The gala beyond the stairwell shimmered like a lie.
Music drifted down the corridor in softened waves -- strings, polite laughter, the clink of crystal. Artemis wore wealth beautifully. It made catastrophe look curated.
Galathea Brooks felt the weight of eyes before she saw them.
Paula stood near the end of the service hallway, clipboard in hand, lips curved into something almost pleasant. Watching. Measuring.
And Cael -- too close at her shoulder.
"Walk," he murmured, not touching her yet.
"Don't order me," Galathea shot back under her breath.
But she moved.
They both know they needed to ground. Galathea is moments away from snapping, she needed Cael to anchor her to reality.
And Cael, he was not going to let Galathea ride this need alone. Not when there are too many people in the building. Not when the adrenaline coursing through Galathea's nervous system could essentially make floors shift, make walls lean, make lights dim, flicker, or even flood.
No.
He guided her through a door marked STAFF ACCESS and into the narrow stairwell beyond. The music dulled instantly, replaced by the low hum of emergency lighting and the faint echo of their own breathing.
Cael shut the door behind them.
Softly.
The click felt intimate.
Galathea turned on him immediately. "You can't just drag me into dark corners, especially every time someone stares."
His eyes tracked her -- sharp, assessing. "We can't very well display what we are about to do. And -- she wasn't staring."
"About to-- she was," Galathea said, half-deciding which statement to address. "Paula's entire personality is staring."
"Well now, she's following," Cael corrected.
The word settled low and heavy.
Galathea felt it too -- the way Paula's presence had hovered like static. The way the air changed when Cael stepped too close in public.
"This is worse," Galathea said, gesturing to the stairwell. "If she saw us come in here --"
"She did," Cael replied calmly.
Galathea's pulse spiked. "You're unbelievable."
He stepped closer. The walls continued to hum into their ears.
The stairwell was too narrow for distance. Too tight for safety. The emergency light cast shadows along his jaw, turning restraint into something dangerous.
"She thinks she's about to confirm a story," Cael said quietly.
"And you're giving it to her." Galathea was trying to calm herself.
"No." His gaze dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes. "I'm controlling it."
Galathea's breath caught before she could steady it.
"Stop doing that," she muttered.
"Doing what?" His gaze never faltered.
"Looking at me like you've already decided something." Galathea kept her gaze.
His hand came up -- not touching her, not yet -- but bracing against the wall beside her shoulder. She was boxed in without being held. The heat of him pressed close enough to feel deliberate.
"I have," he said.
Her heart thudded hard against her ribs. "Decided what?"
"That this doesn't belong to her." Cael's voice was low but the words landed somewhere lower than they should have.
Galathea swallowed. "You don't get to claim what I allow."
Cael's expression didn't change. "Then don't allow it."
The muffled gala music swelled, applause breaking like a wave. The gala lived on, glittering and unaware.
Galathea's body was suddenly too aware -- of Cael's breathing, the subtle scent of cologne and expensive fabric, the way her back brushed cool concrete while he radiated heat.
"You're enjoying this," she accused.
Cael's mouth tilted faintly. "You're trembling."
"I am not," but she was. Her body was humming from what sort of vision she saw in the gala.
His hand dropped, finally, to her waist.
Not grabbing.
Settling.
Her breath hitched despite herself.
"You are," he said softly.
Galathea's mind scattered in protest, but her body betrayed her -- pulse loud, nerves lit, skin hypersensitive to the simple weight of his palm.
"Don't make this a power play," she whispered.
"It already is, sweetheart." He took in her scent as he moved.
The stairwell felt smaller.
He leaned closer, slow enough for her to stop him if she wanted. Slow enough to make refusal deliberate.
Galathea didn't move.
His mouth hovered near her ear. "She wants to see you flustered."
"I'm not flustered." She whispered to his skin
His thumb pressed lightly into the curve of her waist, testing. "Then prove it."
The door handle rattled faintly.
Paula.
Galathea froze.
Outside, heels shifted against concrete. Close. Listening.
Cael didn't step back.
Instead, he leaned in further, breath warm against her skin. "Breathe," he murmured.
Her inhale came sharp and shallow.
"You're insane," she whispered.
