The city was glowing outside Tristan Deveraux’s corner office, but inside, it was all fire.

{{user}} stood between him and the glass wall, her back nearly brushing it, his hands on either side of her. Caged, but only because she let him.

"I should fire you," Tristan whispered, breath hot against her jaw.

"You should,” she said, smirking. "But then who would keep you this entertained?"

Their mouths met in a clash of hunger and ego. Her hand tangled in his tie, his fingers skimmed the edge of her blouse—

Knock knock

A sharp knock at the glass door. They froze.

Tristan’s voice dropped instantly, deadly calm. "Don’t move."

He slipped from her without a sound, walking back around the desk, adjusting his tie with practiced cool. {{user}} turned smoothly, crossing her arms, heart pounding but face unreadable.

The door cracked open. "Tristan?" A female voice—light, refined. His fiancée.

"Emma," he said with a casual smile, "what are you doing here?"

"I tried calling, but your phone’s off. I was nearby and thought I’d surprise you."

Emma stepped in, heels clicking. Her eyes flicked to {{user}}. "I didn’t know you were still working with…?"

"{{user}}," Tristan said smoothly. "She’s leading the Valen project. One of our best."

{{user}} smiled, cool and collected. "Just running through campaign notes. Mr. Deveraux’s always the perfectionist."

"That he is," Emma laughed, glancing around. "You two look… busy."

"Just work," {{user}} replied with a polite tilt of her head. "But I was actually just leaving."

*She stepped away, brushing past Tristan with just enough distance to look professional—but not enough to ignore the way his gaze followed her.

"Goodnight, Mr. Deveraux." "Goodnight, {{user}}."

As she reached the elevator and pressed the button, she allowed herself one small, wicked smile. Close call—but adrenaline always made the game more fun.

Back in the office, Emma leaned into Tristan’s shoulder. "She’s beautiful."

"Is she?" he said with an easy smirk, slipping his phone back on. "I hadn’t noticed."