The following days in Velmore Holdings were abnormally calm after the public spat between Kyline and Caliste.
Gossips had died down, but whispers still lingered in corners of the building. People spoke about the incident with a strange kind of awe — how calmly Caliste Winslow, the company's poised and composed creative director, handled humiliation in front of everyone. Some admired her. Others pitied her.
Caliste, however, remained unfazed. Her focus was entirely on the campaign she was designing — a high-profile project meant to rebrand one of Velmore's luxury subsidiaries. The only thing she allowed to consume her thoughts was her work.
Or so she tried.
Because sometimes, in quiet moments, her mind would drift — to the past, to Lucian, to the son she could never acknowledge aloud. And recently, to a man who appeared so unexpectedly it almost felt like fate testing her resolve.
Caelum Vellaria.
---
It began innocently.
Their second meeting happened in the executive lobby a week later. Caliste was reviewing design drafts when a voice, smooth and distinct, called out from behind her.
"Miss Winslow."
She turned, startled slightly — and there he was again, tall and effortlessly refined, his navy suit tailored to perfection. His dark hair was slightly tousled, giving him that balance between aristocratic charm and disarming ease.
"Mr. Vellaria," Caliste greeted politely. "You're visiting again?"
A faint grin tugged at his lips. "Seems I can't resist the appeal of this building. Or maybe," his eyes briefly softened, "someone in it."
Caliste blinked, unsure if she heard correctly. "You must be here for Mr. Velmore," she said quickly, ignoring the flicker of warmth that crept up her neck.
"Perhaps," Caelum said with a half-shrug, "though I wouldn't mind if I was here for you instead."
She laughed lightly, though her tone remained professional. "That would be quite the scandal, Mr. Vellaria. I'm sure your cousin would have something to say about that."
"Lucian doesn't own every thought that crosses my mind." His voice was teasing but layered with sincerity. "And you don't seem the type who needs anyone's permission to be admired."
Caliste's fingers tightened subtly around the tablet she was holding. "Flattery isn't necessary, Mr. Vellaria. But I appreciate the courtesy."
He smiled wider, clearly amused. "Then consider it honesty, not flattery."
Their conversation was cut short by her assistant calling her from down the hall. Caliste nodded briefly at Caelum and excused herself. As she walked away, she could feel his gaze — not predatory, not demanding — simply curious. Observant.
The kind that made her heart skip for reasons she didn't want to name.
---
In the days that followed, Caelum's presence became more frequent.
He wasn't part of the company's board, but as a member of the Vellaria family, his influence was undeniable. He often came under the pretense of meeting Lucian or reviewing the corporation's latest ventures. Yet somehow, he always found time to pass by the creative department.
"Do you always visit the design floor?" Caliste asked one afternoon when she caught him standing beside her workstation, looking over the concept boards.
"Only when the director in charge makes the view worth my while," he replied without hesitation.
Caliste rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. "You're dangerously charming, Mr. Vellaria. I'm starting to think it's a family trait."
"Lucian?" Caelum chuckled. "He's all ice and logic. I'm more the fire-and-instinct kind."
She tilted her head slightly. "Fire burns, Mr. Vellaria."
He met her gaze, his expression growing more intent. "Only if you stand too close. Otherwise, it keeps you warm."
The air between them tightened, charged in a way Caliste hadn't felt in years. She quickly broke eye contact, pointing back to the designs on the board. "If you're done analyzing the décor, I need to send these drafts to Mr. Velmore for approval."
"Right," Caelum said, smirking softly. "But if I may say so, your work has… soul. It's not just art; it feels like a story waiting to be told."
Her chest warmed at his words — genuine, not rehearsed. "Thank you. I suppose stories are my way of speaking when words aren't enough."
Caelum nodded slowly. "Then maybe one day, you'll let me read one of yours."
She didn't answer. But when he left the room, Caliste caught herself smiling — something she hadn't done in a long time.
---
Weeks passed, and Caelum's pursuit became a dance of timing and tenderness.
He sent small gestures — not flowers or gifts, but thoughtful tokens. A rare art book from Paris delivered to her desk with a note: "For inspiration — or distraction, whichever you need more."
A cup of her favorite coffee waiting by her office before an early meeting.
