Monday morning at Vanguard Holdings felt less like a job and more like an endurance test. The haunting echoes of my past were being replaced by the crushing reality of my present.
By 10:00 AM, my desk was buried. Julian hadn't just been strict; he had authorized a workload that would have broken a team of three. Reports, analytics, and market projections were piled high—a physical wall between me and the rest of the office.
"Mr. Vance expects these finalized by lunch, Arya," my supervisor, a woman whose smile never reached her cold eyes, chirped as she dropped a fresh stack of files. "He specifically mentioned your... unique dedication to the firm."
I bit my lip, the hazel spark in my eyes threatening to ignite. He was punishing me. Every file was a reminder of the bar, a silent jab at the "escort" comment. He wanted to see me break, to see the "ghost" fail.
But the workload wasn't the only problem. The "Vultures"—the senior marketing associates who had been eyeing my entry-level seat—were circling.
"Hard at work, or just waiting for another ride in a black sedan?" Sarah, a woman whose ambition smelled like cheap perfume and desperation, whispered as she leaned over my cubicle. The office grapevine had already started. They didn't know he was my CEO, but they had seen a high-end car drop me off. To them, I wasn't a celestial fugitive; I was a social climber.
"I'm working, Sarah," I said, my voice as flat as the paper in front of me.
"Right. Just make sure you don't trip on your way to the top," she sneered, intentionally knocking my coffee mug over. The dark liquid seeped into my pristine reports.
I stared at the mess, my fingers trembling. The Soul Pull toward Julian was still there, a low hum in the background of the office noise, but it was being drowned out by a new, rebellious emotion: Protection.
I looked toward the frosted glass of the executive suite. I was supposed to find a Sacrificial Groom. I was supposed to use a human body to pay my debt to the heavens and hide from the Belthazaars. But as I watched Julian's silhouette through the glass—aloof, burdened, and undeniably lonely—something in me growled.
I didn't want to sacrifice him. I wanted to shield himfrom the very world I had dragged him into.
I grabbed a cloth and began to wipe the coffee from my desk, my mind racing. I had to stay invisible. I had to endure the bullying and the boss from hell. Because if I slipped now, if I showed even a hint of my Argathar power, the Belthazaars wouldn't just find me—they'd find him, too.
Just as I was blotting the last of the liquid, a hand reached out with a fresh stack of napkins. I looked up to see Tessa, her face tight with a mix of worry and protective anger. She worked in Accounting a few rows down, but she had clearly seen the whole thing.
"Don't let them see you crack, Arya," she whispered, her eyes darting toward the executive suite. "He's watching. He's been watching you since you walked in."
I looked up just in time to see the heavy oak door of the executive suite swing open. Julian stood there, filling the doorway, his eyes dark and unreadable as they swept over the mess on my desk—and then settled on me.
"Arya. My office. Now."
"of course. " he just had to be aloof ,right ?
The days that followed were a blurred cycle of corporate psychological warfare. Julian remained a ghost behind his frosted glass, his silence a heavy weight. I could feel him observing me, his gaze lingering on the back of my neck whenever I passed his office. I knew he wanted to reach out—I could feel the Soul Pull tugging at his restraint—but the shadow of my "drunk" confession about his rivals kept him anchored in distrust.
Sarah and the others took his silence as permission. My files went missing, my computer was "accidentally" unplugged mid-report, and the whispers followed me like a physical stench.
"She's probably just another Belthazaar plant," I heard Sarah hiss in the breakroom one afternoon. "Looking for a way to get close to the boss's secrets... or his bed."
I didn't snap. I didn't use the celestial firehumming in my veins to shut her mouth. I was a being of goodness, and my bloodline demanded grace, not vengeance. But even grace has its limits.
By Thursday night, the office was a tomb of flickering fluorescent lights and the hum of the HVAC. I was the last one left, staring at a stack of spreadsheets Julian had demanded by morning—a workload designed to keep me tethered to my desk until dawn.
The silence finally cracked me.
The tears didn't come because I was scared of the Belthazaars—I was stronger than any warlock they could send. They came because of the isolation. I leaned my head on the cold mahogany of my desk and let out a jagged, silent sob. I was a celestial princess hiding in a world of paper and spite, and the one man who felt like home was the one man who treated me like a criminal.
Behind me, the heavy oak door of the executive suite clicked open.
I didn't move. I couldn't. The scent of woodsmoke and expensive scotch filled the air, cutting through the sterile office smell. The Soul Pull flared into a white-hot heat, telling me exactly who was standing there.
"The office hours ended three hours ago, Arya," Julian rumbled, his voice lacking its usual razor-sharp edge. He sounded tired. He sounded human.
I wiped my face quickly, my back still to him. "You said you wanted these by morning, Mr. Vance. I don't leave until the job is done."
I heard his footsteps—slow, deliberate—until he was standing right behind my chair. He didn't touch me, but the heat of his body was an irresistible magnet.
"Look at me," he commanded, but this time, it wasn't a CEO's order. It was a plea.
Pov…
She didn't turn. Instead, she stood up with a sudden, rigid movement, her back still a defensive wall against him. The "human mask" was slipping, cracked by the weight of the week, but she fought to pull the pieces back together.
"I'm finished for the night, Mr. Vance," she whispered, her voice thick but steady. She grabbed her bag, her fingers brushing against the cold mahogany of the desk. "The reports are on your server. If there's nothing else, I'd like to go home."
She tried to sidestep him, to vanish into the shadows of the empty office rows, but Julian was faster. He moved with a predatory grace, blocking her path between the desk and the windows. The Manhattan skyline glittered behind him like a sea of fallen stars, but his eyes were darker than the night outside.
"You're lying," he rumbled, stepping into her personal space. The scent of woodsmoke and scotch was overwhelming now, a physical tether. "You aren't fine. I've watched them, Arya. I've watched Sarah, and the reports, and the way you look like you're carrying the weight of a world I don't understand."
He reached out, his hand hovering inches from her face, hesitant. The Soul Pull hummed like a live wire between them, a magnetic heat that made the air vibrate.
"Who are the Belthazaars?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low, rough velvet. "And why does it feel like you're the only thing keeping them from my door?"
Arya looked up then, her breath hitching. She didn't let the hazel spark show—she kept her eyes a dull, safe brown—but the raw goodness of her bloodline made her glow with a faint, ethereal light in the dim office.
Julian's gaze dropped to her lips. The air between them vanished. He leaned in, his hand finally closing the distance to cup the back of her neck, his thumb tracing the sensitive skin behind her ear. It wasn't a CEO's touch; it was a man starving for a truth he couldn't name.
His face was inches from hers, his breath hot against her mouth. The world of Vanguard Holdings, the spreadsheets, and the corporate war faded into a silent "hullabaloo."
The kiss was a heartbeat away—a collision of celestial light and human hunger.
But just as his lips brushed hers, a sharp, metallic clack echoed through the floor. The cleaning crew's cart rattled in the distance, and the security lights flickered to life, bathing them in a sterile, white glare.
Arya flinched, the spell breaking. She ducked under his arm, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"I have to go," she gasped, not looking back. "I'll see you Monday, Mr. Vance."
She vanished into the elevator, leaving Julian standing in the middle of the empty office, his hand still warm from the spark of her skin and his mind filled with a name he couldn't stop repeating: Belthazaar.