Archive of Our Own ^beta

Morning light spilled through the high windows, slicing across the rows of desks in pale gold. The office was already humming — phones ringing, printers sighing, the low chatter of coworkers comparing deadlines and coffee orders. You smiled faintly at a passing greeting, slipping your bag off your shoulder and settling behind your desk. The scent of roasted beans and toner hung in the air; your monitor flickered to life, its glow soft against the muted grays of the workspace.

You’d barely begun sorting through your emails when the phone on your desk buzzed. “Mr. Qin would like to see you in his office,” came the receptionist’s practiced voice.

Your pulse stuttered — just a little. “Of course,” you said, and hung up before your nerves could betray you.

You smoothed your skirt, checked your reflection in the darkened monitor, and crossed the hall toward the glass-walled office at the end. The frosted door bore his name in clean serif letters: Sylus Qin, Chief Executive Officer. Even the typography felt expensive.

You knocked once before hearing his low, composed come in.

Sylus looked up from the papers spread before him. Morning light caught in his silver hair, brightening the edges until they gleamed white. His suit — black, tailored, immaculate — moved like a shadow when he gestured for you to approach.

For a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

The light softened him in a way you weren’t used to seeing. Usually he seemed carved from precision — sharp lines, measured words, everything about him honed for efficiency. But the sunlight turned the edges gentle, painting him in a golden warmth that almost didn’t belong here, in this cold glass office. It made him look less like a man and more like something meant to be admired — some impossible mix of strength and serenity.

“Good morning,” he greeted, voice smooth enough to belong to someone born in boardrooms and symphonies. “I have a few documents that need to be reviewed before the client meeting. I trust you can handle the adjustments?”

You nodded, hoping he couldn’t see the flicker of distraction in your eyes. He was… too composed. Too perfect. You’d always thought so, though you never would have admitted it aloud. There was something magnetic about him that no one ever commented on directly, but surely everyone felt.

You wondered — briefly, foolishly — what he was like outside these walls. Did he ever laugh too loudly? Lose his temper? Drink cheap wine and forget the time? It was hard to imagine him anywhere but here, behind that desk, sunlight making his hair glow like a halo.

You forced the thought away, stepping closer as he passed you a file. Your fingers brushed his for half a second — just long enough to feel the warmth of his skin — and you told yourself you were imagining how your stomach flipped. He smiled faintly, the kind of polite curve that didn’t quite reach his eyes, yet never felt unfriendly.

He leaned back slightly in his chair, attention on you rather than the papers. “You’ve been doing excellent work lately,” he said, tone professional but carrying that calm weight that always seemed to linger in the air around him.

Your heart skipped. Compliments from him were rare, deliberate things. “I—thank you, sir.”

He nodded once, returning to the document — but your gaze lingered longer than it should. The clean line of his jaw. The way his lips parted slightly as he read, murmuring something under his breath. You wondered what it would sound like if he said your name that way.

You caught yourself staring and looked away quickly, heat prickling up your neck. When you dared glance back, he was watching you — not directly, just enough that you saw the faintest flicker of amusement ghost across his expression.

“Something on your mind?” he asked softly, the words almost playful beneath the even tone.

You shook your head too fast. “No, sir. I’ll get right on these.”

“Good.” The corner of his mouth curved, subtle and knowing. “I’ll look forward to seeing your notes.”

You turned, the sound of your heels swallowed by the thrum of your own heartbeat, but you could feel his gaze following you until the door closed behind you.

You returned to your desk with the faint hum of adrenaline still thrumming beneath your ribs. You tried to steady your hands by focusing on the work — flipping through the pages he’d given you, scanning each paragraph for errors, making neat notes in the margins. The more you lost yourself in the rhythm of editing, the easier it was to pretend your pulse wasn’t still reacting to the sound of his voice.

By late morning, the rest of the office had settled into its usual background noise. You’d just finished compiling the corrected file when a shadow fell across your desk.

“Efficient as always,” Sylus said.

Your head snapped up before you could school your expression. He stood there, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the strong line of his forearms, jacket unbuttoned in casual confidence. It was unusual for him to circulate through departments, let alone collect paperwork himself. You felt every pair of eyes in the room subtly pivot toward the two of you.

You rose quickly, offering the folder with both hands. “Here you go, sir. All the adjustments are noted in the margins.”

He accepted it, fingers brushing yours in the exchange. The briefest spark of warmth lingered where his skin had touched yours.

“Perfect,” he said, smiling — real, this time, easy and genuine. “Thank you for the quick turnaround.”

Then he was gone, striding toward the conference rooms with that effortless poise that seemed to quiet a space even after he left it. The low murmur of the office returned a heartbeat later, along with the unmistakable sound of a chair squeaking as someone turned toward you.

“Okay,” your coworker hissed, sliding over from the next desk, eyes wide. “What was that?”

You blinked. “What was what?”

She gave you a look like you were pretending not to notice a fire. “The CEO himself dropping by personally to pick up your notes? He could’ve sent any of the assistants, or hell, emailed you. Does he do that often?”

You felt the heat creep up your neck. “It’s not a big deal. He needed the file before the meeting, that’s all.”

“Not a big deal?” She leaned in, grinning. “He smiled at you. Like, actually smiled. Do you have any idea how many people would kill for that?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the small, helpless curl of a smile threatening your own lips. “You’re making it sound so dramatic. I’m sure he smiles at other employees.”

“Sure, but he doesn’t look at everyone like that.”

“Like what?”

She just laughed, spinning back toward her monitor. “Forget it. Some of us are just lucky, I guess.”

You shook your head, pretending to refocus on your screen. But your mind wandered back to the way he’d looked in the sunlight earlier — the faint glow at the edges of his hair, the warmth of his voice — and you hated that the thought made your stomach twist.

The office had thinned to quiet by the time you finished your last round of reports. The sun was already dipping behind the skyline, leaving streaks of amber and violet on the windows. Most of the staff had gone home; only the low hum of the ventilation and the rhythmic tick of the wall clock kept you company.

You stacked the completed client lists neatly in your hands, glancing toward the light still glowing behind Sylus’s office door. He was in a meeting, according to the schedule, probably running late again. You hesitated for a moment, then smiled to yourself. He’d appreciate having these ready for the morning. It would save him a few minutes.

The corridor stretched quiet as you crossed it, your heels striking the marble in a steady rhythm that echoed like a heartbeat through the empty hall. Inside his office, the light was softer than usual, shadows stretching long across the glass table. You placed the paperwork carefully in the center of his desk, smoothing the edges as if presentation alone might please him.

You were just about to turn when the door opened behind you.

“Sneaking around after hours?”

His voice — warm, a little rougher than usual — sent a shiver straight through you.

You turned too quickly, nearly bumping into him. He stood in the doorway, jacket slung over one arm, hair slightly mussed as if he’d run a hand through it one too many times. His tie was loosened, top button undone, and the exhaustion softening his usual polish made him look… human, in a way that stole your breath.

“Oh—Mr. Qin, I was just—”

He smiled at your startled expression, an edge of amusement curving his lips. “What? Did I catch you stealing company secrets?”

“No!” you blurted, heat rising to your cheeks. “I was just dropping off the client lists. I thought you might need them tomorrow morning.”

“Relax, sweetie.” The word landed low, unexpected, making your pulse skip. “I was kidding.” He set his jacket down on the side table, still watching you. “Besides, you don’t have it in you to steal from me.”

That teasing lilt made you straighten, half-defensive, half-flustered. “Hey! I could if I wanted to.”

He chuckled softly and moved a little closer — nothing overt, just a few steps that closed the air between you until it felt denser, warmer. “Oh? So you’re holding back—just for me?”

His tone was light, but something beneath it pulled at you. The scent of his cologne — something dark and clean — hung faintly in the air.

“Or…maybe there’s another reason,” He didn’t seem to be doing anything unusual, and yet you could feel the awareness of him in your bloodstream: the shift of his shoulders, the slow lift of his brow as he waited for your answer.

You tried for composure. “Maybe I just value my job,” you said, aiming for playful, though your voice came out thinner than intended.

He hummed, the sound deep enough to vibrate somewhere behind your ribs. “You are my most hardworking employee,” he said, each word measured. Another half-step closer. “You clearly wouldn’t do anything to risk your…position.”

For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the space between you. You could see the faint stubble on his jaw, the way the lamplight rippled along the silver of his hair, how his eyes — usually cool, detached — seemed darker now, unreadable.

“…Right,” you managed, the single word barely a breath.

The tension coiled tight. You could almost hear the tick of the clock again, painfully slow.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to glance toward the door. “I was just about to leave for the night, unless you need anything else.”

Sylus studied you for a moment longer before the smile returned — easy, untroubled, like nothing had passed between you at all. He leaned back slightly, giving you space.

“No, you’re free to go,” he said, voice low and composed. “Get some rest.”

He paused, as if considering something, eyes tracing your face with quiet intent. The silence stretched just long enough to make your pulse stumble. Then — softly, almost as an afterthought:

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Qin.” You nodded quickly, gathering your things, but as you stepped past him you could feel the weight of his gaze at your back. It followed you out into the hallway, warm and unblinking, until the elevator doors closed and you were alone with the echo of your own heartbeat.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The apartment was quiet when you returned — too quiet, the kind that makes the sound of keys dropping into a bowl feel like a thunderclap. You slipped off your shoes, shrugged out of your coat, and wandered to the kitchen with the dazed rhythm of exhaustion. The faint hum of the refrigerator was the only sign of life. You poured yourself a glass of water, staring at your own reflection in the window as you drank. Your thoughts drifted to Sylus — his parting smile, that easy tone, “Get some rest.” The pause that followed. The faint curl of his lips before he added, almost too gently, “I’ll see you soon.”

You told yourself it was nothing. Just a phrase. Still, it lingered.

You went through your routine on autopilot — washed your face, brushed your teeth, dimmed the lights — but every shadow in your apartment felt a shade too deep, every creak in the floorboards a fraction too deliberate. When you finally slipped beneath your covers, you turned on your side, watching the soft neon glow of the city leak through your blinds. The hum of traffic lulled you, thoughts fading one by one until sleep claimed you whole.

When you opened your eyes, you were sitting upright at your desk.

The monitor’s glow painted your hands in sterile blue, half-written reports scattered across the surface. The clock on your desk blinked 3:33 a.m. in faint red numerals. For a moment, you simply stared at it, confusion tightening around your ribs.

You were home a second ago. Weren’t you?

The air felt thick here — unnaturally still, as though the entire office were holding its breath. You glanced around; the place looked exactly as it always did. Except… quieter. The hum of the lights was gone. The faint whir of the ventilation too. There was only silence, deep and almost liquid.

Then you heard it.

A voice — soft, distant, slipping through the stillness like a ripple across dark water — called your name.

It was faint, barely audible, but the timbre was unmistakable. Sylus.

You turned toward the sound, heart stuttering. “Hello?”

No answer.

