Elora woke to warmth on her cheek and the faint hum of an AC unit. For a moment she didn't know where she was. Her dreams clung to her—too vivid, too sharp. A voice whispering her name. Footsteps crossing a dark floor. A hand brushing over her wrist with an impossible gentleness. The kind of sensations that should dissolve with daylight, but didn't.
She sat upright, breath catching in her throat.
She was on the office couch.
Her blazer had been draped over her like a blanket.
Her fingers curled around the fabric slowly. She hadn't done that. She would never cover herself like a child needing comfort. Someone had been here. Someone had watched her sleep long enough to tuck her in.
Her stomach tightened.
A shadow moved past the frosted glass outside her door—tall, straight-backed, pausing just long enough to watch her silhouette, as if confirming she was awake. The figure lingered half a second too long. Then he walked away.
Elora swallowed, unsure whether she had imagined it… or recognized it.
She stood, smoothing her hair, pushing the warmth and discomfort out of her chest. The rest of the office woke in a normal Monday haze—slow keyboard clicks, yawns, packets of sugar being torn open for coffee, someone complaining about traffic.
Perfectly, painfully ordinary.
She stepped outside.
Lena spotted her first and shot her an expression of delighted horror.
"Oh my god," Lena said, hopping toward her on slippered office heels. "You look like you lost a fight to a pillow."
Jay, leaning against the counter with a mug, raised a brow. "You okay? You look like someone whispered an existential crisis into your ear."
Elora forced a laugh. "Just… slept wrong."
Not wrong.
Not exactly.
But she wouldn't dare explain the truth: that she wasn't entirely sure she'd been alone.
Jay offered her a cup of coffee—strong, too sweet, exactly how she liked it. She murmured a thank you, though her gaze drifted down the hall—
To him.
Aster Vale moved through the office like the quietest part of a rainstorm—present, but never drawing attention unless he chose to. He walked beside two executives now, hands in his pockets, expression smooth and unreadable.
But the moment his eyes slid across the room and caught her standing there, Elora felt something inside her chest stop.
He didn't look away immediately.
He looked through her.
As if he already knew she'd woken on that couch.
Knew how long she'd been asleep.
Knew exactly how she looked in that moment—her hair messy, her cheeks still warm, the blazer she'd found neatly folded over her arm.
Elora turned abruptly, pretending to focus on her coffee. Her heart beat far too loudly.
Lena leaned close, whispering conspiratorially, "Did something happen? You look weird. Not in a bad way. Just… weird."
Elora inhaled slowly. "I had… a strange dream."
"What kind of—"
"Just a dream," she cut in, too quickly.
She didn't trust herself to elaborate. She didn't trust that it had been a dream at all.
Outside the glass, Aster paused mid-conversation. His profile sharpened as he listened—listened too closely. A fractional narrowing of his eyes. A small, tight shift of his jaw. Nothing anyone else would notice.
But Elora felt it the way you feel a cold breeze brush the back of your neck.
She tried to shake it off. "I just need caffeine," she said, taking a gulp.
Jay smirked. "Don't we all?"
Lena looped her arm through Elora's. "If someone creeped you out last night, tell me. I can threaten people on your behalf. It's my hidden talent."
Elora snorted. "Thanks. I'll remember that."
But guilt threaded through her.
Because something had happened.
She just didn't know how to say:
It didn't feel like fear. That's what scares me.
Aster moved past the break room.
He didn't look at her.
And yet—
The air around her shifted, heavy and aware.
Elora told herself not to think about it. Not to imagine things.
She gathered her things and stepped into the elevator, scrolling through her phone to distract herself. The doors began to close.
A hand, long-fingered and pale, slipped between them.
The doors reopened.
Aster stepped inside.
Elora's breath hitched.
They stood side by side, the sound of ascending machinery filling the quiet between them. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear—nervous habit. Aster's gaze flicked toward the movement, then away, as if cataloging it for later.
She forced herself to speak. "Good morning."
He turned to her slowly, like she'd given him permission to look.
"Is it?" he asked.
His voice was low, steady, and strangely intimate.
Like he wasn't asking about the morning.
Like he was asking about last night.
Elora blinked, uncertain. "I… guess so?"
Aster's lips curved—not enough to be a smile, but enough to be dangerous.
The elevator dinged.
She stepped out. He walked beside her with quiet steps.
"You should be careful sleeping alone in the office," he said, his voice soft, almost tender.
Elora froze mid-step.
He didn't wait for her reaction.
He didn't look back.
He walked away as if he hadn't just revealed that he knew exactly where she'd slept, how she'd slept, and that he had been close enough to notice.
