. He looked like he belonged — not as an outsider, not as an intruder, but as if he had always been meant to walk here.
Together, they cut across the lobby like night and dawn — her frost, his steel.
The whispers resumed, lower this time, buzzing like current under the marble.
"They look—"
"Too close?"
"Or too dangerous."
Aurelia caught the threads of it, her hand tightening faintly around her tablet. She quickened her pace to meet them halfway, her voice steady, professional. "Boardroom agenda is ready. Candidate follow-up also slotted for this afternoon."
"Good," Lunox said, her tone clipped, dismissing the gossip with ice as she swept past.
But she felt it — the heat of eyes watching, the faint echo of whispers riding the marble air. And worse, she felt him, steady at her side, his presence loud even in silence.
Her heels struck sharper against the floor. They think they see something. They're wrong. They must be wrong.
Yet the reflection in the glass doors betrayed her — two figures, side by side, closer than anyone should dare.
The lobby's hush cracked open again — this time not from fear, but from heat.
The glass doors revolved, and Freya stepped inside like she owned not just the tower, but the city outside.
Her dress was the color of flame, a crimson silk that clung and flowed at once, catching every shard of morning light that dared touch it. The neckline teased rebellion, the slit at her thigh daring every gaze to follow. Golden hair tumbled loose in soft waves, damp at the edges from the rain, glinting like sunlight after storm. Heels clicked against marble — sharper, louder than anyone else's — not steel like her sister's, but stiletto strikes that sang of confidence, not discipline.
The crowd parted without being told.
Staff stared. Some smiled too quickly, others ducked their heads. Phones buzzed, subtle, as though already framing her entrance for gossip threads.
Freya didn't notice. Or she did, and didn't care.
Her eyes swept the lobby, sharp as sunlight breaking through storm clouds, and landed instantly on Orion.
She smiled.
Not the polite curve Lunox wielded, but something brighter, wilder — an invitation and a dare all at once. She strode forward, crimson trailing like fire behind her, and stopped just a breath away from him.
"You." Her voice was velvet edged in command.
Orion blinked once, silver gaze steady on her. "Me?"
Freya reached out without hesitation, fingers curling around his sleeve. The grey fabric wrinkled under her grip as she tugged him closer, turning her head just enough for her hair to brush his arm.
"With me. Now."
The lobby gasped in silence.
Orion didn't move immediately. His voice was calm, low. "Is that a request… or a command?"
Freya's smile deepened, sunlight with an eclipse hidden inside. "Both. And I promise, you'll enjoy it."
The staff barely breathed. Some leaned toward each other, eyes wide, watching history unfold on the marble floor. First the Ice Queen. Now the Sunshine Rebel?
Lunox's heels struck once — a sharp reminder of her presence. She walked past them without pause, blazer trailing behind her like shadow, her face the perfect mask of indifference. But her fingers pressed harder against the tablet she carried, and her pulse betrayed her, thrumming hot beneath the ice.
Freya didn't even glance at her sister. Her attention was wholly on Orion, her hand still at his sleeve.
Orion finally let the faintest curve touch his mouth, silver eyes glinting. He inclined his head, not resisting. "Lead the way."
The crimson flame tugged the steel along, and together they crossed the lobby, every eye burning into their backs.
Phones buzzed again, silent cameras raised. The whispers had already started.
And high above, in the reflection of the glass, Lunox's silhouette walked alone — dark, sharp, unyielding, but shadowed by a crack no one else could see.
The restaurant was already buzzing when they arrived.
A corner of the city had been carved into glass and steel, perched above the streets with windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. Soft jazz drifted from hidden speakers, blending with the low hum of cutlery and conversation. White tablecloths gleamed under warm light, servers gliding between tables with the efficiency of a ritual.
Freya stepped inside like she belonged to every pair of eyes that turned. Her crimson silk dress caught the light, each movement drawing glances, whispers. She didn't slow. Instead, she tugged Orion along by the sleeve, ignoring the faint ripple of attention they left in their wake.
Orion followed without resistance. His grey suit was sharper in daylight, his white shirt crisp, collar open. He looked out of place and perfectly placed all at once — the kind of presence that didn't blend, but anchored the room.
They were led to a window table overlooking the skyline. Rain still clung to the glass, droplets streaking down as the morning sun tried to break through the clouds.
Freya sank gracefully into her chair, crossing her legs, heels dangling with the ease of someone who'd never feared falling. She set her sunglasses — red-framed, bold — on the table, and leaned forward with a grin that dared the world to try keeping up.
"You don't eat breakfast alone, do you?" she teased, eyes locked on him.
Orion slid into the seat opposite, his movements measured, deliberate. "I usually don't eat breakfast at all."
Freya laughed, rich and bright. "Of course you don't. Men who look like storms rarely pause for toast."
A server arrived, placing water glasses before them. Freya ordered without glancing at the menu — smoked salmon, poached eggs, champagne. She didn't ask Orion what he wanted; she assumed. When the server turned to him, Orion added, calm, "Black coffee. No sugar."
Freya arched a brow. "Predictable. But sharp. Like you."
Their food came quickly, but conversation was faster.
She leaned closer, chin in her palm, eyes glinting. "So. The fresh blood who silenced the board yesterday… tell me. Do you plan everything like a chess player, or do you just enjoy making old men choke?"
Orion stirred his coffee once, silver gaze fixed on her. "Why not both?"
Her laughter spilled, catching the attention of two tables nearby. She didn't care. "Careful. You're starting to sound like me."
The banter danced, sparks bright.
She teased him about his calm, calling it "boring elegance." He countered, pointing out her chaos — "You enjoy being seen too much."
Freya smirked, sipping her champagne. "Being seen is survival. Being unseen is death."
