I woke to light.
Soft, golden, warm against my skin. The kind of morning light that makes you forget the world still has rules.
For a moment, I just lay there, listening to the stillness. The faint hum of the city outside, the occasional car far below — everything felt slower, calmer. But there was something else too. Something beneath it all.
A vibration. A pulse that wasn't sound but felt like it.
I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes, and for a split second the world looked sharper than usual — colors a little richer, edges a little too defined. The steam rising from my coffee mug caught the sunlight like tiny threads of gold. I blinked, and it was gone.
Just tired, I told myself. Weekend hangover, nerves, lack of sleep.
But the excuse didn't fit the way my body felt — light, yet restless, as though I'd had too much caffeine and too little air.
James.
His name came before I could stop it.
The memory of his voice, his hands, the warmth of his chest against mine — it all felt too near, too alive.
We hadn't seen each other since yesterday morning, but the absence didn't feel normal. It felt like gravity had shifted slightly off-center.
I made coffee, trying to focus on ordinary things. The smell filled the kitchen — rich, grounding — but even that felt… different. Stronger.
I could smell the cinnamon in the bag beside it, faint and distinct.
I could hear the neighbor's radio two floors down, muffled but there.
Maybe I was just… hyperaware. The kind of sensitivity that comes from thinking too much, feeling too much.
At one point, I looked out the window — and for a fleeting second, I swore I saw movement by the trees across the street. A shadow, tall and still. Watching.
But when I blinked, it was gone.
I laughed quietly at myself, shaking my head.
"You're losing it, Elena," I whispered.
By the time I dressed and headed for work, I'd convinced myself everything was fine.
Just nerves. Just hormones. Just the mind playing tricks.
Still, when I stepped into the building, the energy in the air felt… charged.
People moved the same way, talked the same way — but I could feel more. The tension in a conversation three desks away. The fake laughter from someone on a call. The pulse of the elevator before the doors opened.
Everything had a rhythm, and for some reason, I could hear it.
And then I saw him.
James was standing by the glass wall of his office, talking to Lucian. Nothing unusual — both serious, both collected — but when his eyes lifted and met mine across the floor, the world narrowed.
Just one look.
That's all it took.
The sound around me dimmed, like someone had drawn the air out of the room.
His eyes — that impossible shade of storm-grey — locked on mine for half a heartbeat, and I felt… warmth. Not just emotional, but physical, spreading through my chest, my throat, my fingertips.
He smiled faintly, the kind of smile meant for no one else. And then he looked away, back to Lucian.
I exhaled, unaware that I'd been holding my breath.
What was happening to me?
The rest of the day blurred by. Meetings, calls, signatures — all automatic, as though I were moving through water.
But beneath everything, that hum never stopped. Quiet. Persistent.
Like the world had started breathing with me.
By the time I left the office, twilight had fallen. The air smelled like rain, sharp and clean. I paused by the doors, glancing up at the sky — a pale sliver of moon hiding behind clouds.
For a moment, I felt something… almost like recognition.
As if the moon had been waiting for me to look up.
I shook my head, smiling faintly at my own foolishness, and started walking.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't entirely alone.
Not in a threatening way.
In a connected way.
As though somewhere, someone — or something — was breathing in sync with me.
And for reasons I couldn't explain, the thought didn't scare me.
It made me feel safe.
…
My head was buzzing again. Not painfully, not even unpleasantly — just alive. Every sound sharper, every smell richer. The perfume of rain on concrete, the faint hum of traffic, the heartbeat of the city all blending together like some secret rhythm I shouldn't be able to hear.
I wrapped my coat tighter and started walking toward the subway. My phone buzzed in my bag.
When I saw his name on the screen, my pulse jumped.
James.
For a second, I hesitated. It was ridiculous — we'd spent the weekend together, we'd shared something too real to ignore — and yet, that tiny nervousness still fluttered inside me whenever I saw his name.
I swiped to answer. "Hey," I said, trying to sound calm, but my voice came out soft, almost breathless.
"Hey." His tone was warm, deep — but there was a hesitance there too. The kind that made my stomach flip.
"Is everything okay?" I asked.
He chuckled quietly, the sound low and disarming. "Yes. Everything's fine. I just…" He paused, as if searching for words. "I was wondering if you're free tonight."
I slowed my pace, weaving through the early evening crowd. "Tonight?"
"Yes," he said quickly, almost sheepish. "I know it's late notice, and you've probably just left work, but… I thought maybe I could come by. Bring dinner."
The words caught me completely off guard.
He was inviting himself. James Ashford — CEO, confident, composed, always in control — was stumbling through a half-apology just to ask if he could see me.
"Bring dinner?" I repeated, unable to stop the small smile tugging at my lips.
"Yes," he said again, quieter this time. "If that's all right. I don't want to intrude. I just—" he hesitated, and when he spoke again, his voice dropped to something softer, almost vulnerable— "I just didn't want the day to end without seeing you."
My heart actually skipped a beat.
I stopped walking, standing beneath the faint glow of a streetlamp, phone pressed to my ear.
I tried to say something — anything — but all that came out was a quiet laugh. "You're not intruding, James."
"So… that's a yes?"
"Yes," I said, the word coming out in a rush. "That's a yes."
He exhaled a sound that was almost relief. "Good. I'll pick something up on the way. What do you feel like eating?"
"Surprise me," I said, smiling now, my voice lighter.
His tone warmed instantly. "Careful with that kind of trust, Miss Dorne."
I laughed, shaking my head. "I trust you, Mr. Ashford."
There was a pause — just long enough for me to hear the shift in his breathing.
It was strange, but I could almost feel him smile through the phone.
"Then I'll see you soon," he said quietly.
When the call ended, I stood there for a moment, the city blurring around me. The hum inside me — that subtle, electric vibration I'd been feeling all day — suddenly made sense.
It wasn't nerves.
It wasn't exhaustion.
It was him.
The thought hit me so hard I almost laughed.
I was already feeling him before he called.
As I walked the rest of the way home, I realized my hands were trembling — not from fear, but from the impossible anticipation that came with knowing that, soon, he'd be standing at my door again.
And for reasons I couldn't explain, the closer I got to home, the stronger that pull became — that magnetic warmth under my skin that whispered, he's coming.
When I reached my building, the air outside felt different. Charged.
Like the moment before rain.
Like the universe was holding its breath.
I smiled to myself as I unlocked the door and glanced around my quiet apartment — the same space that had felt too empty last night.
Not tonight.
Tonight, it would hold something more