You stood, the legs of your chair scraping quietly against the floor. The voice came again, closer now. Not loud, but intimate, like someone murmuring into your ear from just behind you.

“Come here.”

Your pulse kicked up. You stepped into the hallway. It stretched ahead, sterile and flickering, but at the far end, an elevator door stood open, waiting. The golden light spilling from inside looked almost… inviting.

You hesitated. Then your name drifted through the stillness again, low and coaxing.

You moved.

The click of your heels echoed unnaturally loud as you crossed the empty hall. The elevator doors remained open, patient. The moment you stepped inside, they slid shut — too fast. The sound was sharp enough to make you flinch.

“Jesus,” you muttered under your breath.

The elevator shuddered to life, humming as it began to climb — or fall. You couldn’t tell. The floor indicator above the doors flickered erratically: 7, 18, 4, 33, 9. Numbers skipping like a heartbeat out of rhythm.

“What the hell…” you whispered, pressing a button — any button — but none responded.

The hum deepened into a low, vibrating groan. Then, with a jarring lurch, the elevator stopped. The lights flickered once, twice, before stabilizing.

You exhaled slowly and looked up as the doors parted.

Not the office.

The corridor before you was narrow, walls washed in a bruised kind of darkness. The marble was gone, replaced by gleaming black tile that caught faint reflections of light you couldn’t locate. But at the very end of the hall, far away, you saw it — a door you knew instantly.

Sylus’s office.

A chill feathered over your skin.

“Come to me,” the voice said again. It was clear this time — familiar, unhurried, threaded with that calm command he always carried.

You stepped forward.

Each click of your heels echoed for too long, swallowed by silence and then returned in distorted fragments. The corridor didn’t feel fixed — with every step, the walls seemed to breathe, the floor stretching beneath you like it wanted to keep you from getting closer.

You frowned. The door wasn’t any nearer.

Something prickled at the back of your neck. That animal instinct — being watched.

You turned sharply. The elevator was gone. The hallway behind you was pitch black, endless. Nothing there. And yet… the feeling persisted. Like something just beyond the dark was waiting.

You swallowed hard and faced forward again.

“Stay focused, sweetie.”

The voice came from right beside your ear this time, and you froze. It wasn’t distant anymore — it was intimate, warm breath grazing the shell of your ear.

“Come here.”

Your stomach twisted. You started walking faster, then running, the tiles slick under your shoes, the sound of your steps echoing into infinity. The corridor stretched with you, the air heavy with something that felt like static — alive, pulsing.

Your name again, a whisper and a caress all at once.

You didn’t stop until, all at once, you did.

The door was right there.

You hadn’t seen it approach — you’d simply blinked, and suddenly, it was an inch from your face. The brass handle gleamed, cool and familiar. The carved plaque that bore his name glowed faintly in the dark.

You reached for it, breath trembling.

You wrapped your fingers around the brass handle and turned it.

The door creaked open on a breath of cold air. But it wasn’t Sylus’s office that waited beyond.

You froze.

A dim, silvery mist enveloped you. A hedge maze stretched out before you, immense and ancient, its walls towering higher than the office ceiling ever could have allowed. The air smelled of rain and soil, thick and heavy, and far above, the sky hung colorless — a sheet of pewter with no visible sun.

You took a step forward. Your heel sank into damp earth. Behind you, the door slammed shut with a sound that echoed through the fog like thunder. When you spun, the door was gone. Only more hedges.

A shiver rippled down your spine.

The maze was silent but not still. Leaves whispered faintly though no wind touched them. Statues lined the path — angels, but not the serene kind. Their wings were cracked, faces buried in their hands or turned skyward in anguish. One clutched its own heart in its palm. Another had tears carved down its cheeks, stained darker by moss.

You swallowed hard, throat dry.

Then, from somewhere deep within the maze, you heard it.

“Keep walking.”

You stiffened, lips parting. “Sylus?”

“I’m here.” The voice carried easily through the mist, like it lived inside the air itself. “You’re safe. Just keep moving. I’ll help you out of the maze.”

Relief mingled with confusion. Your pulse slowed, if only slightly. “Where are you?”

“Not far. Go left.”

You hesitated, then obeyed. The path curled between high hedges that seemed to close in as you walked, their branches brushing your shoulders. The damp air clung to your skin, cold enough to raise goosebumps.

“Good,” came his voice again, smoother this time. “Now right. You’re doing well.”

Each turn brought you deeper. The statues grew stranger — one missing its eyes, another reaching for you as you passed. You kept glancing over your shoulder, half expecting to see movement where there was none.

“Almost there,” Sylus murmured. “You trust me, don’t you?”

You exhaled shakily. “I think so.”

“Good girl.”

Something in the way he said it — low, almost tender — made heat unfurl in your chest despite the chill. You took another turn. Another. The maze swallowed you whole.

Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. Time had dissolved into the endless rustle of leaves and the quiet cadence of his voice guiding you.

Then the realization hit you.

You’d seen that statue before — the one with its hand over its heart. And that broken fountain, its water still as glass. You’d passed it earlier. You were sure of it.

You stopped walking. “Wait.”

Silence.

“Sylus?” you called, scanning the walls of green. “I’ve been here before. You said you were helping me, but I’ve been walking in circles.”

The air didn’t answer. The mist hung still, too heavy, too quiet.

“Sylus.” Your tone sharpened. “Are you—are you messing with me?”

For a heartbeat, nothing.

Then a sound — a low, rolling laugh — bloomed through the maze. It started faint, then swelled, deep and unhurried, resonating through the air like distant thunder.

You froze.

It was his voice. But not quite. There was something darker threaded through it, something wild and amused that you’d never heard from him before.

It wasn’t the laugh of the man you knew. It was something ancient. Unrestrained.

The sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once — above you, behind you, inside the hedges themselves. It reverberated in your bones, curling around your spine until your body didn’t know whether to tremble or lean into it.

Your heartbeat stuttered. The sound unnerved you, made the air feel charged, alive with something that wanted to touch you, consume you. And yet…

You wanted to hear it again.

Your lips parted as you whispered, almost to yourself, “That can’t be you.”

The laughter softened into a hum — low, drawn out, teasing.

“Isn’t it?”

The voice brushed the back of your neck, warm against your skin.

You spun around, but there was only mist. The hedge loomed silent and green, the statues watching with eyeless faces. The air pulsed with something unseen, some presence that was everywhere at once.

Your pulse raced, breath shallow. You could feel it — him — somewhere near, watching. Waiting. Amused.

The maze seemed to breathe with you, each inhale making its walls pulse closer, each exhale carrying faint laughter that danced around you like smoke.

You swallowed, every instinct telling you to run.

And yet, your body leaned forward.

Because if that voice truly belonged to Sylus — whatever he had become inside this dream — you weren’t sure you wanted to wake up.

You took another hesitant step forward. The sound of your shoes brushing against the damp ground seemed to echo unnaturally loud in the quiet maze. Somewhere ahead, the mist stirred — and with it, that voice again.

“That’s it,” Sylus murmured, low and silken. “That’s right, sweetie. Keep following my voice.”

The words slipped through the fog like velvet, coaxing you forward.

“Where are you?” you asked again, voice breaking slightly with the strain of uncertainty.

A pause, and then: “Closer than you think.” The tone was indulgent, the kind someone might use with a skittish animal — warm enough to lure, firm enough to command.

You kept walking, drawn by it. Each twist of the path made the air heavier, like the maze itself was alive, its hedges whispering secrets in a language you almost understood. Your pulse thudded between your ribs.

“Good,” he crooned. “Just like that. You’re getting closer now…” His voice dipped into something that wasn’t just guidance — it was hunger. “I can almost taste you.”

A breath caught in your throat. The way he said it — soft, savoring — should have made your blood run cold. Instead, warmth bloomed low in your stomach.

Your steps quickened despite yourself. You could feel it now: a pressure in the air, a presence that lingered just beyond sight. It was as though his body were waiting at the next corner, tall and sure and watching.

The thought sent a tremor through you. You didn’t know if it was fear or anticipation that carried you forward.

“Come on,” Sylus whispered. The sound of your name — barely audible, wrapped in static and breath — slipped through the fog. “You’re so close. I’m right here.”

The path curved. You could feel him now, almost see him in your mind’s eye — the gleam of his eyes, the faint curl of a smile that always seemed to promise more than it should. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as you rounded the last turn—

—and a shrill, piercing sound split through the air.

You flinched violently. The world shattered around you.

For a second, everything was white noise and vertigo.

Then you blinked, and the maze was gone.

Your ceiling stared back at you, familiar and unyielding. The room was gray with dawn light filtering through the curtains, the faint chill of morning biting at your skin.

Your alarm clock blared beside you, a steady, merciless beep.

Your chest rose and fell too fast. You reached out with trembling fingers, turning it off. Silence reclaimed the room in an instant, but it wasn’t comforting. Your pulse was still racing, your skin clammy, your lips dry.

You sat up slowly, the bedsheet tangled around your legs. For a long moment, you just stared at nothing. The remnants of the dream clung to you like smoke — Sylus’s voice, that endless maze, the feeling of being hunted and wanted all at once.

It was ridiculous. You told yourself that. Just a dream. Just your brain’s way of sorting through the day.

But you could still feel his breath against your ear, still hear the way he’d said sweetie — so close, so indulgent, it sent another shiver through you.

You dragged a hand down your face, trying to shake the thought off. You didn’t have time for this. You had work. Real life. A boss who looked like a god but acted like he was made of marble.

You swung your legs out of bed, feet finding the cool floorboards. The room felt too quiet, too ordinary after what you’d just seen. You dressed quickly, moving through your morning routine on autopilot — coffee, shower, makeup, clothes — yet every sound seemed distant, muffled by the lingering echo of that voice.

By the time you grabbed your bag and headed out the door, the dream was still gnawing at the edge of your thoughts — unsettling, yes, but threaded with something else.

Something like anticipation.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, spilling the pale light of early morning into the hallway. You stepped out, balancing your coffee in one hand and your bag in the other, still feeling the dull ache of sleep behind your eyes. The dream clung to you like fog — every detail blurred but vivid, as if it had left fingerprints on your mind.

You exhaled slowly and told yourself to focus. Just another workday. The sharp scent of roasted beans and printer ink grounded you, the familiar hum of conversation and clicking keyboards wrapping around you like white noise.

Your heels clicked briskly across the polished floor as you rounded the corner toward your desk — and collided with someone solid.

The impact sent your heart leaping into your throat. Your coffee wobbled dangerously, but a hand caught your wrist before you could spill it.

“Careful,” came a smooth, low voice.

You looked up — and the world stilled.

Sylus.

He stood close enough that you could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the soft light glinting in his crimson eyes. His suit, perfectly cut as always, looked almost sinfully sharp this close — the fabric catching the light like liquid midnight. His tie was still knotted tight, but there was an ease to his stance that made the whole moment feel strangely intimate.

You froze, pulse fluttering at the base of your throat.

