The fire crackled low in the stone hearth, casting warm flickers across the heavy wooden beams of the lodge lounge. Snow still drifted outside, soft and relentless, muffling the world beyond the tall glass windows.

Silence hung like frost in the air.

Maya shifted, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, too aware of every breath she took. She kept her eyes on the graphs, determined not to look at him, not after what happened last night. The way he had carried her. The quiet way he'd tended her foot without complaint. He'd looked... different. Tired, yes. Disheveled. But also, human.

She had no idea what to make of it.

Every now and then, she felt his gaze drift to her—not directly, but just enough to make her fingers fumble and her ears heat.

Richard wasn't reading anymore. Not really. His thoughts had strayed—dangerously.

She hadn't flinched. Not even when he touched her ankle. Her face had flushed, her breath caught, but she hadn't moved away. And now, here she was again—close, calm, quiet.

He let his eyes wander for a brief moment. Just a moment.

The line of her jaw, the gentle curve of her cheek, the way her lashes lowered when she focused. Why did she look like that? Warm.

And why was it suddenly unbearable to sit this close without knowing how she smelled, how her voice would sound if she ever laughed near him instead of nervously around him?

He glanced away, fingers tightening around the armrest.

This is dangerous.

His internal voice had gone quiet for now, but the warning pulsed behind his ribs. She wasn't reacting like the others. She didn't get sick being close to him. It was beginning to twist something inside him, something far too new.

He didn't like it.

He hated that he wanted more of it.

"Mr. Steel?"

A voice shattered the quiet.

Maya jumped. The binder slid from her lap and landed on the floor with a soft thud. Her cheeks went red instantly. "S-sorry," she whispered, bending to retrieve it.

Richard's brows drew together as he rose fluidly from the chair with his usual calm turning to face the voice, but the mood had cracked. Fractured.

One of the lodge staff stood at the entrance to the lounge, looking slightly unsure. "Apologies, sir. One of the business partners asked if you could join for a late discussion in the upstairs hall. Something about the new proposal draft."

Richard's jaw tightened. "Tell them I'll be there in five."

The staff nodded and retreated.

His gaze lowered to Maya who was now straightening the papers in the binder with overly careful fingers.

"I'll be back shortly. Finish the remaining summaries before I return."

She nodded, not meeting his eyes. "Yes, sir."

He paused.

"Don't move too much. Your foot still needs rest."

Maya blinked. She hadn't expected that—again. Something about his voice had softened, just barely.

He didn't wait for her to respond. The walked out of the lounge, leaving Maya alone with the quiet crackle of the fire and a heart that beat far too fast.

Upstairs.

Richard walked slower, trying to still the unrest inside him. The interruption had done its job—clearing the fog. But not for long.

Why had he even noticed her face like that? Why had he cared how red her ears got when she dropped the binder?

He scrubbed a hand down his face.

This couldn't go on.

He had planned the ski trip to test her, to confirm her immunity to him. It wasn't meant to test him. And yet here he was, caught in moments that meant nothing and everything all at once.

He clenched his jaw. He needed distance. He needed control.

But somehow, despite everything—despite the fracture in the mirror, the voice that still hissed in the dark, despite knowing who and what he truly was—he kept looking at her.

Every time.

___

The lodge was quieter than before.

Richard moved through the hallway with precise, soundless steps, his expression unreadable as he returned from the upstairs meeting. The discussion had been brief and forgettable, just words and numbers lost in the hum of something louder under his skin—her face. Her presence.

His feet reached the entrance to the lounge, and he hesitated.

He didn't hesitate. Ever.

He stepped inside.

The light from the fire still flickered against the walls, casting long, sleepy shadows. The binder was now neatly on the table, but the couch held something else.

Maya.

Curled in on herself at one end, fast asleep.

A blanket had half-fallen off her shoulder. Her head rested on the arm of the couch, her dark lashes still, her chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths. The flickering glow warmed her face, softening the edges, painting her in amber.

Richard stood frozen.

She wasn't supposed to fall asleep like this. Not here. Not near him.

And yet... he couldn't look away.

His eyes moved slowly—unwilling, almost—but drawn in all the same. The faint frown she wore even in sleep, the way her fingers curled near her cheek like a child's, the soft line of her neck.

He hated how much he noticed now.

The room was too still. Too warm.

He took a step forward before he could stop himself.

Then another.

Close enough to see the faint shimmer of exhaustion on her brow. Close enough to see how her ankle was resting stiffly under the blanket, still swollen from the injury she refused to complain about.

Stupid girl.

He exhaled slowly through his nose.

He should wake her. Tell her to go back to her room. To maintain some line neither of them should cross.

But he didn't.

Instead, he bent—slow, controlled—and retrieved the blanket, lifting it gently to tuck it back over her shoulder.

His fingers hovered above her for one brief, terrifying second.

Then her lashes fluttered.

Richard drew back fast, too fast, almost startled.

Maya blinked sleepily, disoriented. Her eyes landed on him. "Mr. Steel...?"

He straightened, tone flat. "You fell asleep. I didn't want you freezing to death."

Her cheeks colored instantly. She sat up with a grimace. "Oh—oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—I was just resting for a second."

"You shouldn't sleep here," he said, tone neutral but not unkind. "You need proper rest. Go to your room."

She nodded, fingers fumbling with the blanket as she stood—wincing. Her ankle hadn't forgiven her yet.

Richard moved on instinct.

He reached out, hand brushing her arm—not harshly, just a silent offer of support. Her eyes darted to the contact, then up to him.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

The fire crackled behind them. Snow pressed against the window panes. His fingers were still on her arm, steady and real, and this time, Maya didn't pull away.

And Richard...

He let go first. Wordlessly. Stepping back like he'd touched something too hot.

"Get some sleep," he said, quieter now. "Tomorrow's the last day here."

She nodded, mumbling a faint, "Goodnight."

As she limped out, clutching the binder against her chest, Richard turned back to the fire.

He didn't sit.

He just stood there in the dim light, jaw clenched, heart screaming at him for reasons he couldn't name.