(Khloe's POV)
The moment his voice threads through the noise of the site—"Khloe, this is Flora"—the air shifts.
He doesn't have to say anything else. The name alone carries enough weight to make my spine straighten.
Flora. The woman I've heard mentioned in quiet fragments during office chatter, the one whose name seemed to make Xavier pause every time it slipped into a conversation and most especially the one whom he claimed we were getting clothes for.
Now she's here, in front of me, more vivid than any rumor ever could have painted.
She's dressed in a soft cream jumpsuit that hugs her in all the right places, gold chain catching the sunlight at her throat. Her smile blooms effortlessly—warm, practiced, familiar. Even the dust swirling around us seems to move out of her way.
I smooth my gown, pretending the heat on my face comes from the afternoon sun.
"Nice to meet you," she says, extending her hand.
I take it, offering a professional smile. "Likewise."
Her fingers are cool, manicured. The type of hands that belong in conference rooms and galleries, not amid scaffolding and cement. She has the kind of elegance that makes you aware of every rough edge you carry.
When I glance at Xavier, he's watching her—not in the way a man watches a stranger, but in the way someone looks at a memory that once belonged to them.
Something inside me folds quietly.
He clears his throat, snapping back to the present. "We'll start from the east wing. The panels came in yesterday."
Flora nods brightly. "Lead the way, Xavy."
Xavy.
The name lands like a whisper against my ribs. Personal. Easy. Old.
I write something meaningless on my clipboard just to have somewhere to place my eyes.
As we walk through the maze of beams and half-built walls, I stay a few steps behind, recording notes, pretending I'm not watching the way they move together. She talks, he answers, their conversation layered with the kind of rhythm you don't build overnight. It's the rhythm of two people who once spoke in unfinished sentences and understood each other anyway.
I catch fragments—about architecture, about Vienna, about the "heart" of a structure. Words that should inspire me feel suddenly heavy.
When she laughs, she touches his arm lightly, and I can almost feel the warmth of that gesture from where I stand.
He doesn't pull away.
I pretend to study the beam specifications, though the numbers blur into one another. The clipboard feels heavier in my hands.
We stop near a section where the glass framework catches the sun. Xavier steps closer to inspect a joint, his shirt tightening across his shoulders as he crouches down. Flora bends beside him, pointing to a detail. When her hand grazes his, a strange pulse beats behind my sternum.
He doesn't flinch, but I do.
The air is too still. Too full.
I turn, moving toward a group of workers adjusting the rebar alignment. Anything to put distance between that moment and the sudden ache it leaves behind.
"Make sure the foundation bolts stay aligned with the centerline," I tell them, my voice steady though my hands aren't.
When I glance back, Flora's laughter rises again—low, soft, threaded with history.
The rest of the inspection drags on like a slow-burning fuse. I answer Flora's questions when they're directed at me, manage a smile when she compliments my organization, and keep reminding myself that professionalism is a shield I can't afford to drop.
By noon, the sun is cruel. Heat ripples off the steel, and sweat beads at the base of my neck. Xavier calls for a short break. He hands Flora a bottle of water before offering me one.
"Thank you," I say, taking it. Our fingers brush for half a second, but that's all it takes to make my pulse trip.
Flora doesn't seem to notice. She's already talking about how the structure reminds her of a project she worked on in Prague. Xavier listens, his expression patient, faintly amused.
"Khloe," Flora calls out suddenly, "you've done a wonderful job keeping everything in order. It's rare to see this kind of precision."
I manage a polite nod. "I try to keep things running smoothly."
She tilts her head, smiling. "Well, it shows. No wonder Xavy keeps you close."
There it is again—Xavy.
My throat tightens. I force another smile, because what else can I do?
Xavier shifts beside her, a barely noticeable movement, but enough to make her laughter fade just slightly. "Let's review the contractor's list before we wrap up," he says, tone returning to business.
We move toward the temporary awning for shade. He stands close—too close—and the faint scent of his cologne curls around me, familiar and steady. He leans forward, eyes scanning my notes. His sleeve brushes my arm as he points to a miswritten figure.
"That needs to be updated," he murmurs.