“I-I’m so sorry, Mr. Qin,” you stammered, stepping back quickly. “I wasn’t looking where I was going—”

He smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips that made something in your stomach tighten. “It’s alright,” he said, voice threaded with quiet amusement. “No harm done.”

He studied your face for a moment, eyes dark but lit with something faintly teasing. “Are you alright? You look like a lost kitten.”

The heat that climbed into your cheeks was mortifying. “I’m fine. Just…tired.”

“Bad dream?” he asked lightly — as if it were an idle question, but his gaze lingered a second too long.

You blinked, startled by how close he’d come to the truth. “Something like that,” you admitted.

He chuckled softly, the sound rich enough to curl through your chest. “I see.”

Then, before you could step away, he reached out — fingertips brushing against the edge of your collar where it had folded inward. He smoothed the fabric back into place, the gesture casual, professional — but the heat of his touch seeped straight through the thin material.

You stood utterly still. His cologne reached you then: cedarwood and smoke, grounded by something faintly sweet you couldn’t place. The air between you felt too thick.

“There,” he murmured, withdrawing his hand. “Much better.”

Your voice didn’t seem to want to work for a moment. “Thank you, Mr. Qin.”

He gave a small nod, then held out a slim black folder. “I’d like you to sit in on a meeting with me later today. These are the client details. Review them when you have a moment.”

You took the folder carefully, fingers brushing his for the briefest second. The contact was electric — soft skin, calloused at the fingertips, far too real.

“Of course,” you said quickly.

“I’ll come find you after lunch.”

And then, with that same unhurried grace, he moved past you, the scent of his cologne and the echo of his voice following after him.

You stayed frozen for a few seconds, staring at the place he’d been. Your heartbeat refused to slow.

By the time you reached your desk, your thoughts were a mess. You set the coffee down and sank into your chair, trying to breathe normally.

He was your boss — calm, collected, intimidating in his perfection. There was no reason his touch should still feel branded on your skin. No reason you should still hear that faint trace of laughter in your head when he’d said bad dream?

You flipped open the folder, trying to focus on the words, the numbers, anything. But as you scanned the first page, your gaze went out of focus again. All you could think of was the warmth of his hand and the weight of his eyes — dark and steady and just a little too knowing.

You swallowed hard, shaking the thought away. “Get a grip,” you whispered under your breath.

But as you turned back to your work, your pulse refused to settle — each beat heavy, restless, and threaded with a faint, impossible echo of his voice.

By the time you finish reviewing the notes, the clock in the corner of your monitor reads just past twelve. The morning has vanished in a blur of documents and second-guessing. Your untouched coffee has long gone cold, and the lines of text on your screen swim together no matter how many times you reread them. You rest your chin in your hand, brow furrowed as you scroll through the project brief one more time.

It’s a major client — one whose name carries weight even outside your industry. And Sylus himself is leading the meeting this afternoon. You still can’t quite wrap your head around that part. Out of every employee, why you? He hadn’t offered an explanation, just told you to prepare and to be ready after lunch.

You inhale slowly, trying to ease the tension crawling up your neck. Maybe he just wants another set of eyes on the proposal. Maybe he’s testing you. Whatever the reason, you refuse to look unprepared. You skim through the figures again, tracing the graphs with your fingertip as if doing so might commit them to memory. The faint ache behind your eyes deepens, but you ignore it.

The soft murmur of conversation drifts from somewhere down the hall, echoing against glass and marble. The office is quiet now — most people have already gone to lunch — but the air carries that crisp chill particular to high-rise buildings.

Your reflection stares back at you from the dark surface of your monitor — tired, tense, a little dull. You sigh and finally close the laptop with a soft click. The screen goes black, and the quiet hum of the floor fills the space it leaves behind.

You smooth your skirt, run a hand through your hair, and gather your phone. Your pulse is still elevated, mind replaying snippets of your earlier interaction with Sylus — his tone, the way he’d looked at you when he told you to be ready. You’d nodded too quickly, you think now. Too eager.

You shake the thought away as you step out into the corridor.

Light pours through the tall windows lining the hallway, the kind that stretch from floor to ceiling, flooding the polished stone floors with a muted golden sheen. The air feels cooler out here, carrying the faint scent of citrus from the planters placed between the doors. You blink a few times, your eyes adjusting after hours of staring at the blue glow of your monitor.

As you walk toward the elevators, your thoughts slip despite yourself — to the dream, the voice that had called to you in the dark. You push it back down almost immediately. Not now. You have a meeting to prepare for, a reputation to maintain. Whatever that dream was, it can wait.

You square your shoulders, trying to shake off the unease curling low in your chest, and press the button for the lobby café. Lunch first — then back to studying the files until you can quote them line for line.

You’ll be ready when Sylus comes to find you.

By the time you step into the cafeteria, the familiar hum of conversation and the aroma of coffee and warm bread wash over you. A few people wave in passing, and you spot your coworker — gesturing for you to join her.

“Hey,” she says as you slide into the seat across from her. “You look like you barely made it through the morning.”

You huff a quiet laugh, unwrapping your sandwich. She studies you while stirring sugar into her coffee, brow furrowing just a little. “You seem kind of off today. Everything okay?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah…just tired. I had this weird dream last night.”

That gets her attention instantly. Her eyes brighten. “Ooh, tell me about it. Maybe I can interpret it for you. I’ve been on a dream-analysis kick lately.”

You snort softly. “You and your hobbies.”

“Don’t mock my process,” she says, half-serious, half-smiling. “Come on, spill it.”

You sigh, giving in. “Alright. I was in the office—but it wasn’t normal. It was dark and completely empty. Then I heard this voice calling for me. I followed it, and somehow the place kept changing until I ended up in this maze. I kept walking toward whoever was calling me, and right when I thought I was close…” You pause, shaking your head slightly. “I woke up.”

Her fork pauses halfway to her mouth as she processes that. “The office and the maze…maybe you feel trapped. Or lost. Like you want a change but don’t know where to go?”

You shake your head immediately. “I like it here, though. I can’t picture myself doing anything else.”

She hums thoughtfully, still chewing. “Hmm. Someone calling out to you, though…that could be something deeper.” Her eyes gleam playfully. “Maybe it’s a demon.”

You give her a flat look. “Oh, come on. Are you trying to give me more nightmares?”

“I’m serious!” she insists, laughing but pretending to sound grave. “Voices guiding you in dreams, strange places, waking up disoriented—total demon behavior. You should put a crystal under your pillow or something.”

You snicker. “What crystal is supposed to protect me from a demon?”

“Amethyst,” she says without hesitation. “Or obsidian. Good for energy shielding.”

That makes you laugh harder, shaking your head. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious,” she replies, though her grin betrays her amusement. “You’ll thank me when you stop having creepy dreams.”

You roll your eyes but smile all the same. The easy rhythm between you returns — talk of weekend plans, a new café opening downtown, gossip about someone in accounting who keeps stealing mugs from the breakroom.

But even as you laugh and sip your coffee, you can’t quite shake it. The faint echo of that voice lingers somewhere in the back of your mind.

That’s right, sweetie. Keep following my voice.

You feel the memory of it vibrate low in your chest, disturbingly intimate.

You force yourself to look up, to focus on your coworker’s bright chatter, but the warmth of the cafeteria suddenly feels a little stifling.

It was just a dream, you tell yourself. Just a dream.

And yet, beneath the buzz of conversation, you swear you can still hear him — Sylus — calling to you from somewhere far, far too close.

You head back toward your desk, the chatter of the cafeteria still humming faintly in your ears, though your mind feels elsewhere — caught somewhere between waking and that echoing voice from the maze. When you round the corner, you nearly stop short.

Sylus is standing beside your desk, one hand resting lightly on the edge, the other tucked into his pocket. His presence, as always, fills the space too easily — silver hair catching the soft afternoon light, posture effortless but commanding. The usual stir of activity in the office seems to have quieted around him, as if everyone knows instinctively to lower their voices when he’s near.

“Ah,” he says, glancing up as if he’d been expecting you. “Perfect timing. Ready for the meeting?”

Your pulse skips. “Yes—of course, Mr. Qin.”

He gestures toward the hallway with a faint smile. “Let’s go, then.”

You fall into step beside him, your heels clicking in tandem with his measured stride. The walk feels longer than it should. You can smell the faint hint of his cologne, and it’s unfair how it unsettles you. You try to focus on the folders in your hands instead, flipping them open to glance over the notes you’d reviewed earlier.

The client they’re meeting today is an investor, someone with a reputation for being meticulous and difficult to sway. You’re not even sure why you’re going — staff at your level don’t get invited into meetings like this. The thought makes your palms a little damp, and you have to steady your grip on the folder.

Sylus notices. His voice is calm, smooth as a cello note. “Nervous?”

You give a small laugh that sounds thinner than you’d like. “Maybe a little. I was just wondering why you wanted me there. I’m sure there are others who—well, who have more experience with this sort of thing.”

He casts a sideways glance at you, the corner of his mouth curving. “Relax, sweetie. You can handle it.”

You nearly stumble at the quiet endearment but manage to recover. “Right,” you murmur, keeping your eyes on the floor ahead.

When you reach the glass-walled conference room, the city skyline spreads behind it — steel and light glittering against the afternoon haze. Sylus opens the door for you, his hand brushing lightly against your back as he guides you inside. The gesture is simple, polite, but your skin prickles all the same.

He pulls out your chair before taking his seat beside you, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. The other attendees exchange polite greetings and then the meeting begins — discussions of figures, projections, potential partnerships. Sylus’s voice commands the room; every word is crisp, persuasive, threaded with an easy confidence that makes people lean in to listen. You can’t help glancing at him from time to time, the way he rests his hand against his chin as he listens, the faint gleam of his watch when he gestures.

You almost forget yourself — until his tone changes.

“And what do you think?”

You blink, realizing too late that his eyes are on you. So are everyone else’s.

“I—me?” you manage, straightening in your seat. “Ah, well…” You fumble for words, flipping through the notes before settling on a thought. You give your honest assessment — something about sustainability, long-term growth, and how the proposed changes could appeal to the client’s interest in emerging markets.

When you finish, there’s a brief silence. Then, Sylus’s lips curve — not in mockery, but in approval. “Exactly my thoughts,” he says, leaning back slightly. “Well put.”

The client nods, murmuring something about an interesting perspective. You can only nod faintly, warmth creeping up your neck. Sylus returns to his calm composure, continuing the discussion as if it were nothing — but when his gaze drifts your way again, there’s a glint there you can’t quite read.

You focus on the sound of your pen scratching notes, doing everything you can to steady your breathing. The dream, the voice, the maze — it all feels like it’s pressing against the edges of this moment. And when Sylus speaks again, low and measured beside you, you swear you can still hear that echo:

Come to me.

