Location: Arthur's Private Residence, Dallas Suburbs, Texas, USA
Time: 11:10 pm
Wind Core's valuation alone tripled that of Umbra Operations. She could mobilize five billion dollars with a phone call. She could possibly collapse his supplier chain with a single boardroom decision.
And still, he wanted her. No, he craved her. To possess. To conquer. To brand her as his. Just like any coyote in the bush, he found something overvaluable and, of course, he wanted it for himself.
If she ever stood by his side, Umbra wouldn't just gain preferential access to elite supplies. They'd gain a future. Because behind Wind Core loomed something far greater: A force from the East, one so formidable, even the Pentagon tensed in its shadow.
But the real question was, would a woman like her ever truly be interested in a man like him?
The thought itself bordered on absurdity. She had wealth. The pedigree. The power. She could have anyone she wanted. A political titan. A corporate emperor. Even royalty or a goddamn movie star.
And yet… she'd shown up here. Right in front of him. In that dress. With those eyes. Striking his nerves like a wire pulled taut, and sparking something he hadn't felt in years. Possessiveness.
He'd tried to dig. Tried to trace her records through the usual intelligence channels.
But what he found was next to nothing. No scandals. No social pages. No tabloid gossip.
Just one sterile, official blurb on Wind Core's website listing her as a board member and Chief Financial Officer.
That was it.
The rest of her life?
Encrypted and sterile.
Too clean.Too precise.
Terrifyingly well-protected.
He'd heard of Wind Eye Intelligence, Wind Core's internal intel division. They had a reputation. Not just for reach, but for precision.
And tonight, they'd proven it, by leaving him with absolutely nothing. Not a trace. Not a flaw. Not a goddamn breadcrumb to follow. And that was driving him insane.
Arthur Graves, hunter, warlord, commander, was used to being the man who tore people apart with his bare hands, who made women beg with just a look, who never doubted if he was enough.
But tonight, he felt like a high school boy standing at the edge of a ballroom, watching someone far too radiant glance back just once, and suddenly wondering if he was worthy. That kind of uncertainty? It was fxxxing toxic.
Unless she gave permission, unless she wanted to be known, he had no way of even learning what her childhood smelled like, let alone who had broken her heart, or what kind of silence she slept in.
Insecurity and defeat, old wounds he hadn't felt in years, came crashing in like a wave he didn't see coming.
All from one drink.
Twenty minutes.
A woman.
And now, for the first time in his adult life, he found himself sitting in silence, on the edge of his own damn couch, gripping his phone like a lifeline, because all he wanted… was to prove he was enough.
He sat there. No encryption. No codes. No strategy. Not a mission brief.
Not a calculated move. Just one line. Plain. Civil. Fxxking humans.
Something a man might send into the dark, when all his power meant nothing, except the hope of being seen.
He typed, paused, deleted. Typed again. Then finally, he hit send: "Hey Darlin, this is Graves, are you still awake?"
A few minutes later, his screen lit up with a soft glow."Just wrapped up a video call with our AU team. Still awake too, Commander?"
He'd been leaning back against the couch, eyes drifting toward the ceiling. But the moment her message came through, he looked down in a snap, and for a split second, smiled like just a boy with a secret.
His fingers danced across the screen with practiced ease, but the tone behind his words was almost gentle."Can't sleep. You're all I've been thinking about. Mind if I ask something completely illogical, Ms. Workaholic?"
At that moment, Lyra was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window of her hotel suite. She read the message, then slowly removed her earrings and bracelet, her gaze drifting toward the night skyline outside.
The city lights glittered in the distance, reflected in the glass wall, alongside her own silhouette…and the memory of a certain scent.
That cologne. The heat of his chest against her back, the danger laced in every breath, and the way it lingered, now slowly blooming again somewhere deep in her skin. She knew it was a test, a setup,a game scripted with precision.
But even so…she didn't hate being in his arms. There was something maddeningly safe about it. Dangerous. But addictive.
Her fingers hovered for a second, then typed softly: "Not exactly a workaholic. Just... very fond of my job. My apologies for your insomnia. As compensation, yes, you may ask. :)"
He let out a soft chuckle and shook his head. It wasn't a dismissive smile, but something warmer, almost like a quiet promise." Just... fond of your job?" He repeated her words under his breath, as if tasting her emotion, as if trying to make sense of the pull she had on him.
And at that moment, he felt the sudden urge to shed it all, the uniform, the command, the armor.
Not the commander of Umbra Operations. Not the man whose presence turned heads and cleared rooms. Just a man. Asking a woman who made his pulse quicken. A simple question, typed with an almost foolish hope:"Ms. Jar, do you have a boyfriend?"