Her pulse fluttered wildly.
It wasn't a threat.
It wasn't a concern.
It was something else entirely.
The part that frightened her most—
She didn't want it to end.
…
Elora tried to bury herself in work, but concentration kept slipping away from her like water through her fingers.
Emails blurred.
Numbers refused to stay still.
Her heartbeat filled every quiet pause.
She kept replaying the morning—
The blazer on her.
The shadow watching her wake.
Aster's quiet, devastating "Is it?"
And then—
You should be careful sleeping alone in the office.
She pressed her fingertips into the bridge of her nose, trying to push away the heat crawling up her spine.
He shouldn't know.
He shouldn't have been there.
He shouldn't care.
And yet, he had said it as if he had every right to.
A chat notification popped up.
Lena: lunch?
Lena: i have gossip
Lena: the juicy kind
Elora smiled despite the tightness in her chest.
Elora: fine.
Elora: 10 mins.
She needed normalcy. She needed friends. She needed grounding.
She grabbed her phone, reached into her drawer for her ID card—
And froze.
It wasn't there.
She checked the second drawer.
Then the files.
Then the pockets of her bag.
Nothing.
Her ID card was gone.
A cold shiver crawled down her back. She never lost things. She was the kind of person who kept spare pens organized by ink color.
Her mouth went dry.
She whispered, "No, no, no…"
Her mind flashed back to the dream-that-wasn't-dream—
Someone brushing her hair aside.
A thumb tracing the edge of her ID lanyard.
A soft exhale against her neck.
Her throat tightened.
Was that real?
A voice behind her made her jump.
"You're looking for this?"
Elora turned sharply.
Aster Vale stood by her desk.
Casual.
Calm.
Holding her ID card between two fingers.
She stared at it, then at him. "Where… where did you find that?"
His expression was unreadable. "It was near the elevator. I assumed it was yours."
"That'sstrange," she murmured. "I— I don't remember droppingit."
He stepped closer, offering the card out to her. Too close. Close enough that she felt the faint warmth radiating from him.
She reached to take the card.
He didn't let go immediately.
His fingers grazed hers—light, accidental, deliberate.
Her breath caught.
"You were distracted thismorning," he said softly.
Elora swallowed. "Everyone has off days."
"You had an off night."
Her heart thudded painfully.
He shouldn't know that.
He shouldn't say that.
She pulled the card away, voice unsteady. "Thank you."
"Ofcourse."
He didn't walk away.
He just stood there, hands in pockets, watching her with that too-quiet intensity that made her feel simultaneously exposed and protected.
When he finally did move, it was with a small tilt of his head—as if telling her he saw more than she said, more than she wanted him to.
As if telling her he wasn't done.
Elora exhaled shakily when he left.
She grabbed her ID with trembling fingers and hurried toward the cafeteria, needing the noise, the normal chatter, anything to drown out the echo of his voice.
Lena spotted her instantly. "Woman! What took you so long?"
Jay gave her a teasing glance. "You look like you saw a ghost."
Elora sat between them, trying to force her heartbeat into something normal. "I didn't sleep well."
"Do you want me to burn your apartment?" Lena asked seriously. "Bad vibes out."
"That won't be necessary."
"Tell us everything," Jay said, leaning back dramatically. "You always get that look when something cinematic happens to you."
"What look?" Elora asked.
Lena lifted a french fry like a pointer. "The mysterious female lead in a romance-thriller look."
Elora sputtered. "I don't— I'm not—"
Jay nudged her. "Someone bother you? We'll deal with it."
For a moment, Elora considered telling them.
Not the dreams, not the warmth of a hand on her cheek—
But the ID card.
The timing.
Aster's words.
But something in her hesitated.
Not out of fear—
Out of something far more dangerous:
What if you say it out loud, and they don't believe you?
Or worse…
What if they do, and it changes everything?
"Elora?" Lena pressed gently.
"I'm fine," she lied.
Jay frowned, clearly unconvinced. "If someone's messing with you, you know we've got you, right?"
"I know." She smiled weakly. "Thank you."
And she meant it.
But across the cafeteria, she saw him.
Aster stood near the vending machine, speaking to someone but not really listening. His eyes were on her.
Watching.
Waiting.
Reading her reactions with meticulous quiet attention.
And then—
He smiled.
Barely-there.
Slow.
A smirk in the making.
A smirk that felt like a secret tucked between them.
Elora's breath caught.
The smirk said:
"Even if you know… what can you do?"
She looked away quickly, pulse racing.
