Maya was in complete awe of what she felt from him—an emotion so intense, so unlike anything she'd ever known, that it nearly brought tears to her eyes. It rolled off of him in slow, echoing waves, brushing against her skin like velvet threaded with lightning. She'd been around humans all her life—watched them, listened to them, felt them—but nothing had ever struck her like this. Not even the love of a child, as pure and radiant as it was, held the same weight.

This was different.

It wasn't just purity. It was grief. Longing. Loneliness wrapped in iron. It was pain so buried that it had almost become beautiful.

Her lips curved into a smile before she could stop them. She tilted her head upward, eyes meeting Richard's. She expected him to look away, to pull back into his usual cold detachment—but he didn't. He held her gaze, still and unblinking, like he was seeing her for the very first time.

With eyes locked, they swayed gently to the low hum of music. All around them, the world spun, but for that moment, neither of them noticed. Maya's fingers rested lightly on his shoulder, her other hand clasped in his, and for the first time since she met him, she wasn't terrified.

She was captivated.

And he... he looked human.

Richard didn't understand what was happening. The warmth radiating from her touch, the sincerity in her smile—it struck him like a knife to the ribs. Why wasn't she afraid? Why wasn't she recoiling like the others always did? Even now, when he knew his presence had begun to weaken the people nearby, Maya remained steady. Radiant.

He should have let go. He knew better.

But he didn't.

The pain hit him suddenly sharp and violent. His chest seized with such force that he gasped, staggering slightly in her hold. His hand flew to his heart, and the world tilted beneath his feet.

Maya's vision blurred as his aura twisted violently. One moment it was steady and strong, the next, it was storming—like a star dying from the inside out. Her head spun, her smile vanished, and she stumbled back a step.

"Sir...?" she whispered, but he didn't answer.

He was staring at her—eyes wide, panic flashing through them. As if seeing her react to his presence had broken something inside him.

He backed away like she'd burned him. His hands dropped from hers, his breath shallow. The tall, intimidating man everyone feared suddenly looked small. Fractured.

And terrified.

Richard turned and walked away, each step faster than the last. The room—so grand and open—felt like it was closing in. He needed air. Space. Distance. He needed to get away from her.

Because this wasn't just a reaction anymore. She had felt it. The shift in him. The truth he worked so hard to bury.

Maya followed after him without thinking, her dress sweeping around her legs as she pushed through the crowd. "Sir, wait—what's wrong?"

But he didn't stop. He didn't look back.

He reached the elevator, slammed the button, and waited—his hand over his chest, shoulders shaking. The doors opened, and he stepped inside, trembling as he leaned against the wall.

Just as the doors began to close, Maya slipped her hand between them. "Is everything okay, sir?" she asked, breathless, eyes wide with concern.

The sound of camera flashes and rising voices echoed down the hallway. Richard glanced toward the press storming toward them—no doubt ready to pounce—and without a word, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her inside. The doors closed behind them.

He released her like she'd burned him.

"Sir..." Maya stepped closer, uncertain.

"Don't come any closer." His voice was strained. Not harsh, not cold—just... afraid.

He turned away from her, clutching his chest. The pain was unbearable. His heart was pounding, like it was trying to break out of its cage. For centuries, he had lived with the slow, familiar ache of being something other than human. But this... this was different.

This felt like dying.

And for the first time in so long, he realized he didn't want to.

Maya stood frozen. She could feel his pain. It was pouring off of him like heat. Whatever was happening, it wasn't just physical. This was deeper. A part of his very essence. Her chest ached as if the pain had leapt into her, and she didn't understand why—but she didn't need to. She only knew she couldn't leave him like this.

The elevator dinged. Richard stumbled out and headed for his suite, fumbling with the key. His hands trembled so violently that he dropped it twice.

Then his knees buckled.

"Sir!" Maya cried, rushing to his side just as he hit the floor.

His breathing was ragged. His skin was pale. His lips moved, forming words she couldn't hear.

"I need to call someone," she whispered, already reaching for her phone.

"No," Richard rasped, grabbing her wrist. "Don't call anyone."

"But—"

"Maya," he said, a little stronger this time. "Just help me inside. Please."

It was the first time he had ever said her name like that. With need. With desperation.

Her heart thudded. "Okay," she whispered, looping her arm under his. "I've got you."

He leaned heavily against her as she helped him to his feet. Together, they made it inside the suite, slow and unsteady. He gripped her tighter than he realized, and she didn't mind.

As soon as they reached the bed, he collapsed onto it face-first. "Close the door," he said through clenched teeth.

Maya obeyed immediately.

But no sooner had she turned around than she heard him groan—loud, pained. She ran back, eyes wide with panic.

Richard's hand was gripping his chest, his shirt balled in his fist, his back arched slightly from the pain.

"Sir!"

"Go to your room," he breathed.

"I'm not leaving you like this."

"It's an order, Ma—" He cut off when he felt her fingers press to his forehead.

His eyes flew open and locked with hers.

She was so close. Her eyes shimmered with tears, her brows drawn tight with worry. She was touching him—not with fear, but with care.

"You're burning up," she whispered. "You're... you're on fire."

He reached up slowly, weakly, his fingers brushing hers. Her breath caught.

............

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