A figure stood at the door.
Delvin paused mid-step, his hand still gripping the voltage tester. The air shifted—or maybe it was just his breath catching in his throat.
She gazed at him. Direct. Unwavering.
His eyes met hers, and everything else—the chandelier sparked even when it was off, the musty carpet smell, Mr. Ben clearing his throat—dissolved into static.
Her eyes were blue. Not sky blue or ocean blue, but the blue of something deeper, something you could fall into and never find bottom.
Delvin felt his pulse in his fingertips. In those eyes, he saw something he couldn't name—a richness that had nothing to do with the diamond studs in her ears or the expensive cut of her clothes. It was something underneath. Something real.
His chest tightened with want.
She looked back into his eyes—brown, flecked with gold from the lamp—and saw it too. The thing she'd been missing. An authenticity so pure it made her ache. He carried his poverty like honesty, wore his simplicity like armor. She'd never wanted anything more.
Mr. Ben wiped his brow with a handkerchief, the fabric making a soft whisper against his skin. He straightened his uniform and coughed—a deliberate, spell-breaking sound.
"Miss Jasmine, how may I assist you?"
Jasmine blinked. Once. Twice. The world rushed back in—sound, color, the weight of her own body. She coughed lightly, as if she could dislodge whatever had just lodged itself in her chest.
"Uh, hi!"
Her smile broke across her face like sunrise. White teeth. Full lips that gleamed.
Delvin's mouth flooded with saliva. He couldn't swallow. His throat worked against it, muscles straining. With effort, he forced it down.
"H-hi."
His voice cracked—rough, too high. Heat flooded his neck.
Her smile deepened, slow and devastating. It reached inside him and twisted something loose. Colors burst behind his ribs—crimson, gold, violet—blooming like fireworks.
Her lips. God, her lips. Pinkish-red with a natural darkness at the edges, perfectly curved. His mind spiraled.
'A goddess. That's what she is. If Helen launched a thousand ships, this woman could end civilizations. Kings would burn their own kingdoms just to hear her laugh. She's not real. She can't be real.'
"Mr. Ben," her voice floated through his thoughts like silk dragged across skin, "please come help me rearrange room twenty-one F. I'd like to make certain adjustments."
Her eyes flicked to Delvin. Once. Again. Her words said one thing; her body said another.
'Come on. Ask me. I dare you.'
He traced the lines of her face—the sweep of her forehead, the slope of her nose, the curve of her chin. Each feature told a different story, whispered a different promise.
'The most beautiful face I've ever seen.'
Her mouth moved as she spoke to Mr. Ben, and chills cascaded down his spine. His gaze drifted lower—the smooth column of her neck, the suggestion of collarbone. Her breasts, soft and full beneath her blouse. Her flat stomach. The ripped jeans that hugged her thighs, showing hints of skin through the tears.
His breathing changed—shallow, quick. His heart hammered against his ribs like it was trying to break free. The room felt ten degrees hotter.
'I'm going to marry you. I don't know how, but I will. I'd cross deserts for you. Swim oceans. Climb mountains. Just to feel your hand in mine. You're worth more than gold. More than anything.'
"Mr. Dred," Mr. Ben's voice cut through the haze, sharp and sudden, "I'll be back. Please carry on with your work."
Delvin barely heard him. His eyes were still locked on her, drowning in the fantasy spinning out in his head.
Mr. Ben waited. The silence stretched.
"Sure," Delvin finally managed.
Jasmine hadn't looked away either. Her eyes traced him like a touch—his chest, his arms, the way his t-shirt pulled tight across his abdomen, hinting at the muscles underneath.
'I would ruin myself for you.'
The thought startled her with its intensity. She let her gaze linger on the angles of his face, the strong line of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders.
'He's a work of art. Every inch of him. I could study him for hours and still find something new. Women must throw themselves at him. Do you even know what you do to people? To me?'
She smiled and bit her bottom lip.
Delvin's knees nearly buckled.
'I want you. No—I need you. I'll do whatever it takes. I'll make you think of me when you wake up, when you close your eyes at night. You'll crave me. You'll be mine.'
"Miss Jasmine." Mr. Ben's voice was firmer now. "After you."
She jolted, heat flooding her face. "Right. Of course."
She turned, her movements graceful and slow, like she was moving through water. Mr. Ben followed.
Delvin's jaw went slack as he watched her walk away, watched the sway of her hips, the fall of her hair down her back. Then she disappeared around the corner, and the hallway felt emptier than it had any right to.
Minutes later—Delvin couldn't say how many—he'd finished his inspection. Mr. Ben returned, relaxed, wearing a lingering smile that Delvin didn't know how to read.
Mr. Ben wiped his brow again with the handkerchief. "How's it going, sir?"
Delvin took a breath, steadied himself. Professional. He needed to sound professional.
"The power's not reaching this room. Cables burned out. The whole room needs to be rewired."
Mr. Ben listened with the kind of focused attention that made Delvin feel like every word mattered.
"Alright. Let me call Mr. Parker."
He pulled a phone from his back pocket, dialed. The line connected. Fifteen seconds of ringing, then a click.
Mr. Ben relayed the information, the phone on speaker.
"Does he know what he's doing?" Mr. Parker's voice crackled through, sharp with skepticism.
Static hissed. Then the line cleared.
"Yes sir. He's a professional. Not like the others we've had."
"Take him to Jasmine." Mr. Parker's tone shifted—commanding but not unkind. "Get him whatever he needs. I want that room ready today. Client tomorrow. It's his favorite."
Mr. Ben's face brightened. "Yes sir."
Silence followed them down the hallway—heavy, expectant. Delvin's pulse climbed with each step.
Mr. Ben opened an office door. Delvin stepped inside.
And froze.
Behind the desk sat the woman from before. Jasmine.
His heart was the only part of him still moving, thundering so loud he was sure she could hear it.