Lena followed her gaze. "Who are you—"
"No one," Elora said too fast.
Jay looked in the same direction. "Aster Vale? Yeah, he's weird."
Elora flinched. "He's not weird."
Lena's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? Defensive?"
Elora turned pink. "I didn't mean it like that."
Jay hummed. "He gives off… vibes."
Bad ones?
Good ones?
Elora didn't know anymore.
"You should be careful sleeping alone in the office."
His voice echoed again.
She pushed her lunch away. "Ishould get back."
Lena and Jay exchanged glances but didn't press.
As Elora walked toward the exit, she felt Aster's gaze follow her—quiet, steady, patient.
Like he was waiting for her to realize something he already knew.
Like he could see her dreams.
Like he had been in them.
The elevator chimed like a soft, metallic heartbeat.
Elora stepped inside and hit the button for the eighth floor—Aster Vale's floor. Her reflection in the mirrored panel looked almost unfamiliar: hair gathered loosely at her nape, soft strands escaping; eyes still touched with the remnants of sleep and those… dreams. Illusions. Scenes that shouldn't feel real but somehow did. His voice whispering her name. His fingers brushing her pulse. Too close. Too vivid.
They shouldn't feel like memories.
The elevator doors slid open.
The office was already alive—keyboards clacking, printers humming, distant phones ringing. The morning sun poured through the glass walls, catching dust motes midair like falling stars.
But the moment she stepped out, she felt something shift.
People were… watching her.
Not in a dramatic, gossip-at-the-watercooler sort of way. More like soft, curious glances. The kind humans cast when someone disrupts the energy in a room without knowing it.
"Elora!" Jun called from her cubicle, waving dramatically. Her bangles clinked with the gesture, drawing a few stares. "Did you see the memo? We're all summoned to the eighth-floor conference room. Emergency meeting."
"That's… not foreboding at all," Elora muttered, dropping her bag on her desk.
Jun leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "And guess who's attending? Aster Vale himself. The Human Freeze Ray. The man carved entirely out of marble and caffeine."
Elora tried to laugh, but her stomach did something complicated. "Why would he be part of an emergency meeting?"
"Because upper management is freaking out about the upcoming acquisition." Jun wiggled her eyebrows. "Or because he finally noticed how pretty youare."
"Jun."
"What? I'm just saying—"
"Jun."
"Fine, fine. You're no fun."
But Elora wasn't listening anymore.
Her eyes had drifted—past Jun, past the rows of cubicles, toward the long glass hallway leading to the conference room. And that was where she saw him.
Aster Vale.
Walking in their direction.
Not briskly—not with the corporate calculation of someone who has every second accounted for—but slowly. Intentionally. His shoulders aligned perfectly, the charcoal suit tailored like it was stitched around him, the sunlight behind him sharpening the edges of his silhouette.
And his eyes.
They were already on her.
As if he had known exactly where she'd be before she arrived.
Her breath caught.
Jun followed her gaze. "Huh… that's weird."
"What is?"
"He never looks at anyone like that."
Elora swallowed. "Like what?"
"Like he's memorizing them."
Before Elora could respond, Aster stopped directly in front of her desk.
Jun froze. So did half the floor.
"Elora Wynn," Aster said.
Her name in his voice sounded… different. Like it belonged somewhere else. Somewhere softer. Somewhere darker.
She straightened in her chair. "Yes, sir?"
"I'd like to speak with you. Walk with me."
Jun's eyes widened to dinner-plate size. A couple of other employees pretended very poorly to continue typing.
Elora followed him down the hall, her steps matching his. She tried to breathe normally, but the space felt thicker now, the air shifting around him like the entire building bent subtly toward wherever he stood.
Once they were far enough from the others, Aster stopped near a glass window overlooking the city.
"You fainted yesterday," he said simply.
Her pulse stuttered. "I… didn't faint. I think it was just lack of sleep."
He studied her. Not critically. Not coldly. Just… intently.
"You were dreaming," he said.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Dreaming.
The illusions.
The scenes where he appeared in places he could never be.
She forced her voice steady. "How would you know that?"
He didn't blink. "You said my name."
Her breath shattered into pieces. "What—?"
"In the conference room. Before you fell. You whispered it as though you recognizedme."
Heat crawled up her neck. "That's… impossible."
"Is it?" he asked quietly.
The world slowed. Not in an exaggerated, movie-like way—more like her senses sharpened. The hum of the lights. A distant phone ringing. The soft sound of his breath.
Aster shifted slightly, the sunlight catching in his hair as he stepped just close enough that she could see the faintest scar near his jawline. Something she hadn't noticed before.