The meeting dragged on long past its natural end, the air in the glass-walled room thick with the scent of coffee gone cold and the faint hum of the city below. Papers rustled, pens tapped, and every time Sylus spoke, the cadence of his voice cut cleanly through the noise — steady, deliberate, in command. By the time the final agreement was reached, the sun had already begun to slip below the skyline, staining the horizon with streaks of amber and rose-gold.

You blinked against the glow reflecting off the table’s polished surface, trying to ignore how the fatigue behind your eyes had started to thrum. The clients exchanged their final handshakes, their laughter echoing faintly as they exited. You rose with the others, tucking your notes into a folder and following Sylus out into the corridor.

He slowed his pace slightly so you could fall into step beside him. “You did well,” he said, his tone low but sincere.

You gave a small, almost embarrassed laugh. “You’re the one who secured the deal, Mr. Qin. I just sat there and tried not to get in the way.”

He glanced down at you, the corner of his mouth curving faintly. “Don’t discredit yourself. You belonged in that room just as much as I did.”

The words caught you off guard. No one had ever said something like that to you before — not from someone like him, whose approval could shape an entire career.

“Thank you,” you murmured, a bit quieter than intended.

He nodded once, then said, “Follow me to my office.”

You hesitated for the briefest moment before doing as he asked. The hallway was quiet now, emptied of most employees. The fading sunlight poured through the tall windows, pooling in molten patterns on the marble floors. You could hear the click of your heels beside his, a steady rhythm that seemed to echo too loudly in the silence.

Every few steps, you found yourself glancing at him — the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hand slid effortlessly into his pocket, the faint looseness to his posture that only appeared once business was concluded. He carried exhaustion like he carried everything else: gracefully. You wondered if he ever really let himself rest.

When you realized your gaze had lingered too long, you snapped your eyes forward, heat crawling up your neck.

Inside his office, the light had turned honey-soft, spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows and catching on the decanters arranged neatly atop a glass cabinet. Sylus crossed to them without a word, shrugging off his suit jacket and rolling his sleeves to his forearms — precise movements, practiced and elegant.

You tried not to stare.

“Did you need something else from me, sir?” you asked, setting your folder down on the edge of his desk.

He turned, a bottle of gin in hand, the faintest smile on his lips. “We just secured a deal with one of the most difficult clients in the industry,” he said. “That calls for a celebration, don’t you think?”

You blinked. “Oh—I…I’m not sure that’s appropriate.”

His expression didn’t waver. “It’s just a drink,” he said, voice smooth, coaxing. “Afraid you’ll let your guard down?”

Your breath hitched. “No, of course not. It’s just—”

“You drive home, I know.” He began pouring two measures of clear liquid into crystal tumblers, the sound of it a clean, crisp pour. “My driver can take you home afterward. Indulge me, won’t you?”

You hesitated, the word indulge catching and rolling through your mind like smoke. The air in the room felt warmer than before, and not just from the sunset.

“…Alright,” you said finally, your voice a whisper of its usual confidence.

He gave a quiet hum of approval, adding a measure of lemon and tonic before stirring the drink with a slow turn of his wrist. When he handed you your glass, your fingers brushed his — an accidental touch, but enough to send a faint spark through your nerves.

The gin fizz was light, fragrant with citrus and something floral. You took a tentative sip, the chill of it sharp against your tongue. Sylus leaned against the edge of his desk, glass in hand, looking entirely at ease.

“To successful partnerships,” he said.

You managed a small smile, lifting your glass to his. “To partnerships.”

The crystal chimed softly as they met, the sound lingering in the quiet office. The last streaks of sunlight filtered through the office blinds, staining the room in shades of blood-orange. The air felt heavy now — still, except for the soft hum of the city beyond the windows. You stood near one end of his desk, glass in hand, your pulse steady but far too noticeable in your throat. 

Sylus leaned against the opposite edge, his posture careless yet deliberate, one arm braced against the desk while the other raised his drink to his lips. The slow tilt of the glass, the movement of his throat as he swallowed — it shouldn’t have been so distracting, and yet it was.

He glanced at you through the lashes that caught the light, a quiet calculation in his eyes. “Why do you hold yourself back?”

You blinked, caught entirely off guard. “I’m sorry?”

He tilted his head, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. “You underestimate your abilities,” he said, tone smooth but edged with something that felt like challenge. “Someone like you belongs in a much higher position. Yet you act content where you are.”

You let out a small, nervous laugh, eyes darting down to your drink. “Well, I am content. I like my job. My position.”

He made a low sound, almost a chuckle, and set his glass down with a soft clink. “I can tell,” he said, the words laced with something amused, maybe even indulgent. His gaze lingered on you — too steady, too intent. “But…” He paused, his voice dropping into something softer, heavier. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a little more…power, around here? You could even take my place one day.”

You laughed lightly, though your heart was beginning to beat faster. “What makes you think I could do your job?”

For the first time, his expression changed — serious now, his crimson eyes catching the light like coals. “Because it would come naturally to you,” he said quietly. “You and I…we’re more alike than you realize.”

The air between you shifted. You tilted your head, feigning composure even as your pulse betrayed you. You took a slow sip of your drink to ground yourself, feeling the cool fizz of gin on your tongue. “And how can you be so sure?” you asked, watching him over the rim of your glass.

He chuckled, low and quiet. “Call it a gut feeling.”

Then he moved. A few steps closer — just enough to close the comfortable distance you’d kept. You felt the warmth of him before you registered how close he’d gotten. He reached out, almost casually, and brushed a strand of hair from your cheek. His fingertips barely touched your skin, but the contact lit a spark beneath your ribs, spreading warmth through your stomach.

“When you want something,” he murmured, voice low, smooth, and deliberate, “you have to go for it. I didn’t get here by letting others take the lead.”

Your breath caught. The room seemed to shrink, filled with the hum of something unspoken. You managed a small, flustered laugh, your words stumbling slightly. “I’ll…remember that. Thank you, Mr. Qin.”

He smiled then, slow and disarming. “You can call me Sylus,” he said softly. “After all…it’s just us.”

Your heartbeat stuttered. You nodded once, forcing a small smile as you took a step back, trying to reclaim your breath. “Right,” you said, your voice a little too light. “Thank you, Sylus.”

His eyes stayed fixed on you, their intensity softened only by the curve of amusement at his lips. He didn’t speak again right away, and in that silence, you felt every detail of the moment sharpen — the cool glass in your hand, the faint hum of the city lights flickering to life outside, the residual heat of his touch still ghosting across your cheek.

You lingered there for a moment longer, still feeling the faint heat where his fingers had brushed your skin. The tension in the room pulsed — slow, steady, unbearable. Then, in a small act of self-preservation, you lifted the glass and downed the rest of your drink in one swallow. The gin fizz hit your tongue with a soft sting, cool and sharp, but it did nothing to quiet the storm building in your chest.

You set the empty glass on the edge of his desk, its faint clink sounding much too loud in the silence. Get it together, you told yourself. He was your boss. Your very composed, very untouchable boss — and you had absolutely no business feeling the way you did just now.

You smoothed your skirt, trying to ignore the quickened rhythm of your pulse. “I should… probably get going,” you said, forcing your voice into something even, professional.

Sylus didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on you, unreadable behind that faint half-smile he wore — the one that never quite reached his eyes. “Very well,” he said at last, voice quiet but threaded with that effortless authority that always made you stand straighter. “I’ll call the driver. He’ll be waiting for you out front.”

You nodded, grateful for the reprieve, though part of you hated how reluctant you were to step away. “Thank you,” you murmured.

You turned toward the door, trying to make your exit as smooth as possible, when his voice stopped you again.

“Sweet dreams, sweetie.”

You froze, the words hitting you with a confusing mix of warmth and unease. You turned halfway, your hand still on the door handle. “What?”

He smiled then — slow, knowing. “You said you had a bad dream last night,” he said easily, as if this were the most natural thing in the world to recall. “I hope they’re more…enjoyable tonight.”

The pause before that last word did something to you — sent a flicker of heat straight to your core, so quick you almost missed it. You swallowed, hard, searching for your voice. “Right,” you said finally, your tone a little too soft. “Thanks.”

He didn’t move, didn’t say another word — just watched you, that same faint smile lingering at the corner of his mouth.

You turned back to the door, every nerve in your body taut as you forced your steps to remain calm and even. But the moment you stepped into the corridor, the air felt thinner, cooler — as if you’d surfaced from something deeper than you’d meant to sink into.

Your heart was still pounding. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to see him again tomorrow — or if you should pray you didn’t.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The night air hit you as soon as you stepped out of the car — cool, a little damp, a welcome contrast to the heat that still lingered beneath your skin. The ride home had felt longer than it should have, every minute spent in that enclosed space filled with the faint scent of Sylus still clinging to the leather seats. It was subtle — sandalwood, smoke, something darker underneath — and the more you tried to ignore it, the more it seemed to surround you, sink into your thoughts.

You’d rolled the window down halfway, hoping the wind would help clear your head. It didn’t. The alcohol had left a slow burn behind your ribs, soft but insistent, and by the time the car pulled up in front of your apartment, you weren’t sure if it was the gin or something else that made the world feel a little unsteady.

You thanked the driver quietly and stepped out, heels clicking against the pavement. The city was calm now, the streets washed in golden light from the passing cars. Everything looked hazy — like a painting just before it dries.

Inside, you barely remembered kicking off your shoes by the door. Your bag landed on the counter, forgotten. You tugged the pins from your hair, letting them scatter across the vanity as you passed. Each breath felt too shallow, too aware.

Sylus. The way his eyes had lingered. The way his voice had wrapped around that single word — sweetie — like a touch.

You exhaled sharply, as if you could push the thought out of your chest, but it stayed there, pulsing, low and heavy. You shouldn’t be thinking of him like this. Not your boss. Not the man whose name carried weight in every boardroom, who could unsettle you with a glance.

You crossed the room and fell onto the bed without bothering to change. The sheets were cool against your skin, grounding you for a moment. You pressed your face into the pillow, breathing in the faint scent of fabric softener and something familiar that reminded you of the office — of him.

“God,” you muttered into the pillow, your voice muffled, half-laughing at yourself. You felt the buzz of the gin still in your veins, blurring the edges of everything — your thoughts, your restraint, your logic.

The ceiling swam a little when you rolled onto your back. You stared at it, tracing shapes in the shadows that weren’t there. All you wanted was to forget the tension in his office, the way his fingers had brushed your cheek, how his voice had followed you home even now.

You turned on your side, pulling the blanket up to your chin, eyes growing heavy.

Sweet dreams, sweetie.

His voice echoed faintly again, softer this time, almost gentle.

Your lips parted on a sigh, half-conscious, and for once you didn’t fight it — the thought of him, the weight of his gaze, the warmth that had followed you all evening.

Maybe if you were lucky, your dreams would be kinder tonight.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The first thing you notice is the silence. Vast, cathedral-deep, as though the whole world has stopped breathing. Candles line the walls in high iron sconces, their flames throwing halos of gold across endless marble. The light multiplies a thousandfold through the mirrors that stretch from floor to vaulted ceiling, trapping you inside a labyrinth of reflections.

