Vincent's POV
I stared at the thick harness hanging from the lab ceiling like some overcomplicated torture device. "Let me guess," I said, deadpan. "You're going to string me up like a Christmas ham."
Dr. Lyra Quinn adjusted the monitor without even sparing me a glance. "It's a suspended stress test, not a meat hook, Vincent."
"Yet," I muttered.
She glanced at me over her glasses, one perfectly shaped brow raised. "If you're scared, we can reschedule."
"Oh, no," I grinned. "After everything you've made me do this week? I'd be offended if we didn't add bondage to the mix eventually."
She blinked once. "This is not that kind of test."
I gave her a slow, knowing smile. "Pity."
Despite herself, she snorted—an actual, surprised laugh that she tried to hide with a cough. Progress.
The stress tolerance test was one of those simulations meant to evaluate my physiological and psychological responses under various forms of pressure. Controlled panic. Fast-paced cognitive tests. Sudden noise, light deprivation. Think escape room meets medical hellscape. For science.
Honestly? I didn't mind. Because every test meant more time with her.
Lyra was laser-focused as she checked my vitals, her fingers brushing against my bare chest when she adjusted a sensor. Her hand lingered a moment too long. Just a second. But I noticed.
So did she. Because her cheeks flushed—faintly, beautifully—and she immediately stepped back.
"Vitals stable," she muttered into the recorder. "Begin phase one."
I was suspended midair by the harness, feet off the ground, surrounded by flashing lights and a blaring alarm that sounded like a robot being strangled.
And yet, my brain wasn't stressed.
It was very, very interested in the woman biting her lip while watching me from the console.
Lyra's POV
This was fine.
Sure, Vincent looked distractingly delicious in the harness, muscles flexing every time he twisted to find the source of a sound. And yes, his heart rate was suspiciously steady despite the chaos around him, which shouldn't have been possible.
But I was calm. Professional. Totally ignoring the way his shirt clung to his back when the sprinklers suddenly went off.
Okay. Maybe not totally.
"This… was not supposed to happen," I said, smacking the side of the monitor. "The emergency system is glitching again."
Vincent tilted his head. Water dripping down his temple. "You're telling me being rained on while blindfolded and deafened wasn't in the original plan?"
"No, but look on the bright side. It's… immersive."
He laughed, deep and genuine. "I'm getting the full amusement park package."
He didn't flinch through any of it—not even during the sudden temperature drop or the flash strobe. His stress levels spiked only once, and that was when I stumbled and instinctively grabbed his hand.
"Sorry," I said quickly, letting go.
But he held on for a beat longer, thumb brushing my wrist before releasing me.
"No worries, Doc. I'm just here to help science."
"Right," I said, stepping away like I hadn't just felt that all the way to my spine.
Vincent's POV
By the end of the test, I was soaked, mildly electrocuted, and still somehow in better shape than Lyra, who looked more flustered than usual.
"You okay?" I asked, handing her a towel.
She blinked up at me. "You're supposed to be the one under stress."
I shrugged, drying my hair. "Maybe I just thrive under pressure."
She didn't reply, but her eyes lingered on my chest for half a second before she spun on her heel and said something about analyzing data.
Cute.
Later, after she left to log results, I noticed a folder on her desk. The thick contract I'd signed before entering the program. Curious, I flipped it open and scanned the clauses.
There it was. Or… wasn't.
"No fraternization with the subject" was missing.
I laughed under my breath. Either someone had made a mistake… or someone hadn't realized.
And if that clause didn't exist?
Well, let's just say the stress test wasn't the only thing worth sweating over today.
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