POV – Elena
The city was a symphony of distant hums and flickering streetlights, but inside me, there was another rhythm — a pulse I had never felt before. I walked through the glass doors of Ashford Industries, clutching my laptop bag tightly, trying to convince myself that the new role, the pressure of the corporate world, and the weight of expectations were the only reasons my chest throbbed faster than usual.
And then I smelled it.
It wasn't perfume, or coffee, or even the faint antiseptic scent of the office that clung to every corner. It was… alive. Deep, primal, and intoxicating. It made the hairs on my arms stand on end and my stomach tighten as if something inside me had been waiting for it all my life. I blinked, confused, and shook my head, telling myself it was imagination.
I stepped into the elevator, trying to focus on the soft whir of the machinery rather than the inexplicable fluttering in my chest. But when the doors opened on the top floor, there he was.
James Ashford.
Tall, impossibly poised, his dark eyes scanning the office with a precision that made me feel naked under his gaze. Hair perfectly styled, with just enough silver at the temples to suggest authority and experience. And the scent — stronger here, closer — like rain on earth, smoke from a distant fire, and something wild, untamed, calling to a part of me I had never acknowledged.
"Miss Dorne," he said, and his voice was velvet and steel all at once. Smooth, low, carrying a weight I didn't understand but felt in my bones.
I blinked and swallowed, trying to find words that wouldn't betray my sudden, inexplicable disorientation. "Good morning, sir." My voice sounded strange to my own ears — too soft, too aware of the way it trembled.
"Welcome to my office," he continued, gesturing with a hand that was both elegant and commanding. "I've heard good things about you."
I nodded, clutching my bag as though it were a lifeline. "Thank you. I… I'm excited to start."
There was a pause, a silence that stretched in a way that made my pulse pound in my ears. And then I realized I was aware of everything at once: the hum of the air conditioning, the faint rustle of papers, the smell of the polished wood desk, and — impossibly — the subtle shift in the air around him. It was electric.
Something inside me ached.
He smiled — just the tiniest curve of his lips — and it sent warmth spilling through me. Not warmth as in comfort, but a deep, startling heat that threaded through my veins, made my hands tingle, and made me aware of the subtle thrum of my heartbeat in ways I had never noticed.
"Please," he said softly, "have a seat."
I obeyed, even as every instinct inside me screamed curiosity and caution all at once. My hands were trembling slightly as I lowered myself onto the chair opposite him, and I caught myself inhaling sharply, aware of how alive I felt under his gaze.
He leaned back, arms resting on the wide expanse of his polished desk, and I noticed the faint scent again — stronger now, closer, as though the space itself recognized me. My chest constricted. My mind raced with questions I didn't yet know how to ask.
"You'll do well here, Elena," he said. His voice softened, and for a moment, he looked… human. Vulnerable, almost. "But there is much you have yet to understand. About this place. About yourself."
I frowned, uncertain what he meant. But before I could ask, he smiled again — that subtle, knowing smile — and I felt it deep in my chest: something stirring, ancient and wild, whispering to me in a language I didn't yet understand.
And I realized, with both fear and wonder, that the world as I knew it was about to change