"Right," I whisper back, my voice thinner than I want it to be.
I correct the number, though my focus isn't on the paper anymore. It's on the heat crawling across my skin where our arms touched.
He notices it too. I can tell by the way his hand pauses mid-gesture, the air thick between us.
A second later, he steps back, clearing his throat. "Good. Let's finish up."
The professionalism returns like a wall snapping into place.
Flora rejoins us soon after, her sunglasses perched on her head, her hair catching the sunlight in warm streaks. She's radiant in that easy, careless way people who've never been rejected by time can be.
I envy that. I envy her ease.
When the inspection ends, Xavier's driver pulls up. I decline the ride politely, saying I'll stay to finalize reports and make sure the afternoon crew logs in.
"Don't stay too late," he says as he opens the car door.
"I won't, sir."
Flora leans toward me through the window, smiling like we're old friends. "See you soon, Khloe. It was such a pleasure."
I nod. "You too."
The car door closes. Tires crunch against gravel. And just like that, they're gone.
The sound of engines fades, leaving only the whir of distant machinery and the slow buzz of summer air. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
The site looks different now—emptier somehow, though the same beams stand, the same sunlight glows against steel. I gather the folders and make my way toward the office trailer to drop them off. My heels scuff against the gravel, the sound echoing louder than it should.
That's when I hear it.
A voice carried faintly from somewhere near the parked car Xavier left behind—Flora's voice, light and unguarded, the kind that fills silences without effort.
I can't see her, but her words drift through the open air.
"…yes, I saw him. He's still the same. Maybe even better. I'll see if he still feels the same, too."
My body stills.
The rest of her words dissolve into the hum of the wind, muffled as the car door shuts and the engine starts.
See if he still feels the same.
The phrase loops in my mind, every repetition sharper than the last.
Same as what?
Same as before her trip abroad?
Same as before me?
A faint chill crawls across my skin despite the heat.
I stand there, watching the car disappear past the gates, until the dust settles and the air feels thick again. The site stretches before me—unfinished, waiting, suspended between what it is and what it could be.
It feels too familiar.
I walk back toward the foundation pit, the hum of machinery in the distance, my clipboard tucked against my chest like armor. The workers nod as they pass, but I barely register their greetings. My mind keeps returning to the way Xavier's eyes softened when Flora spoke, to the small, unspoken history between them.
I shouldn't care. I remind myself of that with every step.
He's my boss.
She's his past.
And I am simply the assistant who takes notes, organizes schedules, and keeps things running.
But care doesn't listen to reason.
By the time I finish logging the reports, the sun is already lowering, painting everything in tones of orange and gold. The city hums softly in the distance, like it's holding secrets of its own.
I step outside again, letting the warm air wash over me. My car waits by the fence, dust coating the hood. I slide inside, rest my clipboard on the passenger seat, and just sit there for a moment, unmoving.
The silence feels too full.
Through the windshield, I can still see the building skeleton rising against the skyline—solid, certain, unshaken. The kind of structure I've always admired. The kind of structure I've tried to be.
But today, even that feels uncertain.
I grip my bag, grounding myself in the familiar texture of it. My pulse slowly evens out, though the ache in my chest lingers like a bruise that hasn't quite shown its color yet.
Jayden starts the car, the engine purring quietly. The city ahead glows in fading sunlight, every glass surface catching bits of fire.
Maybe tomorrow, things will feel normal again. Maybe I'll forget the way his name sounded from her lips, the way his gaze lingered too long before he looked away.
Maybe.
But as we drove down the road, the thought clings to me like heat—stubborn, invisible, impossible to shake.
Whatever Flora came back for, she's already found her footing.
And whatever this thing is between Xavier and me—if it even exists—suddenly feels as fragile as wet cement beneath unsteady ground.
When the traffic slows near the main road, I catch my reflection faintly in the rearview mirror—steady eyes, composed face, lips pressed into a line that looks nothing like calm.
I tell myself I'm fine. That this is just another workday.
But deep down, beneath all the careful control, a quiet voice whispers the truth I don't want to name:
I'm not fine.
Because I care. Too much.
And whatever Flora is here to test, I'm terrified I already know the answer.