CHAPTER 17

The day passed without incident.

Richard remained secluded in his room, occupied in silence. No meetings. No messages. Just the endless, comfortable quiet of high floors and heavy curtains. He hadn't thought about Maya once.

She'd been granted the day off, and what she did with it was none of his concern.

Evening descended over the city. The sky deepened to a smoky violet, streaked with clouds lit faintly by the urban glow. In the upper floors of the hotel, everything remained hushed. Only the faint hum of the heater filled the hallways.

Richard stood by the window in his room, arms folded, suit jacket still on. The glass was cold beneath his fingertips as he rested them against it, watching the faint shimmer of headlights far below. His reflection stared back at him, faint and silvered in the moonlight.

It was time to leave.

He stepped back, turned toward the door, and opened it.

"Maya."

His voice cut cleanly through the air. No louder than necessary. Just enough.

There was a startled rustle from the couch in the hallway.

"Sir?" Her voice came out with shock.

He heard the sound of her straightening, feet scrambling for balance, he was wondering was she was doing on the couch but waved it off after a thought.

Richard stood in the doorway, still and unreadable. "We leave tomorrow morning. Come in."

She blinked rapidly, hair slightly disheveled, clutching her notebook like a lifeline as she followed him into his room.

The curtains were half-drawn. Moonlight spilled in across the thick carpet, pooling in silver patches beneath the window. The room was neat, spare, and cold. A laptop sat closed on the desk. There were no personal effects, no clutter, no sign that anyone had actually lived here.

He moved toward the desk and gestured toward the opposite chair.

Maya hesitated, then sat stiffly, brushing her hair behind her ears and avoiding his gaze.

"We'll be leaving at six," he said, his voice smooth and impersonal.

She nodded, scribbling into her notebook, though her pen didn't appear to be touching the page.

"Yes sir, Understood."

He said nothing in return.

The silence settled again between them. The faint ticking of the wall clock. 

After a moment, she cleared her throat. "Um... will we be heading to the office directly?"

"No, I'll drop you at your apartment first."

"Okay sir." Her voice wavered a little. "Should I prepare the event report before we leave?"

"No. That will wait."

She nodded again, then quickly looked down.

He watched her only briefly—long enough to note that she couldn't sit still. Her fingers were fidgeting with the edge of the notebook. Her posture was too rigid. Too alert. But it didn't matter. Whatever awkwardness she carried, it didn't concern him.

"You may go," he said simply.

She stood so quickly that her notebook nearly slipped from her grasp. In a rush to bow politely—why had she bowed? —she bumped the corner of the desk with her hip and winced.

"Sorry—sorry," she stammered, already backing toward the door. "Goodnight, sir."

He didn't respond.

She disappeared through the doorway, and the suite fell silent again.

Richard didn't move.

He returned to the window, watching the light play over the glass. He couldn't quite name the feeling that flickered just beneath his ribs—quiet, dull, and unfamiliar.

He pushed it aside.

They would leave in the morning. That was all that mattered.

____

It was still dark when they left the hotel, at exactly six in the morning.

A faint mist hung over the city, muting the streetlights and curling around the pavement like a living thing. The sky remained a deep, velvety blue, streaked faintly with the earliest hints of dawn. The only sound was the low hum of tires on wet asphalt.

Maya sat beside him in the passenger seat, wearing a beige coat too thin for the chill and clinging to her bag like a lifeline. Her knees were pressed together, her shoulders pulled in. She was trying very hard not to take up space.

She had barely slept. Her nerves had kept her tossing all night. Even now, as she watched the city slide by outside the window, she couldn't shake the taut energy in her chest. Everything about being in a car alone with her boss—especially this boss—felt like walking a tightrope over a chasm.

Richard hadn't spoken since they left the hotel.

He drove with quiet precision, one hand on the wheel, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. He was dressed sharply as always—dark overcoat, clean lines, immaculate posture—but there was something unusually still about him this morning. Not just quiet, but inward. Remote.

Maya dared a glance at him, then quickly looked away.

She wanted to be professional. She wanted to do everything right. She didn't want to ruin the strange, fragile rhythm that had started to settle between them since yesterday.

But her stomach wouldn't stop twisting.

"So... thank you," she said finally, voice too loud in the confined space. "For dropping me off, I mean. You really didn't have to."

"You work for me, and I brought you here," he said without turning. "It's not unusual to ensure my employee gets home."

"Oh. Right. Of course."

She stared harder out the window.

They stopped at a red light. A soft glow seeped in through the windshield, illuminating the fine line of his profile—the cold slant of his jaw, the shadows under his eyes. Something about the light made his features appear softer, almost human.

When the light changed, the car rolled forward again.

The silence thickened. The heater made a low, steady hum. The windows were slightly fogged around the edges. Maya stole a glance at him. His profile was carved from cold stone—jaw set, eyes forward, hands precise on the wheel.

She swallowed hard and looked away again.

Richard, meanwhile, had not taken the usual route.

He hadn't said anything about it—Maya likely wouldn't even notice. But instead of the direct path to her apartment, he'd deliberately taken a slower one. Through a part of the city still tucked in pre-dawn quiet, where the roads wound longer and the buildings thinned out.

He didn't know why he did it.

Or rather, he did.

He was testing something.

She had been near him for a while now. Inside a closed car. Close proximity. No ventilation from an open window. No physical barrier.

Still no symptoms.

No discomfort. No illness. Not even a headache.

Humans, even the strong ones, had at least a symptom.

He glanced at her—briefly.

She was staring out the window, her posture still far too careful, but her skin wasn't pale. No shaking. Her breathing was steady.

It made no sense.

He turned his eyes back to the road, jaw tightening. The longer he remained near her, the more questions pressed at the edge of his mind.  Why was she not affected?

"Cold?" he asked, without inflection.

She jumped slightly. "Um. A little," she admitted, startled by the sudden sound of his voice.

He reached forward and adjusted the heater dial. His movement was calm. Automatic.

"Thank you," she mumbled, ducking her head like she'd said something inappropriate.

He returned his hand to the wheel and said nothing else.

Another silence fell.

It was longer this time. The kind that became loud in its own way. The streets passed slowly outside, empty and glistening.

Then, as they approached a curve in the road, Maya shifted to adjust the strap of her bag. The car tilted gently as Richard turned, and she lost her balance for just a second. Her hand flailed for support and landed—clumsily, helplessly—against his forearm.

It was light. Barely a touch.

But it lingered.

Her fingers trembled before she yanked them back. "I—I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—I wasn't trying to—"

He didn't react.

Not outwardly.

But something inside him... twisted. A flicker. A brief moment of awareness that shouldn't have registered at all.

There was no heat from her touch. No recoil. No draining effect. She hadn't even winced.

His arm felt exactly the same.

"You don't need to panic," he said coolly.

"I just—really didn't mean to—my bag slipped and—" She was already turning red, her voice climbing slightly in pitch. "Sorry. Again. I'll just—" She folded her hands in her lap like she was afraid they'd betray her again.

His eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary. She didn't notice.

He looked away.

A few more minutes passed in silence. This time, not as clean. Not as distant. Something unsettled remained in the air between them.

When they finally pulled up outside her apartment, the first light of dawn had cracked open the sky. The buildings were bathed in a soft gray glow, shadows still clinging to the corners.

She fumbled with the door handle.

"Thank you, Mr. Steel." She said quickly, glancing at him. 

He didn't respond, he just nodded.

But as she stepped out and shut the door behind her, he let his gaze linger on the place she had just been.

His fingers flexed once on the steering wheel.

Still no effect.

She was still fine.

And he didn't understand why.

Surely, something wasn't right.

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