The air is thick — heavy with the scent of melting wax, smoke, and something faintly metallic, like blood just beginning to cool. You taste it when you swallow.

You take a cautious step forward. The sharp click of your heel ricochets through the chamber, splintering into a thousand echoes that come back to you too fast, too many. It sounds like other footsteps walking with you — chasing you — just out of sync. You freeze. The echoes stop a second too late.

Your reflection stares back from every surface: tense, eyes wide and unsteady. Each version of yourself looks subtly wrong — a fraction out of rhythm, as if they’re all breathing a moment slower than you are.

Then — movement. A flicker at the edge of your vision. Something darker than shadow sliding across the far wall. You whirl toward it, heart seizing, but there’s nothing. Just candles. Just glass.

You tell yourself you imagined it. You try to steady your breath, but the air feels wrong, as if the whole room is exhaling around you.

Another sound — a soft scrape, heel against marble. Not yours. You whip your head toward it. Empty space. But when you look back at the mirrors, one of your reflections lags behind, blinking slower, her lips parting as if to speak. You take a step closer — she mirrors you perfectly again.

Your skin prickles. The silence stretches, taut as wire.

Something brushes past your shoulder — not air, not sound, something. The faintest shift in temperature, the whisper of a presence that leaves goosebumps in its wake.

You spin. Nothing. Just you, and you, and you, reflected in all directions.

The stillness is unbearable. It presses down on your chest until you can hardly breathe. You want to call out, but the fear of hearing your voice come back wrong keeps your lips sealed.

Then the mirrors begin to hum — a faint vibration, like the low note of a cello played somewhere deep within the glass. The sound rises, trembles through your bones, then fades into silence again, leaving your pulse roaring in your ears.

You can’t stand it anymore. Your voice cracks when you finally speak. “…Sylus? Are you there?”

For a heartbeat, nothing answers. Only the echo of your own voice, hollow, multiplied. Then, softly — a sound.

Laughter.

It slips through the room like smoke, low and velvety, threading between reflections until you can’t tell where it comes from. It feels close enough to touch, yet impossibly far. The sound ripples through you, vibrating beneath your skin, and every candle flame wavers as though the walls themselves are laughing too.

A shiver crawls down your spine. You know that voice. You feel it before you truly hear it — dark warmth pooling low in your stomach even as your pulse spikes with fear.

You take a step back, eyes darting between a hundred reflections that all stare too still, too quiet. “Stop it,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “What is this? Where am I?”

The laughter fades, slow and deliberate, until the only sound is your breathing — shallow, quick, the whisper of fabric against your skin as you turn in place, waiting for an answer that feels inevitable.

The laughter fades into a murmur, words curling through the air — low, almost tender — close enough that you feel the breath of them against your ear.

“Somewhere the truth can no longer hide.”

You freeze, heart hammering. The voice isn’t behind you, not exactly — it’s everywhere. It coils around your spine, stroking along the edges of the mirrors until it seems to seep right out of the glass. You can’t tell if it’s an illusion or if something in this place is alive and breathing with you.

“I don’t understand,” you whisper, but the sound feels fragile, swallowed by the dark.

A pause. Then, softly, a purr that vibrates through the air — through you.

“But your body does, kitten.”

The words slide under your skin like heat. You flinch when warmth ghosts over the curve of your neck, though nothing is there. Still, you can feel him. The presence — vast, electric — seems to move around you, closer each time you turn. The air thickens, charged, your pulse loud enough to drown your thoughts.

Something brushes your arm — not quite touch, but enough to send a shock straight to your spine. You stumble a step back, breath quick, the silence breaking on the soft tremor of your heels against marble.

“Don’t run from it,”

The warning comes a heartbeat before he’s suddenly there. You back into something warm, solid — impossibly real. A chest. A body. His body.

You gasp, and his hand comes up, steadying you by the waist. The heat of him seeps straight through the thin fabric of your gown, his breath grazing your ear.

“Careful, kitten,” he murmurs.

Your gaze flickers to the mirror ahead, and the breath catches in your throat.

He stands there — not the Sylus you know, but something older. Something inhuman. Horns curve back through his silver hair, now longer, wilder. His eyes glow a molten red, irises shifting like embers caught in wind. Wings, faintly translucent and scaled at the edges, unfurl behind him — too large for the space, yet somehow fitting. A thin, pointed tail trails in lazy motion, catching the candlelight in a wicked shimmer.

Your pulse stutters. Fear trembles at the edges of your ribs — but tangled in it, rising just as strong, is something else. Fascination. Drawn despite yourself, your eyes trace the shape of him, the dark perfection of the monster he’s become.

When you try to turn toward him, his hand slides up, gentle but certain, fingers catching your jaw.

“Eyes on the mirror, sweetie,” he whispers. 

Your reflection meets his — and the moment your eyes lock, his mouth curves into a slow, knowing smile. He leans close, the tip of his nose brushing your temple, his next words low enough to feel rather than hear.

“Are you scared?”

Your throat works as you whisper, “No.”

A low laugh vibrates against your back. “Such a brave little thing.”

He inhales, slow and deliberate, right against your neck. The sound alone makes your knees weaken, a deep, rumbling pull that echoes through the candlelit room like a predator savoring its prey. 

Shadows dance across the walls, flickering from the flames that cast everything in a warm, deceptive glow — the mirror opposite reflecting it all in distorted fragments of light and dark. Then the heat of his tongue traces up the line of your throat in one smooth, lingering stroke, wet and insistent, leaving a trail that burns even after it passes. You shiver, caught between shock and want, your body betraying you with a flush that creeps up your skin.

“Mmm…” His hum rolls through your bones, vibrating against your spine where he's pressed so close, his chest a solid wall of heat and muscle. “Your desire…I can taste it.” His voice is a low growl, laced with something ancient and hungry, the kind that makes the air feel thicker, heavier, like it's closing in around you. 

His breath catches, voice thick with pleasure. “It would be even sweeter if you stopped denying it.” The words slither into your ear, warm and coaxing, but there's an edge to them — a sharpness that sends a thrill of unease twisting in your gut, mingling with the ache building low in your belly.

You manage a small, shaking sound — half protest, half breathless surrender. “I don’t—” But the words die on your lips as his hands slide down, tracing the path of your heartbeat, fingers splaying wide over your ribs, pressing just hard enough to remind you of his strength. His shush is almost tender, a soft hush that brushes your skin like silk, yet it carries the weight of command.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispers, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Just feel me.” 

The warmth of his touch trails fire along your body, igniting nerves you didn't know were so alive. The scent of smoke and metal floods your senses, sharp and intoxicating, clinging to him like a second skin. The heavy thrum of his presence pressed flush to your back makes your pulse race, every inhale syncing with yours in a rhythm that's both intimate and overwhelming.

In the mirror, the reflection wavers in the candlelight — a god, a demon, a man — and you, trembling in his grasp, can’t tell which one you want him to be. His eyes meet yours over your shoulder, dark and piercing, holding you captive even through the glass. That's when you feel it: the subtle shift at your side. His tail, sleek and sinuous, uncoils from where it had been draped loosely against his leg. 

It snakes around your thigh with deliberate slowness, the scaled length warm and smooth, wrapping higher, tighter, until the tip brushes the sensitive skin just below your hip. Heat blooms from the contact, radiating inward, pooling hot and insistent in your core, making your breath hitch.

“Look at yourself,” he murmurs, his voice a command that vibrates against your neck. “Watch how your body responds to me.” His gaze flicks to the reflection, urging you to follow, and you do, unable to resist. There you are — cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes wide with a mix of fear and longing. Your chest rises and falls too quickly, the thin fabric of your dress clinging where sweat has begun to gather. His tail tightens just a fraction, sending another wave of that unnatural warmth spiraling through you, and you see it: the way your thighs press together instinctively, the subtle arch of your back.

His hands continue their descent, trailing down your body with agonizing slowness. Fingers skim over the curve of your waist, dipping into the hollows of your hips, then lower still, mapping every inch with a touch that's both reverent and possessive. Fire follows in their wake, a scorching path that makes your skin prickle and your muscles tense. It's seductive, this deliberate exploration, but there's a undercurrent of danger — the way his grip could turn bruising in an instant, the predatory glint in his eyes that promises he could devour you whole.

He leans in closer, his mouth finding the curve of your neck again. Kisses trail there, soft at first, then firmer — lips pressing, teeth grazing just enough to tease the edge of pain. Each one pulls a gasp from you, the sensation building until a soft moan slips out, unbidden, raw and vulnerable in the quiet room. The sound echoes faintly off the stone walls, mingling with the crackle of candles.

He laughs then, a low, throaty sound that rumbles against your skin, sending fresh shivers down your spine. “There it is,” he says, satisfaction dripping from every syllable, his breath hot and ragged.

“What?” you whisper, voice trembling, your eyes still locked on the mirror where his tail coils possessively, his hands now resting low on your abdomen, thumbs circling in lazy patterns that stoke the fire higher.

“The truth,” he replies, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze in the reflection. His eyes burn with intensity, dark pools that draw you in, making the room feel smaller, the air charged with unspoken threats and temptations. “It's right there, spilling out of you.”

He shifts, his lips brushing your earlobe as he whispers, the words intimate, insistent. “You can't hide from it anymore, kitten.” The endearment is laced with mockery and affection, a coaxing purr that wraps around your resolve like his tail around your leg. “These wants you've buried so deep—they're clawing their way out. Feel them. Admit them. Let me show you how good it can be when you stop pretending.”

It was like his desire pressed up against yours, invisible but electric, coaxing sensations from your skin that you’d never thought possible. Every word he murmured, every twist of his tail and burning look, seemed to stroke some hidden place inside you. The need in his eyes reached into you, unraveled you, until the pleasure crested and broke without warning, summoned forth by nothing more than the force of his will.

Your climax was a high-pitched, desperate shudder that rippled through you even without his touch. It was shamefully violent, pulling a sob from your throat. Your legs felt weak, slick, and your mind swam, unable to separate the monster from the measured CEO.

He lowered his mouth to your shoulder — laughing, fangs gently grazing your skin, not breaking it, but leaving a chilling promise behind. “You will say my name, sweetie. You will beg for this. But, I won’t give it to you, not yet.”

He inhaled sharply, deeply, a possessive sound that seemed to draw the very essence of your desire into his lungs. Then, with brutal abruptness, he released you.

The monster was gone.

You stumbled forward, your reflection suddenly standing alone in the silent, mirrored room, your chest heaving, the air cold where his body had been. You whirled around — only to face the pristine marble wall, silent, empty.

You stood there, trembling, one hand instinctively covering your heart, the other clutching your thigh where his tail had coiled.

The sound of your own soft gasps was the last thing you heard before the world tilted, and you woke up, gasping, in the cold light of your own room.

