An ancient

Our return to the office was met with the usual buzz of normalcy.

Security badges. Elevator chimes. Polite nods in the hallway. Not a single soul suspected that just days earlier, I had unlocked another piece of my soul, or that Adam had kissed me like the world might end if he didn't.

And maybe it had.

But here, back within the clean white walls of our glass-panelled headquarters, nothing had changed.

The desks were in the same places. Coffee machines still hummed. Sam, our data analyst, still leaned against the breakroom counter exactly thirty seconds longer than necessary every morning. He watched us quietly when we entered—Adam in black, unreadable; me just a little too stiff, too aware of every step he took near me.

His eyes tracked the silence between us like it was a glitch in the system.

We didn't speak.

Not until the conference room doors closed.

The morning briefing was full. Eight of us gathered around the long obsidian table, screens flickering with research updates and historical anomalies none of which had anything to do with celestial warfare or ancient bloodlines. These people, for all their skill, had no idea what lay beneath the surface of their assignments.

But Adam sat across from me anyway, as calm and composed as ever.

And I tried, truly tried to pretend the way his mouth had once pressed to my throat wasn't all I could think about.

He didn't look at me.

Except once.

Just once.

And it was enough to knock the breath from my lungs.

Sam's gaze flicked between us from herseat two chairs down. Her brow furrowed just slightly and I knew she'd noticed.

She didn't say anything.

Not yet.

But something in her eyes said: I saw that.

The meeting ended, but the silence between Adam and me didn't.

People filed out slowly, their voices low with professional chatter—projected timelines, potential travel windows, theories about solar flares.

Sam lingered near the doorway. She looked over her shoulder once, eyes narrowing not in suspicion, but with the practiced observation of someone who noticed things others ignored.

I stayed behind, pretending to rearrange the files I hadn't really read. Adam stood by the far wall, double-checking an encrypted drive like we weren't avoiding looking at each other.

When the door clicked shut behind the last person, he finally spoke.

"You're slipping."

I turned, heart thudding. "Excuse me?"

"In the meeting. You weren't focused."

"That's rich, coming from you," I snapped before I could stop myself.

He tilted his head. "So now we're arguing in conference rooms?"

"I'm not arguing," I said. "I'm trying to figure out if you're going to pretend forever that it didn't mean anything."

His jaw tensed. "You think it meant nothing?"

"I think it meant everything," I said. "And that terrifies you."

He crossed the room in three long strides—too close, too fast. "Of course it terrifies me. I've spent two centuries making sure nothing gets close enough to matter."

"You failed."

"I know."

His voice cracked on the last word.

We stood there, inches apart, heat rising between us like a whisper waiting to break. I felt his magic under his skin—tight, stretched, aching for something it couldn't have.

I reached up slowly, brushing the back of my fingers against his wrist.

"You're allowed to want something," I said.

"And you're allowed to burn the world," he murmured. "But it doesn't mean we should."

The door creaked open suddenly.

Sam's head popped through.

"Oh—sorry. Just forgot my water bottle—"

She paused.

Looked at us.

Not close enough to be caught.

But not far enough to be innocent.

Her eyes scanned the room once. Me. Him. The air.

Then she raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"I'll just… yeah. Cool. Great meeting."

The door shut again.

I stared at it.

Adam exhaled through his nose. "Subtle," he muttered.

I bit my lip. "We're doomed."

But his smile—small, rare, real—made my heart ache.

"If this is doom," he said, "I'll take it."

There was a quiet urgency in the air when I stepped into the office in the afternoon. 

People spoke in clipped tones, printers spat out fresh briefing packets, and Sam was already double-checking ID badges for the private meeting set to begin in less than an hour.

A high-ranking foreign client was visiting, someone powerful, influential, and wealthy at least that's what the rest of the office had been told.

But I knew better.

Adam hadn't needed to explain. The minute I felt the subtle shift in the magic veiled around the east wing, I understood.

Vampire.

Not a young one either.

Whoever was coming was older, important, and not entirely aligned with us.

And Adam hadn't said a word to me about it.