Something she felt she should have noticed.
"Elora," he murmured, and the sound slid down her spine like a secret. "For your safety, I need you to tell me something."
She blinked. "My… safety?"
"Before you fainted," he said, "you looked terrified. As if you saw something in the room no one else could see."
She did.
The shadow.
The hand reaching for her.
But that wasn't real.
Right?
"Elora," he said again, softer now. "If someone is threatening you, you need to tell me. I can protect you."
Her breath hitched. Because the way he said protect you wasn't corporate. Wasn't professional.
It sounded like a promise made long before this moment.
She stepped back—barely an inch. But his eyes flickered at the motion, like he registered the distance before she even made it.
"Aster… nothing's wrong," she lied.
He watched her for a long moment.
Then his expression changed.
Not visibly, not dramatically—just a subtle shift. A softening around the eyes. The faintest curve of his lips. A look that felt too aware, too knowing.
Like her lie was a tiny thread, and he could see exactly where it led.
"Elora," he murmured, "I don't believe you."
Before she could answer, Jun's voice echoed down the hallway.
"Elora! Meeting is starting!"
Elora exhaled shakily. "I need to go."
Aster didn't move.
"After the meeting," he said quietly, "come to my office."
Her heart stumbled. "Is that an order?"
His eyes held hers.
"No," he said. "It's a request."
Then—so small anyone else would miss it—he added:
"And I don't make requests."
Her breath caught.
She nodded.
And walked away.
But she didn't see him turn slightly, gaze following her, as though tracking the ghost of a memory he wasn't supposed to have.
She didn't see the faintest smirk ghost across his lips.
Or hear his low murmur to himself:
"Even if you know, Elora… what could you possiblydo?"
…
The conference room empties slowly—chairs scraping, voices fading into casual chatter, laptops closing like polite little endings. But Elora doesn't move. She sits still, staring at the ghost of her own reflection in the darkened TV screen on the wall. Her breath makes a faint fog over it—barely visible, but she notices.
Because the reflection isn't in sync.
A millisecond late.
As if it's remembering her… not mirroring her.
She blinks. It corrects itself.
When she looks away, she finds Aster Vale leaning in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame like he's been waiting exactly the right amount of time—not too eager, not too detached.
His voice is smooth, quiet, low.
"Youokay?"
Not the way coworkers ask.
More like he already knows the answer.
Her pulse stutters.
She doesn't want it to.
Elora forces a breath. "Just tired. Long morning."
Aster's gaze drifts over her—her posture, the tight way she grips the folder, the way her shoulders refuse to unclench. And he says, so gently she almost doesn't register the danger behind it:
"Did you dreamagain?"
Her spine freezes.
She never told him about the dreams.
Not once.
Not in this real timeline.
And yet—
he says it like an old habit.
Elora swallows. "I… what?"
Aster smiles, soft, apologetic. "You looked tired. I just meant—maybe you didn't sleep well."
He plays it off.
Too easily.
But the way he holds her eyes tells her he didn't misspeak.
…
As she stands, the room lights flicker—not enough to call IT, just enough for the overhead fluorescents to hum with that electric insect-buzz that prickles along the skin.
A faint scent trails through the room.
Perfume.
Her perfume.
But she hasn't worn any today.
Elora stops mid-step.
The readers feel it too—this isn't ambience.
This is a message.
A soft whisper—too faint to hear—seems to slide across the floor tiles.
Something wants her attention.
…
Aster walks beside her, matching her pace in a way that feels both comforting and calculated.
"You'repale," he murmurs.
She forces a small laugh. "Office lighting hates me."
He glances at her, amusement flickering like a match.
"Everything else likes you justfine."
It's innocent enough.
Yet the tone—the tone knows more.
Her breath catches, just a little.
…
They walk through the open workspace. Keyboards clatter. Phones ring. People laugh about something trivial.
Everything ordinary.
Everything normal.
That's what makes the wrongness louder.
Tessa, leaning over her desk, calls out, "Elora! Meetinglater?"
But she trails off when she notices Aster.
Her eyes flick between them.
Then—slowly—to the small dark smudge on the back of Elora's blazer.
"El… hey. You spilled something?"
Elora frowns. "Where?"
Tessa points.
Aster steps subtly between them, fingers brushing the small of Elora's back as he turns her slightly—protective, casual, too fast.
His touch is warm.
Steady.
Possessive without being inappropriate.
Though not quite appropriate either.
"It's just dust," he says quietly. "Probably leaned on the conferencewall."
Elora force