She stared at the screen, fingers pausing for a moment. Outside, the city remained brightly lit, a web of gold across the skyline, and it dawned on her that maybe, just maybe, it was the stillness of the night, or the lingering trace of liquid, that made this man, Arthur Graves, the cold-blooded commander on the battlefield, the arrogant force of nature in a ballroom, appear so unexpectedly… unguarded.
She didn't smile. Didn't tease. Didn't sidestep the question. Instead, she typed the truth, quiet, clean, and without decoration:"I've been single for quite a while. And no, I'm not seeing anyone."
At the other end of the city, Arthur stared at her message like it had just sucker-punched him in the chest. Was single? No boyfriend. No husband. Not even a casual date?
What the actual fxxk. It felt like some kind of cosmic joke. A woman like that, flawless to the point of being unreal, left untouched, unseen, somehow forgotten by the world? Were men blind?
He ran a hand down his face, forcing himself to stay calm. He didn't want to come off as some horny bastard, not yet. But the fire rising in his throat burned too hot to suppress.
So he typed anyway:"I honestly don't know how the men around you manage to restrain themselves." "Darlin', are you really telling me no one's ever tried to ask you out?"
She tilted her head slightly, eyes fixed on the screen for a few seconds, then a genuine smile tugged at the corners of her lips. How did they hold back? A few faces flashed across her mind.
One was the best "Marriage Candidate" from the Tang family, cut off by her supply chain five times in three months. Another who was a high rank military officer and shared the same family name as Jenny, who'd spent most of their childhood dodging her after she repeatedly tattled him into disciplinary hell. Honestly, there were too many reasons why she was still single. Even she couldn't be bothered to list them all.
She let out a soft chuckle and tapped her reply:"There were a few. Starting from the airport lounge." "Are all you American men this enthusiastic and direct?"
He scoffed when he saw her message, shaking his head with a crooked grin, equal parts amused and predatory. Sure, most American men were bold and straightforward. But him? He was the kind who didn't play fair, the kind who never stopped at "enough."
The smile faded from his face, leaving only a sharp curve tugging at his lips. That bite of possessiveness stirred again, curling in his chest like smoke.
He stared at the screen for a beat, fingers hovering, then typed, light on the surface but laced with something far hungrier beneath: "Careful, sweetheart.I just might be the boldest, most reckless American man you'll ever meet."
She paused for a second, arching an eyebrow. There it was again. This man, without a doubt, the most shameless one she'd ever met. And somehow… a little amusing.
Her fingers moved with precision, the message typed clean and cool: "I'll keep your warning in mind, Commander.
Suggest we both try getting some sleep. After all, tomorrow morning, I'll be sitting across from you and your team in the Umbra headquarters conference room."
He opened his calendar just to check. Confirmed. He will be attending that meeting tomorrow.
God help him, he only wanted to fast-forward, just to see her standing in his office. "10:30 AM. Umbra HQ, Main conference room. Don't be late, Darlin'."
She stood up from the edge of the bed, slipping off her blazer with practiced ease.
Just before walking into the bathroom, her fingers tapped out a final reply, light, teasing, and effortlessly in control:"10:30 AM. If you can have a caramel latte ready, no cream, no artificial flavouring, I'll be there on time."
He couldn't help it, he laughed. A real laugh. The kind that rose unfiltered from somewhere deep in his chest. This woman... She actually knew how to sweet-talk him.
Using a damn coffee order as a bargaining chip, flirting without flirting, coaxing without ever losing her poise.
He typed fast, fingers dancing with something dangerously close to anticipation. His tone? Hot, half-playful, yet with an unexpected streak of sincerity.
"You drive a hard bargain, sweetheart. But I swear, on the name of Umbra C01, your caramel latte will be at the perfect temperature, ready by 10:30 sharp."
She looked at the message, smiled softly. No reply in text. Instead, she leaned slightly forward, recording a voice note, low, warm, almost like a whisper pressed against his ear in the dark. "Goodnight, Arthur."
He tapped to play it. The message wasn't long, but it sounded like a lover's whisper against the ear, gentle, restrained, yet wrapped in a warmth that curled straight around the heart, slipping quietly into the night.
He didn't type a reply. Didn't say a word. He simply tapped on the message once, a gesture that felt less like a response and more like a touch through the screen, or perhaps a kiss pressed there with reverence.
And then, in a voice barely above a breath, he murmured as if to her dream, or maybe to his own, "Goodnight, Lyra."