Orion leaned back, voice low, steady. "Or maybe being unseen is freedom."
Their eyes locked across the table — her golden, his silver. Different elements, clashing, sparking.
The restaurant hummed around them, but for a moment, the world seemed to bend into their orbit.
Freya broke it with another grin, tilting her head. "You know, my sister hates this. The gossip. The spectacle. Me dragging you here."
Orion didn't flinch. "She doesn't hate it. She hates that it matters."
That made Freya laugh again, softer now, more genuine. She lifted her glass toward him. "To making it matter less."
He clinked his coffee cup against her champagne flute. The sound was small, but it cut clean through the hum of the room.
From a distance, a camera clicked.
The jazz kept playing, the silver cutlery kept clinking, but the restaurant had shifted.
It was subtle at first — the way a waiter lingered too long by the bar, phone angled just right; the way two suited men at another table leaned in closer, whispering, their eyes flicking toward the window seat where crimson and steel sat across from each other.
Then the flash came.
Not the loud pop of paparazzi on a red carpet. Just the faint blink of a camera from a phone held too high, screen reflecting in a wine glass. Another followed, quiet, but sharp. In minutes, their moment had been stolen, packaged, and uploaded.
The world outside the restaurant stirred.
Online
A gossip thread lit up with new headlines:
"Sunshine Rebel & Fresh Blood: Breakfast or Something More?"
"Freya Ather spotted again with Orion Light — chemistry over coffee?"
"Ice Queen absent… but her shadow looms."
Photos spread fast: Freya leaning in with champagne in hand, her laugh frozen mid-burst; Orion calm and composed, coffee cup in one hand, silver gaze turned toward her. Together, they looked less like an accident and more like inevitability.
Back in the restaurant, Freya noticed. Of course she noticed.
Her golden eyes slid to the bar, caught the phone lowering, the waiter pretending to rearrange glasses. Instead of bristling, she smiled wider, tossing her hair back like she was performing for the invisible audience.
"Good," she said under her breath, voice curling like silk. "Let them see."
Orion didn't flinch. He sipped his coffee, calm as stone. "You enjoy feeding the fire?"
Freya tilted her head, her crimson dress catching the light. "Fire is meant to burn. People will gossip whether we hide or not. At least this way, I get to choose the angle."
She leaned forward again, elbows resting on the table, eyes glinting. "Besides, doesn't it bother you? That they'll spin this into something it isn't?"
Orion met her gaze evenly. "Or something it is."
Her laugh burst bright, drawing another glance — another photo — from the corner of the room. She didn't care. She thrived in it, golden and unashamed.
The server returned with the bill, eyes nervous. Freya plucked it from his hand without looking, signed with a flourish, then pushed it back. "Charge it to Ather. Consider this… research."
She rose from her chair, the silk of her dress whispering against her legs. Orion stood as well, steady, formal in contrast to her fire.
Together, they walked toward the exit. Heads turned. Phones lifted again. The gossip fire caught new wind.
Outside, the drizzle had eased, the city gleaming with post-storm clarity. Cars rolled by, horns low, the smell of wet asphalt sharp.
Freya slipped on her red-framed sunglasses, though the sky was still grey. She glanced sideways at Orion, her grin dangerous. "You realize this is only going to get louder."
Orion's silver gaze flicked to her, unreadable, then back to the street. "Then let it."
Another camera clicked behind them.
The drizzle had thinned to mist by the time they stepped out of the restaurant.
The city gleamed as though freshly minted — streets slick with silver reflections, towers stabbing upward into clouds still bruised from the storm. Traffic rumbled soft beneath the skyline, horns muted, headlights cutting long streaks across the wet asphalt.
Freya stood at the curb, crimson silk vivid against the washed-grey morning. Her sunglasses glinted, lenses catching fragments of neon signs still humming from the night before. She turned toward Orion, the corners of her lips lifting in a grin that was both playful and edged.
He stood steady beside her, grey suit sharp even in the damp air, tie absent, collar open. His silver eyes caught the city light like steel polished in fire.
"Careful," Freya said, her voice soft but bright, curling with amusement. "Spend too much time with me, and my sister might just burn."
Orion glanced at her, unreadable, as though the weight of her words wasn't warning but puzzle.
Freya laughed lightly, the sound golden, carrying into the street. She leaned closer, her perfume — jasmine laced with smoke — wrapping the space between them. "Don't mistake her silence for absence. Lunox is ice, but even ice melts under heat. And nothing stings her more than fire."
She tilted her head, golden eyes glinting behind red lenses. "I should know. I've been burning her patience since the day we were born."
For a moment, the words hovered, daring him to react.
Orion's lips curved — faint, deliberate, dangerous. Not quite a smile, not quite defiance. A secret folded into steel.
"Ice and fire," he murmured, voice low enough to be lost in the rumble of a passing car. "Either way, storms follow."
Freya's grin widened, satisfied. She slipped into the waiting car that had pulled to the curb, crimson silk trailing like flame. Before the door closed, she tipped her sunglasses down just enough to reveal her eyes.
"See you at the tower, storm."
The door shut. The car pulled away, leaving Orion standing at the curb, mist curling around him. He didn't move immediately. His silver gaze lingered on the road ahead, where rainlight shimmered against the city's veins. His mouth curved again, faint, mysterious, as though he'd already accepted her warning and dismissed it all at once.
High above, on the glass face of AtherTower, a reflection glimmered: Lunox, standing in her office, watching from behind immaculate panes. Her obsidian eyes narrowed, her grip tightening around the pen in her hand until it snapped.
The world below didn't see her reaction. But she felt it.
And the crack in the Ice Queen's armor widened just a little more.