Ava hadn't meant to stay late.
Again.
But the mural wouldn't let her go. Every brushstroke demanded more—more color, more movement, more of herself. It was nearly eight when she realized the lobby was empty, the city's fading light casting soft reflections across the polished floor.
She stood on the ladder, tracing a streak of gold along the curve of a painted figure's hand when she heard him.
"Still here," came that familiar, deep voice.
She turned.
Sebastian Vale stood near the entrance, his jacket slung over one arm, the faintest hint of exhaustion softening his sharp features. His tie hung loose, the top buttons of his shirt undone. He looked less like the calculating CEO everyone feared—and more like a man trying to remember how to breathe.
"I lose track of time when I paint," she said, climbing down.
He smiled, faint but genuine. "I've noticed."
His gaze drifted to the mural, studying it in silence. The play of color against the wall—fire and rain, structure and chaos—seemed to reflect them both.
"It's… beautiful," he said at last, his voice low. "But unsettling. There's tension in it."
"Maybe art should unsettle," she replied, wiping her hands with a rag. "If it doesn't make you feel something, it's just decoration."
Sebastian's eyes found hers again, sharp and unreadable. "And what does it make you feel?"
She hesitated. "Exposed."
He stepped closer. "That's the point, isn't it? To let the world see you."
Her lips curved. "You say that like it's easy."
He stopped a few feet away. "Nothing worth creating ever is."
Silence filled the room—thick, pulsing. The kind that felt almost alive. Ava could hear the soft hum of the city beyond the windows, the distant rumble of thunder rolling over the Thames.
"You're different when you talk about art," she said. "Less… controlled."
He laughed once, quietly. "That's because art is the one thing I can't master. I can't buy it, can't predict it."
"Maybe that's what draws you to it."
"Maybe." His gaze dipped, lingering on the smear of red paint at her collarbone. "Or maybe I'm drawn to the person behind it."
Ava's pulse stuttered. The air between them grew hot, charged.
"Sebastian…" She meant it as a warning, but his name came out softer than she intended.
He closed the last inch between them, his voice dropping. "Do you always say my name like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like you're afraid of what it'll do to you."
Her throat tightened. She could smell his cologne—clean, dark, threaded with spice. "Maybe I am."
For a moment, neither moved. His hand lifted, almost of its own accord, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. The touch was feather-light but it sent a shock through her.
He froze. Control flickered in his eyes—desire restrained by willpower.
"This is a mistake," he murmured.
"Then why does it feel right?"
His jaw clenched. "Because you make me forget how to think."
Ava stepped back, breaking the spell, though her chest ached from the loss of his nearness. "Maybe that's what you need—to stop thinking."
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "You have no idea what happens when I lose control."
"Then show me."
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
For a heartbeat, the world held still. The storm outside cracked, a single bolt of lightning flashing across the skyline.
Sebastian looked at her, really looked—like a man standing on the edge of something dangerous. Then, slowly, he turned away.
"I can't," he said, his voice low, ragged around the edges. "Not with you."
"Because I work for you?"
"Because if I start, I won't stop."
Ava's breath caught. She wanted to reach for him, to tell him she understood the fire he was fighting. But he was already walking toward the elevator, each step deliberate, measured.
"Goodnight, Miss Monroe," he said without looking back.
She stood in the echo of his absence, heart pounding in her ears.
Turning to the mural, she lifted her brush again. Her hand trembled, leaving a streak of crimson across the wall—wild, imperfect, alive.
It reminded her of him.
When the elevator doors closed below, she whispered into the empty lobby,
"Goodnight, Sebastian."
The city lights shimmered through the glass, and the rain began to fall again—soft, relentless, like the pulse of something neither of them could control.