You lie there for a long moment, the sheets tangled around your legs, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. The shadows in the room are long, drawn by the morning light spilling through the blinds, and for a brief second, you half-expect him to emerge from them. 

The lingering sensation of his touch — warm, insistent, impossible to ignore — curls low in your stomach. It’s almost maddening, the way your skin remembers it before your mind does, the ghost of heat and breath teasing every nerve.

You shake your head sharply, trying to banish the memory. It was just a dream. Just a dream. You repeat it over and over, willing the pulse of your desire, the shiver along your spine, the heat that seems to have settled low in your belly, to fade.

Then the thought hits you like a weight pressing down on your chest: you have to see him today. In the office. You have to look him in the eye. The thought alone makes your cheeks heat, your palms go clammy. You picture the crisp lines of his suit, the calm, practiced tilt of his head, that smile that has always unraveled you even on normal days — and now, after that, it feels like a threat, a temptation you have no defense against.

You close your eyes, pressing a hand to your forehead, trying to slow your racing heart. You imagine every possible strategy: stay busy, avoid him, keep interactions brief and professional. If he needs anything from you, someone else can fill in. You’re not that important — a minor cog in the machine, and a CEO like him wouldn’t question it. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Your body doesn’t listen. Every small noise — the creak of the floorboards, the hiss of the radiator — makes your pulse stutter. Every shadow seems too deep, every shift of light a reminder of the dream. The memory of his breath, the heat of his hands, the way his presence pressed into you, curls stubbornly in your mind. You try to steel yourself, to tell your mind it’s just nerves, that you’ll get through the day, but even as you repeat it, the ache between your thighs, the lingering warmth in your chest, reminds you that your body refuses to cooperate with reason.

You throw off the blankets, forcing yourself upright. Your stomach twists as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, feet landing on the cold floor. You dress mechanically, every movement precise, trying not to think of how your reflection in the mirror might betray the faint flush of desire still lingering in your cheeks. You style your hair quickly, smooth your blouse down, and stare at yourself for a moment. The reflection doesn’t lie — your eyes are wide, your lips slightly parted, your pulse visible in the hollow of your throat. You take a deep breath, willing yourself to look nothing like the person who woke from that dream.

As you gather your things, the reality settles on your shoulders like a physical weight: today, you cannot avoid him entirely. He will be there. He will notice. And in the quiet moments — a glance, a passing by, a brush of papers — you’ll feel it all over again: the magnetic pull, the lingering heat, the reminder that your body remembers things your mind is desperate to ignore.

You try to convince yourself once more as you step out the door, keys clutched tight in your hand, shoulders squared. It’s just a normal day. You repeat it like a mantra. Just a normal day. He’s your boss. Nothing more. Just a normal day.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, spilling you into the familiar hum of the office. For a moment, relief floods you — no sign of him. No perfectly tailored suit, no glint of red eyes in some impossibly sharp gaze waiting just around the corner. Just the usual morning chaos: phones ringing, printers whirring, the scent of strong coffee drifting from the break area. You take a cautious breath, trying to ground yourself, willing your pulse to slow.

Your steps feel heavier than usual as you make your way to your desk, each footfall echoing in your own head. You brush past colleagues, nodding distractedly, focusing on the carpet under your shoes, anything to avoid thinking about him.

“Hey,” a familiar voice calls. You startle, almost dropping your bag. Your coworker is already at your side, eyes wide. “You alright? You look…like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You swallow, trying to steady your voice. “I…yeah, just another strange dream last night.”

She frowns, concern knitting her brow. “Again? Was it…like the other one?”

You hesitate, the memory of him so vivid it makes your stomach twist. “Sort of…” You trail off, unwilling to admit who had been at the center of it.

She doesn’t push further, but her lips purse and she mutters under her breath, almost to herself, “Maybe it really is a demon…” Her eyes snap to you suddenly, sharper. “Here.”

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a delicate necklace. A small amethyst pendant catches the light, shimmering faintly even in the harsh fluorescent overheads. “Wear it,” she says, holding it toward you.

You tilt your head, blinking at her. “What’s this? You think this is going to get rid of my demon?” You let out a soft laugh, but it’s half-nervous.

“I’m serious!” She insists, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “It wards off bad energy. Bad vibes. Whatever’s messing with you in your sleep.”

You roll your eyes but take it anyway, letting the cool chain slide around your neck, the amethyst settling against your collarbone. There’s something grounding about it, almost reassuring. “Even if it doesn’t work,” She adds, “at least it makes your eyes pop.”

You can’t help but laugh, a little more naturally this time, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “Thanks,” you murmur, giving her a quick smile.

She pats your arm and steps back, leaving you at your desk. You adjust the necklace reflexively, letting your fingers brush the smooth stone, and finally turn to your computer. Fingers hover over the keyboard as you pull up your tasks for the day.

Please, let him be busy, you think, heart thumping a little faster despite the morning distractions. Please don’t need anything from me today.

The amethyst rests warm against your skin, a small comfort in the middle of the lingering unease. For the first time since waking, you allow yourself a fraction of hope — that maybe, just maybe, you can survive the day without being drawn back into the pull of that impossible, intoxicating presence.

The day passes in a blur of meetings, presentations, and polite chatter. For once, the constant motion feels like mercy. You don’t have time to think, to feel, to dwell on the lingering heat that dream left beneath your skin. You throw yourself into every task, grateful for the noise and the people and the blessed absence of him.

By late afternoon, the sky outside has already begun to turn gold. You step out of your last meeting, exhaustion weighing on your shoulders but relief blooming quietly in your chest. You did it — made it through an entire day without a single encounter. Maybe it really was just a dream.

As you walk down the hallway, your reflection flickers across the glass panels that line the walls. When you pass a mirror, you pause, habit taking over. You smooth your hair, straighten your blouse, check for smudged lipstick. The simple routine is grounding. Ordinary.

Then—

“There you are.”

The voice is soft, deep, and unmistakable.

Your heart stutters. You freeze, eyes snapping up to the mirror. He’s there — Sylus, standing just behind you, reflected in the glass like some apparition conjured from the edges of sleep.

He moves closer. You don’t hear his footsteps, but you feel him — the heat radiating from his body, the faint scent of smoke and something darker curling through the air.

“I haven’t seen you all day,” he murmurs. His tone is smooth, casual, but there’s a weight beneath it that coils low in your stomach.

You swallow hard, forcing the words out. “I’ve been in meetings all day.”

“I see.” He hums, a low, amused sound that vibrates through the space between you. His reflection tilts its head, eyes tracing over you in a way that feels far too familiar. “For a moment, I thought someone was avoiding me.”

Your breath catches. “Of course not! Why would I—”

He laughs softly, the sound curling around you like velvet. “Relax. I’m just teasing you.”

You try to smile, but it falters when his gaze dips lower. His hand lifts, brushing the collar of your shirt aside with disarming ease. “What’s this?” he asks, his voice low. “On your neck.”

You blink, confused, and turn your head toward the mirror. That’s when you see it — a faint mark just below your jawline. Not a bruise exactly, but small, circular, red. Like a bite.

Your pulse spikes. Your mind flashes back to the dream — to the heat of his breath, the scrape of his teeth, the way your body had responded before you even understood what was happening.

No. It couldn’t be. It was just a dream. 

“I…must have gotten lipstick on my neck this morning,” you manage, voice trembling slightly. “I was in a rush.”

He studies you in the reflection, his eyes unreadable, and then his fingers brush the mark. The touch is light, almost lazy, but it sends a shiver straight down your spine.

“Lipstick?” he echoes, his tone laced with mock disbelief. “Who would believe that?”

Your breath catches as he lets the collar fall back into place, the ghost of his touch lingering on your skin.

He meets your eyes in the mirror. The corner of his mouth curves. “Tell me,” he murmurs, “were your dreams better last night?”

The world seems to narrow around you — just the two of you, the mirror, the echo of his question. You can’t look away. You can’t breathe. Because deep down, in the pulse that jumps beneath your skin, you already know the answer.

Your throat feels dry, your pulse wild against your skin. His question still hangs in the air between you, vibrating through the silence like a struck note.

You swallow hard, trying to find your voice. “They were…fine.”

Sylus’s reflection tilts its head, a slow, knowing smirk curving his lips. “Is that so?” he murmurs, the words smooth as silk. “You sound unsure.”

“I’m just—” you start, fumbling for an excuse that won’t sound like a confession.

“Nervous?” he finishes for you, his tone dipping lower, threading through you like heat.

You shake your head quickly, but the protest dies before it reaches your lips. “No, I–I’m not…”

The air feels heavier suddenly. The ambient hum of the office — the faint chatter, the tapping of keyboards, the distant ring of phones — it’s gone. The quiet hits you all at once, suffocating, unnatural. You glance around, but the hall is empty. It’s as if the whole building has fallen away, leaving only this moment. Only him.

All you can hear now is the soft cadence of his breathing. You feel it, too — close enough that the air seems to warm around you with each exhale. The scent of him — smoke and something faintly metallic — wraps around you like a memory refusing to fade.

You look back at the mirror, and his eyes are already on you. There’s something almost predatory in the way he studies you, slow and deliberate, his gaze sliding from your reflection’s face down the length of your body.

“You’re trembling,” he says quietly. The words are not quite a question, not quite an accusation. “Tell me, is it fear…or excitement?”

You want to deny it, but the truth betrays you. The subtle quiver of your breath, the flush rising beneath your collar, the tiny hitch in your throat when he steps closer — it’s all there in the reflection.

His hand lifts, fingers brushing the edge of your collar again. You stiffen, but don’t pull away. That same gentle pressure — firm, sure — slides down the side of your neck until it finds the faint mark just below your jaw. He traces it with deliberate slowness, and your breath catches.

The touch is light, but it ignites something deep within you, something that pulses in time with your heartbeat. A soft, shaky sound slips past your lips — barely audible, but enough to make his eyes darken with satisfaction.

Your head tips back, almost without your permission. The world narrows to the point of contact — his touch, the heat of his body, the mirrored image of him just behind you. You close your eyes, trying to anchor yourself, but when you open them again—

He’s changed.

The reflection staring back at you isn’t the composed CEO anymore. It’s him — the other him — the one from your dream. Horns curve through long silver hair that glints like starlight, his eyes burn a fiery red, his mouth curved into that same knowing smile that haunted you through the night. Wings shadow the mirror’s edge, too large, too impossible to exist in the world you know.

You gasp, stumbling back a step — but his hand steadies you at once, solid and warm against your waist. The contact sends a jolt through you, part terror, part need.

He laughs softly. The sound is unmistakable — the same low, velvet laugh that wrapped around your name in the dream. Hearing it here, in the waking world, is almost unbearable.

Your pulse pounds in your ears. You can’t tell if the sound is from fear or from something far more dangerous — that aching pull that always draws you toward him no matter how hard you try to resist.