I scanned the updated meeting roster on my tablet and frowned. My name wasn't there.

Just Adam.

And Sam.

"Big day," Sam said casually as she walked past me toward the main briefing room, tablet in hand. "Adam pulled me in last minute. Guess I made a good impression last quarter."

I forced a smile. "Looks like it."

She didn't notice my hesitation. Or maybe she did—because as she stepped into the elevator, she glanced back at me and added with a half-smirk, "Don't worry. I'll take great notes."

The doors slid shut.

I found myself wandering toward the upper level, where the glass-walled conference rooms overlooked the atrium.

From here, I could see straight into Conference 7A.

Sam stood to Adam's left, her posture polished, her smile rehearsed. Adam stood at the head of the table, hands clasped behind his back, every inch the professional the rest of the office knew him to be.

The client arrived minutes later.

Even from behind the glass, I felt it that dense, ancient energy that set the air ever so slightly off balance.

He was tall, dressed like nobility in civilian disguise—tailored navy coat, sharp cheekbones, and the kind of smooth, ageless poise only the oldest vampires mastered. His skin was too perfect. His eyes are too still.

And he smiled when he saw Adam.

I recognized that kind of smile.

Old allies. Or old rivals pretending.

My stomach twisted when I saw how easily Adam leaned into the performance firm handshake, cool nod, unreadable expression.

Why didn't he want me there?

Why, Sam?

Through the glass, Sam laughed at something the client said. Her hand brushed her neck in a subtle, flirtatious gesture.

And then she looked toward the window.

Straight at me.

And smiled.

The meeting wrapped nearly an hour later.

I pretended to be working at my desk documents open, stylus in hand but I wasn't reading. I was watching the elevator display.

And when I saw the numbers descending—12… 11… 10—I stood.

I didn't know what I planned to say.

Maybe nothing.

Maybe too much.

I made my way to the executive lift lobby just as the doors opened.

Adam stepped out first, composed as ever, his expression unreadable. The client followed a step behind, his tailored coat now open, revealing a line of dark blue velvet beneath.

He saw me immediately.

And smiled.

"Ah," he said smoothly. "So this is the infamous Rosaline Ainsworth."

Adam's head turned sharply.

I forced a neutral expression. "We haven't met."

"No, but your reputation precedes you." His voice was silk wrapped around steel. "The last living thread of the royal bloodline, hiding in plain sight."

I felt Adam tense beside me. He said nothing.

The client stepped forward, just enough to be polite—but not enough to appear threatening to anyone watching.

His gaze, however, was anything but casual.

"I must say," he continued, "you're… luminous."

I stiffened. "That's quite the compliment from someone who hasn't seen me do anything yet."

He chuckled. "On the contrary. You're doing something simply by breathing."

And then—without breaking eye contact—he took my hand.

Not a handshake.

He turned my palm gently and pressed his lips to the back of it.

It was brief. Elegant.

But I felt the flicker of heat in Adam before I even looked at him.

Not anger.

Possession.

Old. Quiet. Dangerous.

The client smiled again and said lightly, "Your guardian didn't tell you I'd be visiting. A pity. I do enjoy meeting powerful women in their own territory."

Adam stepped in then, subtly—but in the way predators reposition when too much attention shifts.

"That's enough," he said, his tone still even. "Rosaline has a schedule."

"Of course," the client replied with a bow that was all mock-respect. "Another time, perhaps. I'd like that."

He held Adam's gaze for a moment too long.

Then walked away.

Silence settled like ash between us.

I slowly pulled my hand back, eyes never leaving Adam.

"Didn't think I'd need a bodyguard in a corporate lobby."

Adam's jaw worked silently for a second. "He shouldn't have touched you."

"You didn't tell me he was coming."

"I didn't want you near him."

"Why?"

"Because he's dangerous."

"So are you," I said. "And I'm still here."

He finally looked at me. Really looked.

And the calm mask he always wore—cracked.

"I didn't bring you into that meeting because I knew exactly how he'd look at you."

"And how you'd feel watching it?" I asked quietly.

He didn't answer.

He didn't have to