Morning came gently.

Maya woke to a thin glow seeping through the curtains, her ankle stiff but wrapped. The memory of last night floated to the surface with strange clarity—the cold snow, the twist, the cry... and then him. His arms. His eyes.

She pushed the duvet off slowly, as if moving too fast would make it all disappear.

Her ankle twinged the second she tried to stand. She winced, biting her lip as she carefully eased into the chair by the window, the steaming tea from the breakfast tray filling the air with soft chamomile. The sun on the mountain peaks looked like melted gold, and everything was hushed—like the world hadn't quite caught up to her thoughts yet.

What happened last night? Not just the fall. Not just the pain.

But him.

She hugged her knees to her chest and stared out into the white. Her stomach twisted in a nervous knot. Maybe she should thank him properly. Maybe she should apologize for being reckless again.

Maybe...

No. That would only make it worse.

She dressed slowly, leaving the bulky boots behind and settling for warm socks and a thick coat. She could limp carefully through the lodge. She still had work to do. She had to show she was still capable of something. One twist wasn't going to end her.

Downstairs, the energy of the lodge was back in full swing—business partners moving in and out of the large lounge room, murmured conversations and quiet laughter from the far tables.

But Richard wasn't there.

Her heart knocked a little harder than she expected.

Instead, there was a text on her phone. Again.

[8:30 briefing. Prep the projections. Meet me outside the conference room.]

No greeting. No softness. Just like always.

Except she knew now. She'd seen something behind the cold lines and short messages. She'd felt something.

She swallowed tightly and got to work.

When Maya finally made it to the briefing—hobbling slightly, tablet in hand—he was already there.

Standing by the window with his back to her, arms folded, shoulders tense. His coat was different today. Darker. His hair, usually so precisely combed, looked like he hadn't bothered much with it. His posture screamed controlled distance.

She cleared her throat softly.

He turned.

Just once.

And their eyes met.

It was only for a second, but something tugged painfully in her chest. He didn't say anything. Just nodded toward the seat and shifted his gaze back to the snow outside.

Cold. Quiet. Gone.

Maya sat slowly, trying not to wince as her ankle protested. She kept her hands still on the table, resisting the urge to rub the back of her neck or tap her fingers. The silence was louder than it should have been.

Why wasn't he saying anything?

Why did he look at her like that and then pull away?

Did she do something wrong?

The meeting started fifteen minutes later. She presented what she was supposed to, and he only spoke when necessary. No corrections. No notes. Just simple, curt instructions.

But Maya couldn't help noticing it.

The way his gaze lingered a second too long when she limped across the room and when their eyes met again near the end of the meeting, he looked away fast. Too fast.

Like it burned.

_____

The lodge remained quiet after lunch.

A soft hush had fallen over the corridors as most of the guests retreated into their rooms or wandered into the snow-dusted lounge for quiet conversations by the fire. Maya stayed in her room, answering emails and reviewing a few presentations slides Richard had forwarded to her.

No extra texts. No check-ins.

Just silence.

Still, something tugged at her—the lingering feeling from the night before. He had carried her. Gently. Carefully. Like she was something breakable.

No one had ever treated her like that.

She told herself it didn't mean anything. That he'd only done what any decent boss would've done for an injured employee, but he hadn't looked at her with indifference, he hadn't let her go as soon as they'd reached the lodge.

He'd stayed until she was seated. Until her breathing had calmed.

Now, she found herself walking toward the lower lounge, the one just past the main staircase, where she'd last seen him meeting with a few partners earlier. She wasn't sure what she'd say if she found him—maybe just a quiet thank-you. Maybe just check if he needed anything before the evening events.

She turned the corner.

And stopped.

He was there.

Seated alone by the corner fireplace, a thin file open on his lap, binders on the table. No business partners. No assistants. Just Mr. Steel.

Her breath caught.

There was something startlingly unguarded about him in this moment. He wasn't wearing a jacket, only a fitted black sweater rolled slightly at the forearms. His posture leaned forward, fingers pressed into his temple as though fending off a headache. The firelight played across his face, casting flickering shadows along the sharp line of his jaw and the dark circles beneath his eyes.

He looked... exhausted.

And still, despite that, he looked up the moment she stepped into view.

Their eyes met.

He didn't frown. Didn't look away. Just studied her like he always did—intensely, like she was something curious and difficult to define.

Maya shifted awkwardly. "I—I wasn't trying to interrupt. I thought maybe you needed help with something."

His gaze dropped briefly to her wrapped ankle.

"You're walking again," he said, voice low.

She nodded. "It's not too bad now."

He said nothing to that. But his gaze lingered. On her ankle. Then her hands. Then her face.

Maya looked away.

She shouldn't be staring, but she noticed things now too. The way a single lock of hair had fallen over his brow. The way he sat like stillness was the only thing holding him together.

"I'll just go now sir." she said quickly, turning halfway.

"Wait."

It was soft. Almost unheard.

She turned back.

He didn't repeat it. Just closed the folder, set it aside, and leaned back in the chair.

His gaze didn't leave her.

"I'm reviewing some projects. You can sit, if it helps your foot."

That wasn't an order. Or even a real request. But Maya nodded anyway and crossed the room, perching carefully on the armchair across from him.

The silence stretched.

It should've been uncomfortable. But instead, it felt... charged.

He was still watching her.

Noticing.

Her hair was slightly damp from the quick shower she'd taken. A few strands had curled near her temple. Her cheeks still pink from the cold. She looked young. Quiet. Too bright for this place.

Too bright for him.

And yet she was here.

He looked back at the folder, flipping through it slowly. But he didn't read the words.

He was too aware of her.

And Maya—she was suddenly too aware of him too.

Not just as her terrifying boss, but as a man. An unreadable man who had carried her through snow like she weighed nothing. Who hadn't scolded her. Who hadn't even looked annoyed.

She snuck another glance.

He was staring into the fire now, eyes distant.

There was a heaviness there. Something that made her chest tighten.

And she wondered, for the first time, who he really was.