Velmora Tower shimmered under the late morning sun, its mirrored facade catching every glint of light and slicing the sky with sharp lines of steel and elegance. But inside, past the corridors of polite silence and designer stilettos, tension simmered like a storm trapped behind glass walls.
Kael Drayven stood beside Aurelia Voss's desk, her newest executive assistant—though no one expected him to last the week.
And that included her.
His first morning had been a barrage of tests. Reports redrafted. Calendars shredded and rebuilt. Corporate records pulled, scanned, and alphabetized—only to be thrown back at him with a single cold command: "Again." He had taken it all without complaint. Without question.
Without fear.
And that infuriated her.
Now, he stood silently, holding a tray of three imported coffees, a violet folder, and a flawlessly typed agenda for the quarterly sorcery investment meeting. Aurelia hadn't asked for the third coffee. She hadn't looked at the agenda. She was on the phone, her back to him, eyes gazing over the city.
"I said no," she snapped into the receiver, voice like shattered crystal. "Tell the board if they want a vote, they can come here and look me in the eye."
Kael took the moment to study her—not like a man studies a woman, but like a warrior sizing up a sword.
Every inch of her was precision.
From the curve of her calves beneath black silk slacks to the tension wound in her shoulders, to the subtle arch of her neck as she turned slightly to glance at him. She was wearing deep burgundy today, a high-neck blouse tucked into a tight pencil skirt, and her hair was pulled back into a braided coil that looked like it could hold a knife.
The phone clicked off.
"I didn't ask for three coffees," she said flatly, still not turning.
Kael's voice was calm. "One for your guest in fifteen minutes, one as backup if the first goes cold, and one extra in case the guest brings an aide."
A pause.
Then she turned, her gaze flicking to him like a whip. Her silver-gray eyes were unreadable, but Kael saw the twitch at the corner of her mouth.
"You presume too much."
"I prepare too well."
Silence.
"You're still here," she finally said, walking around her desk and approaching him. "And I haven't broken you yet."
"I'm not so fragile."
"You're arrogant."
"I'm good."
He handed her the folder. She flipped it open and scanned. A flicker of approval passed through her expression like a shadow beneath glass.
"You organized the spreadsheets by quarter, then cross-referenced by magical sector."
"I did."
"You included the confidential Voss-Myrrh proposal. How did you get that?"
Kael held her gaze. "I asked your cousin's advisor at the rooftop cocktail mixer last night."
"You weren't invited to that."
"I wasn't not invited."
She stepped closer. Too close. His chest rose and fell calmly, but she could feel his heat. Her perfume drifted around them, dark and musky with notes of rose and smoke.
He didn't back away.
Neither did she.
"You do know what I do to men who try to outplay me in my own tower?" she whispered.
Kael's lips curved faintly. "Promotion? Punishment? Depends on how well I perform."
She narrowed her eyes. Her voice dropped.
"Let's find out."
Scene – The Filing Room
Later that afternoon, she called him into the storage chamber beneath her office—used for classified document filing. The walls were lined with ancient ledgers, scrolls sealed with wax, and folders with names even the council wouldn't speak aloud.
"I want the Valtrex Archives re-sorted," she said as she stepped inside behind him and closed the door. "Alphabetically, and chronologically. Some of them are cursed—if your fingers go numb, drop them."
Kael crouched beside one cabinet, pulling on gloves. "Got it."
She leaned against the wall, watching him move. There was something about the way his fingers traced over parchment, slow but sure. Something about the slight roll of muscle beneath his sleeves as he bent and lifted.
"You used to do hard labor," she said.
He didn't look up. "Among other things."
"Manual strength. Efficient mind. You're not like the others."
"No, Aurelia," he said softly. "I'm not."
She froze. He'd never said her name before—not out loud. Not like that. Not like it was silk sliding across skin. She should have corrected him. Should have reminded him she was his boss.
Instead, she said nothing.
Kael turned slowly and stood, now only a foot away. The air was charged—magic, defiance, heat.
"Do you want me to stop?" he asked.
She didn't know if he meant sorting papers or staring at her like that. But her breath hitched all the same.
"No," she murmured.
And then she kissed him.
Or maybe he kissed her.
She wasn't sure who broke first, but the second his mouth claimed hers, everything went up in flames. His hands slid into her hair, destroying the perfect braid, while hers clawed at his shirt. They collided against the filing cabinets with the thud of bodies and moans. She yanked his belt free. He lifted her onto a shelf.
Her skirt tore.
His teeth grazed her throat.
Their bodies fit like a lock and key forged in fire.
"Aurelia," he gasped against her skin.
"Harder," she ordered.
He obeyed.
Scene – Gossip on the Twelfth Floor
Downstairs, the rumor mill was on fire.
"She hasn't yelled at him once today."
"He lasted longer than the others already."
"Did you see the way she looked at him in the elevator? Like she wanted to eat him whole."
In the breakroom, someone snickered. "Maybe she already has."
And in her glass tower, Aurelia stared out over the city while Kael fastened his cuffs behind her.
"You'll never belong in my world," she said.
"I'm not trying to belong," he replied. "I'm trying to change it."
She hated how much that thrilled her.
She hated how much he thrilled her.
And she hated that somewhere deep inside—
She didn't want to stop him.