The way she held his injured hand with such tender concern rendered Richard silent. He didn't speak. He didn't even move.

Maya, misreading the quiet, lowered her eyes back to his bruised knuckles, gently running her fingertips around the inflamed skin. How had he managed to injure himself so badly in just the few minutes she'd left him alone?

The softness of her touch. The warmth of her palm wrapped around his colder one. Richard stared—not at her, but at the strange feeling settling over him like a hush.

It was the first time anyone had held his hand with such care.

The first time he'd had prolonged physical contact with anyone since stepping into the human world.

Her hand was small. Warm. Alive. His was bruised and cold. Something about the contrast stirred something in him he didn't know how to name.

The moment realization caught up to him—that she was still touching him—he yanked his hand back, quick and sharp.

There was a reason he didn't touch humans. It wasn't just distrust. Physical contact with him made people weak. Sick. His very presence leached the life from them.

But Maya—she hadn't even flinched. No sign of discomfort. No sudden dizziness. Nothing.

He studied her.

Still focused on his hand. Still fine. As if untouched by the curse he carried.

Maya blinked and looked around, scanning the office. Her eyes landed on the first aid kit perched neatly on the shelf, and she darted toward it without a word.

Seconds later, she was back at his desk. "Please give me your hand," she said softly, her light blue eyes filled with concern that made Richard's chest ache in a new, unfamiliar way.

He hesitated. Then gave in.

If his soul was already fading, perhaps he no longer had the strength to harm. Maybe that's why she was still standing.

Her fingers found his hand again, cradling it as she opened the kit. One by one, she pulled out supplies and began cleaning the wound. Her motions were careful, practiced—clumsy in spirit but precise in execution.

Richard watched, mesmerized by the simplicity of it. The intimacy. The way she acted like his pain mattered.

No one had ever treated him like this.

She bent closer, inspecting the injury. He could feel her breath, gentle against his skin as she cleaned and dressed the bruises. There was no hesitation in her touch.

Maya had always been clumsy. It was one of the reasons she struggled during her assignments, one of many reasons she was here now on Earth, proving herself. But her clumsiness came with unexpected gifts—she got hurt often, so she knew how to take care of others who did.

When she finished, she leaned back and took a breath, relief crossing her features.

And then she froze.

Her eyes widened with horror. Realization slammed into her like a freight train: She was holding his hand. Her boss's hand. Without permission.

And not just any boss—Richard Steel. The man everyone said hated physical contact. The one Jay warned her about.

She looked down, still clutching his hand. Still waiting for him to snap.

She pulled away quickly and stared at the bandages instead of his face, mentally cursing herself for letting emotions take control again.

"I... I just... um..." Maya mumbled, the words barely coherent.

Silence.

Then—unexpectedly—Richard spoke.

"Thank you."

Maya's head jerked up in shock.

He was looking at her. And smiling.

Just a little. But it was enough.

The cold, unreadable mask he wore melted, just for a second. The edge of his lips lifted, softening his intimidating face. The ice in his gaze thawed into something gentler.

Warmth flooded her chest.

It was the first time he smiled at her.

And she couldn't help but smile back.

It came without thought, uninvited and real.

But as quickly as it appeared, Richard looked away. His expression shuttered, his eyes dropping back to the documents on his desk.

Maya quietly returned to the front of the desk, still holding on to the flickering warmth in her chest. His smile—however brief—lingered in her thoughts like the last spark of a dying fire.

She would prefer it if he smiled more.

Richard sat in silence. He didn't look at her, but he felt her presence like a gentle hum.

No one had ever cared for him before. Not like that. Not gently. Not freely.

He was grateful—truly—but that would be the last time. He couldn't allow it to happen again.

Because next time, he might not be in control.

When the other part of him—the darker one—surfaced, he lost his grip on reality. His emotions would snap, and the monster would come forward.

He couldn't risk anyone being near him in those moments.

Not even her.

Without looking at her, Richard gestured to the seat in front of the desk. Maya immediately sat down, quiet and attentive.

He scanned the papers in front of him, frustration beginning to brew behind his eyes.

"I have to attend a ceremony tomorrow," he said finally. "One hosted by a business partner. You're required to come as well."

He reached into the drawer and retrieved a phone, placing it on the table between them.

"This is your company phone," he said, making eye contact. "You will use this to contact me—and only this. You must never lose it."

His voice was low, serious. Final.

Maya picked up the phone and nodded. "Yes, sir."

Richard's eyes lingered on her for a heartbeat longer before he looked away again, his gaze returning to the paperwork.

"We leave later today. It's out of town. We won't be staying long," he added. "Pack lightly. Dress casually. I'll come get you."

Maya nodded again, though a flutter of nerves stirred in her chest at the thought of going somewhere alone with him.

"Yes, sir."

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