Your voice trembles as you whisper his name. “Sylus…”

The mirror fogs faintly at the corners, the air too thick, too warm. His reflection leans in until his mouth is right by your ear, though you can still feel him standing perfectly still behind you. His breath grazes your skin, and when he speaks, it’s barely more than a whisper.

“I’ll see you tonight, sweetie.”

And then — he’s gone.

The heat disappears, the sound, the weight of his presence. The mirror shows only you now — wide-eyed, flushed, your collar slightly askew, fingers still hovering near your throat as if trying to prove he’d ever been there.

The hall is silent again, but not empty. Not really. You can still feel him — in the pulse at your throat, in the echo of his laughter, in the faint shimmer of heat that clings to your skin long after he’s vanished.

You told yourself to breathe, to think, to anchor. But how could you, when everything you’d seen — the shift in his eyes, his appearance — felt too real to dismiss as a hallucination? You pressed your palms to your temples, willing logic to cut through the daze. It had to be exhaustion, stress, a trick of adrenaline. And yet… you could still hear the echo of his laugh in your mind. That same low, amused sound from your dreams.

The world outside the mirror came back into focus in fragments: the dim hum of lights, the sterile air, the ticking clock on the far wall. You forced yourself upright, every step unsteady as you crossed the corridor back to your desk. The office felt eerily hollow, emptied of life — as though everyone had vanished when he had. You gathered your things with shaking fingers, not daring to glance at the reflection in the glass door on your way out.

The drive home blurred into pieces you couldn’t quite recall — headlights smearing across the windshield, the red glow of traffic lights staining your vision. Your thoughts looped endlessly, each question heavier than the last. What is he? The memory of his voice — soft, teasing, devastatingly intimate — ran through you like a current. Why me? You’d been nothing but professional before that night in the dream, and yet he spoke as though you belonged to him. What does he want?

A shiver crept down your spine, and you gripped the steering wheel tighter. Every answer your mind supplied only led to more fear, more intrigue. You should have wanted it to stop — to banish these encounters back to the realm of imagination — but now… the thought of ending this cat and mouse game filled you with something perilously close to loss.

By the time you reached your apartment, your pulse hadn’t steadied. The keys nearly slipped from your hands as you locked the door behind you. The silence of your home felt wrong, too still, as though waiting. You dropped your bag on the couch, barely noticing the sound it made, and stood there in the dark for a long moment.

You should call someone. Tell someone. But who could you possibly tell that your boss was some demon seducing you through dreams?

No. There was only one thing left to do.

You moved toward your bedroom, the faintest tremor in your breath as you pulled the curtains shut. The sheets felt cold when you slipped beneath them, though your skin still burned faintly where his fingers had been. You closed your eyes and let the darkness take you — because if the dreams were real, then he would be waiting. And you needed to see him again.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The world came into focus slowly — not with a start, but with a pull.

You were standing in a corridor you didn’t recognize. Shadows stretched along paneled walls, each lit by the flicker of a few dying candles. The air was thick with something rich and strange — the scent of smoke, spice, and old wood. The floor beneath your bare feet was warm, humming faintly, as though the whole mansion breathed beneath you.

You knew this wasn’t real. Or maybe, you thought as your pulse began to steady, it was more real than the life you left behind when you closed your eyes.

You didn’t call out for him right away — not because you were afraid, but because you were bracing for the sound you knew would come.

And then it did.

“Finally,” came Sylus’s voice, low and dark, echoing off the distant walls. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.”

Your chest tightened. His tone — playful, edged, certain — rippled through you like the aftershock of a promise. You turned, scanning the corridor, but the hall stretched endlessly in both directions.

“Sylus,” you breathed.

A pause, soft laughter, close enough to feel along the back of your neck though there was no one there. “Say it again.”

You swallowed, the sound of your own voice trembling in the vastness. “Sylus.”

“Good,” he murmured, his voice shifting now — lower, rougher, intimate. “Now come find me.”

You didn’t hesitate this time.

The hall seemed to change with every step — portraits on the walls flickered, shifting expressions as though following your movements. Heavy velvet drapes stirred despite the still air. Somewhere deeper in the mansion, you heard faint music — piano notes drawn out and slow, a haunting melody that wrapped itself around the rhythm of your heart.

Every door you passed was slightly ajar, each room revealing glimpses of him: his gloves on a desk, his coat draped across a chair, a glass of wine still half full and shimmering with the reflection of candlelight. His presence lingered in everything, seductive and omnipresent, and you could feel him watching.

“Don’t stop now,” his voice whispered again, echoing closer this time. “You want answers, don't you?”

Your breath came shallow. “Yes,” you managed.

“And what will you do,” he drawled, “when you finally have to face them?”

Something in his tone — dark amusement laced with something far hungrier — made your pulse race. You pressed forward, drawn by the voice, the warmth that grew stronger with every step.

It wasn’t fear that moved you anymore.

It was certainty.

Every part of you knew what waited at the end of this hallway — the culmination of every dream, every look, every word he’d left hanging between you. The air itself felt alive with anticipation, crackling against your skin like static before a storm.

You reached the final door — tall, carved, its handle cool beneath your trembling fingers.

And from the other side, his voice — closer than ever now, silk over steel — said softly,

“Come in, sweetie.”

You stepped through the door, and the room welcomed you like the embrace of a long-held secret — lush and low-lit, every surface touched by the flicker of candlelight and the slow, molten glow of a fire crackling in the hearth. Shadows danced across velvet curtains and dark-paneled walls, stretching long and twisting across the floor. Blood-red moonlight spilled in through towering windows, washing the bed — massive, canopied, draped in black silk — in an otherworldly sheen.

And he was there. No tricks of reflection. No distant voice. Sylus stood before you in his full, impossible form.

His silver hair cascaded down his back like poured mercury, glowing faintly in the light. The horns curved from his crown — sharp, regal, demonic — framing his face like a twisted halo. His eyes burned crimson, pupils slit and molten with knowing hunger. Wings, vast and translucent, half-folded behind him, twitched once with anticipation, stirring the air like storm-winds. His chest was bare, carved like marble, the ridges of his abdomen catching firelight as he took a single, measured step toward you.

You barely managed a breath. “Where are we this time?”

His voice slid through the air like a caress. “Inside the only place that matters,” he said, his eyes never leaving yours. “Your own desire.”

Another step. Then another. Until your back met the wall with a soft, helpless sound and he was before you, taller, broader, shadowing you completely. You could feel the heat coming off him in waves — furnace-hot, edged with something elemental. His palm lifted to rest flat against the wall beside your head, caging you in.

He leaned in close — so close his breath stirred your hair, teasing the shell of your ear.

“Tell me,” he whispered, velvet-dark, “will you run from it this time?”

You shook your head slowly, hand lifting to his bare chest, fingers splaying over skin that radiated raw, unnatural heat.

“No,” you said, and the word left your lips like a vow.

“Good.”

His mouth was on yours a moment later — hot, hungry, claiming. His lips parted yours like he’d been waiting for this moment across lifetimes. His tongue slid against yours with a teasing stroke, coaxing, deepening the kiss until it wasn’t just a kiss — it was submission, surrender, awakening.

And even then — he wasn’t finished.

You felt the first brush of it at your calf. Smooth. Warm. Agile.

His tail.

It curled around your leg like a serpent, slow and sinuous, caressing the sensitive skin behind your knee, sliding upward. Your breath hitched, hips twitching toward him instinctively.

The sharp tip of it grazed the hem of your dress — then higher — drawing a line of tingling pressure along your thigh.

With one precise flick, the fabric split, and the silk slipped from your body like water, pooling at your feet.

You gasped, but Sylus didn’t give you the chance to feel shy.

The smooth underside of his tail brushed over your nipple, teasing, slow, and a moan escaped before you could even think to hold it back.

He pulled back slightly to look at you — completely bare, flushed, eyes wide. His smile was devastating.

“Finally,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a low current of hunger and control.

But this time, instead of diving back in, he pulled away just enough to look at you — to really look. His crimson eyes glowed in the low light, but one of them, his right, began to burn brighter. A sudden, eerie shift, like a flame catching behind glass.

“Let’s see what’s running through that mind of yours, kitten,” he said, his thumb brushing your lower lip.

Before you could react, the glow from his eye pulsed — and your breath caught as something unseen swept through you, warm and electric, as if your thoughts were being peeled back layer by layer. You felt naked in a way no body ever could be. Exposed.

And then… you saw it.

Visions flared behind your eyes — not of this moment, but of all the ones you’d imagined, suppressed, ached for.

His hands between your thighs beneath the desk in his office, Sylus pressing you up against the glass of those floor-to-ceiling windows, one hand around your throat, the other lifting your leg higher. Sylus behind his desk, leaning back while you straddled him, your lips parted in a moan as he whispered your name like a curse, and the shameless ache of longing that had kept you up so many nights before. Every fantasy, every forbidden daydream you’d tried to bury — all of them bared, helpless, before him.

Sylus’s smile only grew. His eye dimmed as the visions faded, and a low, delighted laugh rumbled from his chest — a sound thick with wicked pleasure. 

“My,” he drawled, licking his bottom lip. “What an active imagination you have, sweetie.” You flushed, heat blooming along your cheekbones, and started to turn away. But he caught your chin, coaxing your face back to his, his touch unexpectedly gentle.

“Don’t be shy,” he whispered, lips ghosting over yours, “Soon, I’ll make these little daydreams of yours come true.”

He didn’t give you time to recover. His mouth found your neck, trailing kisses down the line of your throat — soft at first, then rougher, his teeth scraping lightly before his tongue soothed the sting. Each nip sent a fresh wave of want flooding through you, arching your back, making you cling to his shoulders for balance.

He kept going, lower and lower, his lips charting a worshipful path down your body. He knelt before you — a devil at your altar — hands steady at your hips. His wings flared, casting you both in flickering shadow as he pressed a final kiss between your breasts, then let his mouth travel farther, reverent and unhurried.

You felt his tail again, velvet-smooth as it slid up your thighs, parting them gently, holding you open for him. He glanced up once, eyes molten, and then he was on you — his tongue tracing your folds, slow at first, teasing, savoring. The first stroke drew a shuddering gasp from your lips; the next, a helpless moan.

Your hands flew to his horns without thinking — not to push him away, but to anchor yourself. They were smooth and warm beneath your fingers, curling back from his temples like some ancient crown, and the second your hands gripped them—

He groaned.

Low. Deep. Possessive.

That sound went straight through you. Encouraged, you tightened your grip, using the curve of his horns to anchor yourself as your hips rolled into the rhythm of his mouth. His tongue worked you relentlessly, coaxing you higher, every flick perfectly tuned to your need.

His tail tightened around your thigh as you fell apart in his hands, voice breaking on his name, pleasure cresting in waves that left you trembling and breathless. Sylus didn’t stop, not until you were pleading, not until your entire body ached for him — horns and fangs and the impossible heat of his mouth, all yours at last.

