Lyra's POV
I should've known better than to let Dr. Vargas organize anything. The man had a PhD, three failed marriages, and a suspicious collection of vintage hand puppets in his office. And yet somehow, he'd been put in charge of today's emotional response test.
"It's simple," he said, sipping his fifth coffee like he was mainlining survival juice. "We stimulate emotional triggers and monitor his reactions."
"What kind of triggers?" I asked cautiously.
He smiled the smile of a man who'd clearly been waiting years to use his psychology degree for chaos.
"Music, scent, a few emotionally evocative videos… and, of course, a face-to-face encounter with a handler the subject might have... attachments to."
I stared at him. "You mean me?"
"Who else has been flirting with him over pudding cups and blood gel packs?"
"I don't flirt."
"You licked soup off his wrist last week."
"That was scientific curiosity."
He raised an eyebrow. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"
I groaned, but by then it was too late. The test was scheduled. The room was prepped. And I was about to walk into an emotional minefield wearing lip balm and regret.
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Vincent's POV
The room smelled like... citrus and guilt.
"Welcome to your next test," said the small man with the coffee twitch. "Today, we're observing your emotional responses. We'll start with music."
He pressed a button.
The speakers crackled to life with My Heart Will Go On.
I blinked. "Are you trying to make me cry or commit crimes?"
He scribbled a note. "Resistance to nostalgia… noted."
Then he dimmed the lights and played a montage of puppies being reunited with soldiers. I clenched my jaw. It got to me. A little. Especially the golden retriever in slow motion.
"Now," he said brightly, "for the final variable: Dr. Lyra Devlin."
The door opened.
And in she walked, wearing a fitted lab coat, tight ponytail, and an expression that screamed I hate this more than you do.
Well.
That made two of us.
Except… I didn't hate it.
Not when she stood in front of me with that little nervous twitch in her fingers. Not when the scent of her skin—warm vanilla and irritation—wrapped around my senses. Not when her eyes met mine and the world got oddly quiet.
"This is unethical," she muttered, standing stiffly. "You're a test subject."
"And you're a terrible liar," I said, letting my smile curl slow and sharp. "What emotion are we testing for? Lust? Guilt? Longing?"
"Shut up."
"Is that a new lipstick?"
"Shut. Up."
The little twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her. She was trying not to laugh. Or maybe trying not to run.
I leaned back, deliberately slow. "You know, I used to think you were just some rigid academic with a stick up your coat."
"And now?"
"Now I think you're still rigid, but it's starting to look a lot more fun."
She flushed.
The doctor behind the glass scribbled furiously.
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Lyra's POV
This. Was. A. Mistake.
I don't know why I agreed to this. Maybe I was tired. Maybe I was delusional. Maybe I wanted to see what would happen when we stopped pretending this wasn't a thing.
His voice dropped to that low, almost feral purr. "Why are your hands shaking, Dr. Devlin?"
"I'm not shaking."
"You are. Your pulse too. I can smell it."
"Gross."
"Addictive."
I was going to strangle him. Or kiss him. Or both.
But then he leaned forward and said, "What are we really testing here, sweetheart? You, or me?"
My stomach did an unprofessional backflip.
Behind the mirror, someone sneezed. We both paused.
"Is that Vargas?" Vincent called. "You still alive in there?"
Muffled laughter. I was going to kill him too.
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Vincent's POV
She left the room with her spine straight and pride intact. Barely. But the way she looked back at me before the door closed? That wasn't science. That was personal.
And I wanted more of it.
---
Later that night…
Lyra's POV
I found a new clause in Vincent's contract. Page 42, subsection D.
There was no "no dating test subjects" rule.
I didn't know if it was missing... or removed.
But I did know one thing.
I was in trouble.
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