His lips brushed the edge of her jaw -- not a kiss, not quite. A deliberate graze. Enough to send heat streaking down her spine.
The door rattled again.
Paula's voice floated through, syrup-sweet. "Mr. Alexander?" Galathea heard Paula clear her throat before she called out, less sweet, "Galathea?"
Galathea's pulse slammed hard enough to hurt.
Cael's mouth slid lower, just beneath her ear, teeth grazing skin in a barely-there scrape. Her fingers clutched instinctively at his lapel.
"If you make a sound," she hissed.
"Then she wins?" he asked, voice low.
He kissed her properly this time.
Not soft.
Not hesitant.
His mouth claimed hers with the kind of pressure that erased air. Galathea's back hit the wall, her breath stolen as his hand tightened at her waist. She felt the control in it -- not forceful, but certain.
Outside, Paula's heels shifted again.
Galathea should have pushed him away.
Instead, she kissed him back.
Fierce.
Her hand slid up to his collar, fisting the silk. His other hand moved to her thigh, fingers pressing just high enough to make her gasp against his mouth.
"Careful," she breathed.
"Always," he murmured.
His thigh pressed between hers, anchoring her in place. The friction was subtle, devastating. Every small shift amplified by the confined space.
The stairwell door creaked as Paula tested it again.
Galathea's nails dug into Cael's shoulder. "Paula's right there."
"I know." He said into her lips.
The knowledge made it worse.
Made it hotter.
His mouth traced down her throat, slow and deliberate, teeth grazing sensitive skin. Galathea's head tipped back before she could stop herself.
"Don't -- " she started.
His hand slid higher along her thigh, not under fabric but close enough to threaten it. The restraint was maddening.
"You said I don't get to claim what you allow," he murmured against her skin. "Tell me to stop."
She opened her mouth as she leaned into him but no voice came out of her throat..
Because she didn't want him to.
Outside, Paula's voice rose, louder now. "If this is a private conversation, I'll wait."
Galathea's pulse thundered.
Cael lifted his head, eyes dark and focused. "Sounds like she wants proof," he said.
"And you're giving it to her?" Galathea whispered.
"No," he corrected again. "I'm choosing when any information is made known."
His hand left her thigh and came to her jaw, tilting her face up. The kiss that followed was slower. Deeper. Controlled in a way that felt far more dangerous than urgency.
Galathea's breath tangled with his. Every movement deliberate. Every inch negotiated without words.
He broke the kiss first.
Just enough to look at her.
"Do you want me to stop, sweetheart?" he asked quietly.
Her heart pounded. Her body burned. The door remained an inch of wood between them and exposure.
"No, Alex, don't stop," she admitted.
It was barely audible.
His expression shifted -- not triumph, not dominance. Something sharper. Intent.
He kissed her again, hand sliding to her hip, pulling her flush against him. The pressure of his body erased the last thread of space between them.
The door handle finally stilled.
Paula stepped back.
Galathea felt it -- the shift of presence retreating down the hallway. The soft click of heels moving away.
But Paula had seen them go in.
And she would remember.
Cael's hand eased from her hip.
Reluctantly.
He stepped back just enough for air to return.
Galathea's lips were swollen. Her pulse refused to settle. The stairwell felt charged, electric.
"This is going to get worse," she said.
"Yes," Cael agreed.
"And you don't care." Galathea peered at him.
The pulsating walls started to lull until the beat stilled and the building was now calm.
His eyes held hers steadily. "I care exactly enough."
He reached past her to open the door.
The hallway light spilled in, bright and unforgiving.
Paula stood halfway down the corridor, clipboard hugged to her chest. Watching.
She didn't smile this time.
She didn't need to.
Cael stepped out first. Galathea followed, breath still uneven, dress smoothed with steady hands.
Paula's gaze skimmed over them both, slow and satisfied.
"There you are," she said lightly.
Cael's expression was perfectly composed. "Ms. Merryhill, is there something you can't handle on your own?" He asked, as he continued to walk.
Galathea met Paula's eyes and didn't look away.
Paula's lips curved faintly. "Of course not, Mr. Alexander, I have it handled."
Galathea and Cael walked back into the gala, footsteps clacking like the floor amplified the sound. Just like that, they were back to work.