That sinful mouth curved into a smirk as he leaned in to press one last kiss to the inside of your trembling thigh, then stood to his full, imposing height. You saw the promise in his gaze: every dream you’d ever had, he was going to make real — one after another, until you’d forgotten where your fantasies ended and his reality began.

Without a word, he swept you up into his arms — effortless, like you weighed nothing. The heat of his skin burned against yours as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, the thick length of him pressed firmly between you, already hard and hot and barely restrained.

You buried your face in his throat, breath stuttering against his collarbone. The scent of him filled you — smoke and spice and something dark, elemental, like the crackle before a lightning strike. His wings stretched behind him as he walked, each step a slow, deliberate promise, until you reached the towering bed. He set you down gently, letting you sink into the cool black silk that pooled like liquid beneath your bare skin.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

You just looked at him — at all of him. The impossible beauty of him, the way his body glowed faintly under the flickering candlelight. You reached up, hand trembling slightly, and traced your fingertip under the curve of his right eye. That eye — ancient, molten — had seen every secret you’d tried to keep. You touched it anyway.

“Sylus,” you whispered, barely able to breathe. “What…are you?”

He laughed softly, curling his fingers around your wrist and bringing your hand to his mouth. He kissed the center of your palm — slow, reverent — before lowering it back beside your head and pinning it there, fingers lacing with yours against the pillow.

“You can think of me as a demon,” he murmured. “One who feeds on desire.”

You searched his face, overwhelmed by the hunger in his gaze, the power of him braced above you.

“Is that why I’m here?” you asked, your voice small, uncertain. “Just so you can feed on mine?”

A wicked sound rumbled from his chest — a dark, delighted laugh that sent a shiver racing down your spine. He leaned down, lips brushing your throat as he spoke between kisses, his voice low and devastating.

“Sweetie,” he said, dragging his tongue over your pulse, “aren’t you here to feed on mine?”

Your breath caught as his mouth worked lower, kissing down the center of your chest, leaving a trail of heat that made your spine arch. His other hand slid along your thigh, calloused fingertips grazing the sensitive inside of your knee, then trailing up and up until he gripped your hip and pulled you to the edge of the bed.

“These desires of yours…” He kissed the underside of your breast, then the curve of your waist. “You’re insatiable.”

You whimpered, your free hand threading into his hair, needing something to hold onto as his body molded against yours.

He looked up at you from beneath thick lashes, lips brushing the swell of your breast. “Just like me.”

And then he was above you again, slotting perfectly between your thighs, the hard length of him grinding slow and deep against your core. The friction pulled a broken moan from your throat, your hips rolling up to meet his. You were already soaked, already desperate, and he knew it. He could feel it.

He whispered against your lips, voice thick with heat and ruin.

“You and I…” He kissed you, deep and breath-stealing. “We’ll indulge each other until the end of time.”

He began to move again, hips rolling in a rhythm that made your head fall back, your body chase every touch. His free hand cupped your jaw, turning your face back to his. You were burning, melting beneath him, but he didn’t want you to look away. He needed you to see him.

“Eyes on me, sweetie,” he growled. “This is only the beginning.”

Sylus hovered over you, his body a cage of muscle and shadow, mouth brushing your jaw with every shaky exhale you gave. His hips rolled lazily against your own, thick and insistent but never quite giving you what you needed, his cock brushing against your entrance, sliding slick along your folds, never pressing in.

You arched into him, breathless, every nerve ending strung tight, desperate for more. “Sylus, please, stop teasing—”

He only laughed, low and velvet-dark, a wicked edge curling the sound. “Beg me, then,” he purred, lips hovering just above yours, his thumb tracing slow circles over your inner thigh. “Beg for my help, kitten.”

You squeezed his biceps, nails digging in, feeling his strength tense beneath your touch. “Please, Sy- please, need you—”

He grinned, sharp and triumphant, and in one swift, devastating thrust, he sheathed himself inside you — deep, all at once, stretching you open, filling you perfectly. Your moan echoed off the high ceiling, and he groaned right along with you, his voice catching rough in his throat as he bottomed out.

He didn’t move right away — just held himself there, buried to the hilt, savoring the feel of you, letting your body flutter and clamp around him. His hand found yours, fingers lacing together, pinning them above your head. His thumb circled your sensitive nub, already swollen and tender from his mouth, drawing another helpless shiver from your body.

You writhed under him, hips bucking, but when you tried to pull his hand away, you managed a half-broken gasp, “Wait—Sylus, I’m sen—”

He grinned, fangs gleaming as he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. “What’s wrong, kitten?” he whispered, voice all dark heat and smoke. “Already cumming again?”

You could only manage a cry as your body betrayed you, clenching tight around him, shuddering in fresh waves. He laughed, a sound that vibrated all the way through your chest, and his pace picked up — a relentless, predatory rhythm. Each thrust sent sparks dancing up your spine, each snap of his hips bruising and perfect, the head of him catching on that spot inside you that made your vision go white at the edges.

“God, you’re so mean,” you managed to choke out, hips rolling to meet him, desperate and overstimulated.

He leaned in closer, pressing you deeper into the mattress, his voice nothing but a sinful promise at your lips. “I could be even meaner,” he purred, his hands sliding down to the backs of your thighs. He pried them open, spreading you wider, angling his hips with deliberate, merciless precision — brushing against your sweetest spot again and again until you could barely breathe, barely think, all you could do was feel.

His tail curled up from behind, stroking along your calf, wrapping around your thigh, holding you open for him as he drove deeper, relentless and unyielding. His wings rustled, shadows rippling over the sheets, the air thick with the scent of him and the heat of your shared need.

“Look at you,” he murmured, eyes glowing, voice gone rough with delight. “Falling apart for me—just a little more, sweetie—don’t hold back, let me see every last bit of you.”

You met his gaze, drowning in the crimson fire of his eyes, the whole world narrowing to the wicked, breathtaking promise of Sylus above you, inside you, consuming you.

The moment you shattered around him again, Sylus’s control finally broke. He followed you over the edge, spilling inside you with a deep, guttural groan — heat flooding you, filling you, his hips pressed hard against yours. He stilled, breath stuttering, every muscle trembling with the force of it.

Before you could even catch your breath, he was licking a slow, possessive stripe up your neck, tongue warm and deliberate. You shivered, eyelids fluttering, still lost in the aftershocks. He pressed a kiss just beneath your ear, lips soft and mocking, his voice a low, sinful purr. “Tired already, sweetie?”

You barely managed a sound — half whimper, half laugh — but he kissed your neck, then your cheek, then the corner of your jaw, relentless in his affection and his torment. “We’re not done yet,” he whispered, words dancing hot against your skin.

You barely had time to register the shift before he pulled out, his hands coaxing you onto your stomach, guiding you with that impossible strength. He pressed his body to your back, the heat of him searing along your spine, and leaned in, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “You can take me one more time, can’t you?” he murmured, voice silk and steel, teeth nipping lightly at your earlobe as his kisses trailed down your shoulder blades.

You couldn’t even summon a protest — not when he was already pressing inside you again, slow at first, stretching you open all over, deeper somehow this time. Each thrust sent sparks of pleasure skittering down your legs, your body clenching helplessly around him, greedier with every push.

He didn’t let you collapse; his tail slithered up your back, curling delicately around your neck — a gentle, guiding pressure, holding you upright, tethered to him. He hauled you up, arching your spine, pressing you flush against his chest. His arm circled your waist, holding you tight, and you could feel every ripple of his muscles, every ragged breath, every pulse of his heart in time with yours.

His free hand found your breast, fingers deft and merciless, rolling your nipple between calloused fingertips, pulling another gasp from your lips. His mouth hovered at your ear, breath hot and heavy, words curling inside your skull. “Don’t tell me you’re already satisfied,” he taunted, nipping your earlobe, voice gone rough with delight. “Not when you’ve still got so much left to give.”

The tip of his tail slid down, slick and smooth, tracing circles over your clit — so sensitive now you nearly jolted from the touch. But he only tightened his grip, pinning you harder against him, hips grinding up into you with ruthless, unyielding precision. Every movement was designed to wring every last sound from your throat, every last ounce of pleasure from your body.

Your hands flew to his wrists, holding on for dear life as you rocked against him, his tail never letting up, every stroke sending fresh sparks through your nerves until you could hardly breathe, could hardly think, everything dissolving into white-hot sensation.

“Sylus—” you gasped, voice already cracking, your body wound so tight you could feel yourself unraveling.

His lips brushed your temple, fangs grazing your skin in warning and promise. “Give it to me, kitten. Let me see you break for me—just one more time.”

That was all it took. You shattered again, your body clamping down around him, every muscle trembling as your orgasm crashed through you. He followed with a groan, hips driving deep, spilling into you again, heat searing and endless. His tail tightened possessively at your waist, his arms locked around you, his name a sin on your lips as you came down, slow and shuddering, lost in the fire and darkness of him.

You collapsed back against his chest, breath ragged, his heart thundering in time with yours. Sylus held you there, cocooned in his arms and wings, trailing slow kisses over your shoulder and jaw, his voice a dark, exhausted promise.

“We’re far from finished, sweetie,” he whispered, mouth brushing your ear. “But you’re mine now—every last piece of you. And I’ll never let you go.”

The afterglow settles between you like velvet — warm, languid, tangled up in black silk sheets that smell faintly of smoke and the heat of your bodies. Sylus’s arms are a heavy, possessive cage around you, one wing curled protectively across your back. The candles burn lower now, shadows thick and soft, and you’re tucked against his chest, your leg thrown over his waist, your cheek pressed to the thrum of his heartbeat.

You turn your head up, still breathless, your smile sly as you catch his molten red gaze. “So,” you tease, voice still a little hoarse, “are you full now?”

He huffs a low laugh, and his fingers start to trace idle, lazy patterns along your bare arm — swirls and shapes that make you shiver, even now. “Hmm,” he muses, feigning contemplation, “for now.” His thumb brushes over the inside of your wrist, and he leans down to press a long, unhurried kiss to your lips. It’s softer this time, the kind of kiss that’s all warmth and promise, a wordless vow that this — whatever this is — won’t end with the sunrise.

As he pulls away, his grin returns, sharper, wolfish. “Tomorrow, we’ll continue in my office.”

You gasp, scandalized and delighted, slapping a hand to his chest. “Sylus! You’ll get me fired.”

His smirk is utterly unrepentant, his voice purring with satisfaction. “Kitten, I’m the only one who could fire you.”

You snort, laughter bubbling up as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, feeling his chest shake with his own amusement. For a moment, there’s nothing but the hush of the fire, your laughter mingling with his, his tail curled around your thigh like a velvet promise.

He pulls you tighter, lips brushing your temple, his voice suddenly quieter, almost reverent. “Rest, sweetie. I won’t disappear this time.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself drift, warmth curling in your chest, knowing that when you wake — whether in his bed or your own — the line between dream and desire will never truly matter again.

The last thing you hear is his soft, inhuman purr, deep in his chest and meant only for you, as you finally let sleep take you.