Emma's Pov
Between Moonlight and Motives
I stood on the balcony, the night draped in silver quiet. Above me, the stars burned—majestic and unbothered, too proud to dim for anyone. Their light felt almost human tonight, stubborn and alive, shimmering like they understood the weight of remembering.
The city below murmured its endless hum, but all I could hear was the echo of today. Each moment replayed in my mind with unnerving clarity—the way the light had caught his profile, the rhythm of his breathing, the ease with which he held the world between his hands and the steering wheel. It shouldn't have stayed with me, yet it did, threading through my thoughts like a song that refused to fade.
His scent still lingered. A trace of warmth in the cold—woody, masculine, with that faint undercurrent of chocolate that felt almost too gentle for him. It was the kind of scent that wrapped itself around the air and stayed long after he was gone. I told myself I only noticed because it was strong, distinct—but that was a lie I wasn't sure I believed anymore.
The memory of his glances flickered next—quiet, cautious things. He'd look away almost as soon as our eyes met, but in those half-seconds, something unspoken lingered. I wasn't supposed to notice. I wasn't supposed to care. And yet, here I was, standing in the cold, trying to breathe past the ghost of something that wasn't supposed to follow me home.
The wind brushed past, tugging at my sleeves, carrying the city's sharp chill with it. I inhaled deeply, expecting only the scent of rain and asphalt—but there it was again, faint, elusive. Him.
New York's skyline glittered ahead, vast and faceless, but for the first time, it didn't feel lonely. Something inside me shifted—small, soft, almost imperceptible.
Maybe it was the night air.
Or maybe it was the feeling of something beginning to crack.
"You definitely know," my inner voice whispered, velvet and cruel all at once. "It's your heart that has begun to uncover."
The words crawled beneath my skin."No… that's impossible," I mumbled, though even to my own ears, it didn't sound convincing. My breath trembled against the night air, vanishing before I could hold onto it.
"Don't you see?" it pressed on, gentle but unrelenting. "You search for him in the crowd. You glance up every time the bell in the café jingles, just to catch sight of those emerald eyes. He's become a secret you can't hide anymore. He's become one of your emotions. You are falling."
"Stop it," I snapped, gripping the cold railing so tightly it bit into my palms. "No… I can't—no."The metal beneath my fingers felt like ice, grounding me, punishing me. My pulse thudded against it, wild and desperate.
"You are in love."
"No." The word came out broken—half a plea, half a lie. I shook my head again and again, as if movement alone could silence the voice clawing through my thoughts. The city's chill wrapped around me, but it wasn't enough to numb what was stirring inside.
"He has settled in your questions," the voice murmured, softer now, almost mournful. "In your answers. In your truths and your doubts. He has settled in your heart."
The night went still. Even the stars seemed to hold their breath.I pressed a hand against my chest, as if I could keep everything inside from spilling out. My heart felt foreign—too heavy, too alive, like it didn't belong to me anymore.
And for a moment, just one trembling heartbeat,I couldn't tell if what I felt was fear—or the beginning of something that terrified me even more.
I have to deny it—but I can't.
His eyes… they hold a majesty that the night itself envies. There's a quiet storm in them, a depth that pulls and unravels me all at once. I tell myself not to look, yet every glance feels like falling, every meeting of our eyes a silence I can't escape. His voice—low, deliberate, laced with warmth—has become a melody that clings to my thoughts long after the world grows still. His presence feels like sunlight breaking through frost, a warmth I never asked for but cannot let go of.
And his words… his conversations. They linger like poetry written on air, soft and bittersweet. Whenever I remember them, it feels as though I'm standing in a field of irises—violet and trembling beneath the wind—where every petal carries his name, and the world smells faintly of something I can't forget.
But then I catch myself—breathing too deeply, thinking too much. My chest tightens as if I've said something I shouldn't have, even inside my own mind. I shake my head, sharp, defiant, like I can undo the softness blooming in me. No, this isn't love. It can't be. I can't be the kind of woman who lets her heart stumble this easily.
And yet, the thought of him lingers—mocking my denial, slipping through every crack I try to seal. It's in the way my fingers tremble when I think of his name. It's in the silence after I whisper no and realize I don't believe it.
The stars above remain unbothered, gleaming in their perfect distance.
If only I could be like them—bright, unreachable, untouched.
I think I might—
Suddenly, the sharp ring of my phone cut through the night, pulling me back from something forbidden. The screen glowed with a name I couldn't ignore. I sighed. This is what I signed up for—not love, not warmth—but duty. The kind of duty that binds your heart in iron and calls it loyalty.
I picked up the call, pressing the phone to my ear."Yes. Emma speaking," I said, voice crisp, emotion locked away.
The voice on the other end was rough, official—issuing orders wrapped in static and authority. There were no greetings, no pleasantries. Just commands.
"Yes, sir. I understand," I replied, pacing toward the edge of the balcony. "It's taking a bit longer than expected, but I'll be handling the operation myself."
A pause. The hum of the city below."You won't be disappointed," I continued, my tone cool as glass. "Yes, sir. I'll keep you updated."
The line clicked dead. Silence. But it wasn't peaceful—just heavy. I exhaled, rolling my shoulders as exhaustion and purpose tangled somewhere deep inside me.
My gaze fell on the stack of papers scattered across my table—the mission brief, coded reports, and one photo that stared back at me.
I picked up the picture between my fingers, studying the smirk frozen on his face.
"Jamie Anderson," I mumble, folding the name around my tongue like a verdict, "your time is up. You have been fooling my partners for a long time—" I pause, and my voice drops, cold and personal. "I will personally hunt you down."I cracked my knuckles, stretching the tension out of my hands as a slow grin tugged at my lips.
"Guess it's time to lock the fuck in."