They were too many people.

Maya stood beside Richard at the gala, small and quiet, her hands clasped in front of her. The lights overhead shimmered against the crystal chandeliers, and the polished floors echoed the laughter and murmurs of the elite. The crowd was a sea of confident grace—shoulders thrown back, glasses lifted delicately, eyes sharp behind veiled politeness.

She tried to disappear. Tried not to stumble. But her heels pinched slightly, and the dress Brielle had chosen hugged her ribs a bit too tightly, making it hard to breathe, especially with him so close 

He hadn't left her side either.

That alone made her heart behave strangely. He didn't hover—but he lingered. Always a pace away, sharp in his tailored black suit, speaking to guests with a detached charm. But every so often, his eyes returned to her. Quick glances. Calculated. Curious.

She caught one now. From the corner of her eye.

He was speaking to a woman in emerald, a board executive Maya didn't recognize. But his gaze slid to her, just for a moment, and she saw it—that hesitation again. That pause that didn't belong in a man like him.

But it was brief. Buried quickly beneath that cold mask of indifference.

Maya swallowed hard and turned slightly, trying not to seem too aware. Of him. Of the weight in her chest. Of the fact that she was trembling and didn't know why.

Then it happened.

Richard shifted suddenly—his hand lifting to press against his temple as a sharp, invisible pain lanced through his body.

He stiffened.

The pain was back. The thing inside him coiling with teeth and venom.

"Mingling among humans like they won't see you at their end."

He exhaled shakily, the glass in his hand clinking slightly as he gripped it too tight. A drop of sweat traced his temple.

Maya turned toward him immediately, concern blooming across her brow.

"Sir?" she asked softly.

No one else would've noticed. But she did.

She stepped toward him instinctively, placing a gentle hand against his back between his shoulder blades, warm and trembling.

"Do you... want to leave?" she asked, her voice barely above the music.

And something happened.

Time stopped.

Her hand on his back, it silenced everything.

The voice inside him recoiled, snarling. But the pain dulled. Like her presence itself steadied the storm.

Richard turned to her slowly, the ache still clawing at his ribs. His gaze dropped to where her fingers rested lightly against his spine. The look in his eyes was something hollowed and stunned.

He didn't answer. He only stared for a moment too long.

Then—

He reached for her hand.

It wasn't careful. Not cold.

He took it like a man drowning and finding something solid.

Fingers wrapping around hers, warm and trembling at the edges, his grip too firm, too sudden, like he didn't trust the world to hold him anymore—but maybe, just maybe, her.

Maya blinked up at him, startled.

She couldn't breathe.

He was holding her hand.

In front of everyone.

And everyone saw.

A ripple moved through the room. Nothing loud—just a few surprised glances, subtle murmurs from those nearby.

"That's Richard Steel."

"Is that his assistant?"

"He's never brought anyone before..."

She heard the words but couldn't process them.

Because his hand was still holding hers.

She looked up, eyes wide. He didn't meet her gaze. Not fully. He looked somewhere beyond her. But his thumb brushed across her knuckles once, as if he wasn't thinking.

As if he'd forgotten how to pretend.

"I—" she started, breathless. But the words didn't come.

Richard finally looked at her. His voice was low, unreadable.

"Let's get some air."

No explanation. No apology.

He walked—her hand still in his.

And she followed.

Her heart was racing now, louder than the music, louder than the murmurs. Something inside her ached and bloomed at the same time. He hadn't said anything kind. Hadn't offered a smile. But he'd held her hand like she was something worth keeping close.

He led her down a quiet corridor away from the main ballroom to a balcony overlooking the city.

The air was cold and sharp. It stung her lungs and made her clutch her free hand to her chest, breath catching.

He let go of her hand.

Too suddenly.

She felt the absence of it like a bruise.

Richard leaned against the railing, head bowed slightly, fingers pressed to his brow again. He looked tired. Like something was unraveling behind his eyes and he was barely holding the pieces together.

Maya stood awkwardly near the doors, not sure if she was supposed to speak. Not sure if she wanted to. Every time she looked at him now, she felt something stir that didn't have a name.

He turned after a moment, the mask almost back in place.

Almost.

"You shouldn't have touched me back there," he said quietly.

Maya froze. Her throat went dry. "I... I'm sorry Sir, I thought you were—"

His eyes flicked to hers.

He didn't look angry.

He looked afraid.

"It's okay Maya."

That was all.

Then silence again.

And in that silence, Maya felt it—that strange pulse of something new. She didn't know what it was. Only that her chest was full and her stomach felt like it had turned upside down.

Richard didn't move closer.

But he didn't walk away either.

They stood like that for a long time, the night cold around them, hearts beating too loudly in the quiet.

When Maya glanced at him again, his shoulders were straighter, but not stiff. His posture was the kind of still that hid tremors underneath. And his face—always composed, always unreadable—had softened at the edges. He looked... drained. Not just tired. Weak.

She blinked, concerned.

"Should I—should I ask them to bring the car around Sir?" she asked, voice hesitant.

He didn't look at her right away. His fingers had curled around the balcony edge, white-knuckled again. Like he was holding onto something invisible and fraying.

Then, softly—"Yes."

Maya hurried to make the call, and within minutes, the company car pulled up beneath the portico. Richard didn't let her walk alone down the hall. He didn't hold her hand again, but he walked close—close enough that she could hear the faint unevenness in his breath.

She didn't ask questions. She only stayed near.

The drive was silent. The driver didn't speak. Richard leaned back against the seat with his eyes closed, fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose. Maya stole glances when she could, worry clenching tighter with each passing second.

His control was slipping.

And whatever he was trying to hold back—he was losing.

The car stopped in front of the office, and she blinked, concern written all over her face. "Sir I think you should go home and rest..."

"I'm staying here tonight," Richard said, his voice quiet. Then, turning to her, "The car will drop you home."

Maya hesitated.

"I don't think I should leave you like this, I'll at least help you to your office Sir." Maya said almost as if she wouldn't take no for an answer and as if sensing her thoughts Richard nodded. 

When he stepped out, he waited for her, opened the door himself and when she stood beside him, he didn't walk ahead.

They moved through the empty lobby in silence, the sound of her heels too loud in the wide, marble space. The elevator hummed softly. She watched the numbers climb.

Her hands were cold.

His shoulders were tense again.

The doors opened to the top floor. His office. Familiar. Distant.

She followed him inside as he flipped on the light.

But then he walked to the far end of the office and stopped in front of a door.

He glanced back at her. His expression almost vulnerable.

"I'll rest here," he said slowly, he didn't want to think about what he was doing.

Then he stepped inside.

And left the door open for her to follow.