An umbrella quietly handed to her when she forgot hers during a sudden downpour.
He never overstepped. Never forced attention. It was as if he was content just to be near her, to earn her trust inch by inch.
For Caliste, this kindness was both comforting and frightening. She had built walls so tall, no one had breached them in years — not even Lucian's cold, unreadable gaze could climb them now.
But Caelum? He didn't try to break the walls. He simply stood outside, waiting.
And somehow, that patience was more dangerous.
---
One evening, after a long day, Caliste stayed late in her office. Most of the staff had gone home, the corridors quiet except for the hum of the city lights outside. She was lost in sketches when a knock on the glass door startled her.
Caelum stood there, holding two paper cups.
"Coffee or tea?" he asked when she opened the door. "I wasn't sure which one you'd need at this hour."
She blinked in surprise. "You're still here?"
"I was in a meeting with the board," he said, stepping inside. "Saw your light on. Thought I'd check if our brilliant director planned to sleep in her chair tonight."
Caliste smiled faintly. "Tempting offer, but no. Just finishing this presentation."
He handed her the tea, then leaned casually against her desk. "You work harder than anyone I've met."
"That's because I have to," she said softly.
"Or because you're running from something," he countered gently.
Her hand froze on the mouse. "Excuse me?"
Caelum's eyes softened. "Don't take it the wrong way. It's just… people who bury themselves in work usually have ghosts whispering behind them."
Caliste looked away, forcing a smile. "Then maybe I just prefer the noise of deadlines over silence."
He nodded slowly, respecting her deflection. "Fair enough. But if you ever need company during that silence, you know where to find me."
Their eyes met again — a long, unspoken moment charged with something neither dared name.
---
In the following days, Caelum's affection became impossible to ignore.
When they attended corporate galas, his eyes always sought her in the crowd. If they shared a table, he pulled out her chair with a teasing smile. If she stumbled over her words during a presentation, he'd offer quiet reassurance with a glance that said, You've got this.
And every time, Caliste felt that fragile wall inside her crack just a little more.
But she was careful — too careful. She knew better than anyone what happened when emotions crossed professional lines. She knew what it meant to love someone powerful, someone whose name carried weight.
And more than that — she carried a truth Caelum didn't know.
A truth that would destroy everything if revealed.
---
One afternoon, Lucian unexpectedly entered the design studio during a project briefing. Caliste was mid-discussion when his tall frame appeared by the glass door. The room fell silent.
Lucian's gaze briefly scanned the employees before landing on her. "Miss Winslow, a word."
She followed him to the conference room, aware of the quiet tension between them.
When the door closed, Lucian's tone was clipped. "I heard my cousin has been spending time here quite often."
Caliste met his eyes evenly. "Caelum's visits are professional, Mr. Velmore. He's a shareholder."
Lucian's jaw flexed. "He's also known for being… impulsive."
"Are you warning me or him?" she asked softly.
Lucian paused, his voice lowering. "I'm reminding you that rumors can be dangerous."
Caliste's heart tightened, but she stood her ground. "Then let them talk. I'm done living by whispers."
Lucian stared at her — long enough for old memories to flicker between them, unspoken and sharp.
Then, without another word, he left.
When Caliste stepped back into the studio, she found Caelum waiting by the corridor, a faint smile on his lips.
"He warned you, didn't he?"
She sighed. "He doesn't trust easily."
"I know," Caelum said softly, stepping closer. "But I'm not him."
Caliste hesitated, her pulse quickening. "You shouldn't—"
"I should," he interrupted gently. "Because every time I see you, I forget the lines I'm supposed to respect."
Her lips parted slightly, her breath catching.
He smiled faintly. "Don't worry, Miss Winslow. I'll keep my distance... for now. But I won't pretend I don't feel it."
"Feel what?" she whispered.
"That there's something about you that makes even silence worth listening to."
---
That night, long after he left, Caliste found herself unable to sleep.
Caelum's words replayed in her mind — the quiet sincerity, the way his gaze made her feel seen instead of judged. It frightened her how easily he slipped past her defenses without even trying.
And yet, deep down, a small, reckless part of her wondered…
What if, this time, the fire didn't burn — but healed instead?