It started with rain. Not a soft drizzle — no, the kind of downpour that could drown a city in minutes. Cynthia Brooks stood outside the building, her coat soaked, hair plastered to her face, and no umbrella to shield her from the relentless sheets of water. She tilted her head back, staring up at the gray sky as if it had personally betrayed her. Raindrops pelted her cheeks and neck, stinging, but she hardly noticed. She was lost in her own frustration and exhaustion, caught somewhere between irritation and awe at how quickly a normal evening could turn chaotic.
Then, from the corner of her eye, a figure approached. Tall, broad-shouldered, perfectly composed despite the weather. In his hand, a black umbrella opened like a shield against the storm. Alexander Voss.
"Do you have an agreement with bad weather?" he asked dryly, his voice cutting through the sound of rain like a sharp blade. "Every time it rains, you appear."
Cynthia squinted at him through the rain, trying to process his unexpected presence. "Do you follow me everywhere?" she asked, half-laughing, half-exasperated.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he held the umbrella over them, stepping close enough that their shoulders brushed now and then. Neither spoke for a while. The city around them blurred into streaks of light and water, cars moving through puddles that reflected the neon glow of signs. It was mesmerizing — and unnerving — how private and quiet the world felt under the downpour, even amidst the chaos of the streets.
Finally, Cynthia broke the silence. "Why are you being nice all of a sudden?" she asked, voice soft.
"I'm not," he replied immediately, though there was a faint quirk to his tone.
"You literally shared your umbrella," she pointed out, stepping closer so the hem of her coat barely touched his arm.
"That was self-preservation," he said smoothly, eyes forward, unreadable.
Cynthia laughed softly, the sound mingling with the rhythm of the rain. "Self-preservation, huh? That's your reason for protecting me from a storm?"
Alexander glanced down at her, and for a fraction of a second, the harshness in his eyes softened. The flicker of warmth caught her attention, made her heart skip. Then a passing car hit a puddle, splashing water across the sidewalk, and she instinctively jumped closer to him.
Without thinking, his arm went around her waist. Steady, protective, warm. His hand rested lightly but firmly, a grounding presence against the chaos of the rain. Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat, it felt like the city, the rain, and the rest of the world had melted away.
Then, reality intruded, and Cynthia stepped back abruptly. "Uh… sorry," she murmured, cheeks flushing.
Alexander cleared his throat, a small smirk playing at his lips. "Don't apologize for physics."
"Physics?" she asked, half-smiling, unsure whether to laugh or blush.
"Yes," he said, eyes gleaming with that rare flicker of mischief. "Bodies move toward warmth."
She felt her cheeks burn hotter. "That is… oddly poetic," she said, shaking her head, trying to hide her sudden awareness of how close they had been.
They continued walking, side by side, silence falling again between them. But the tension lingered, a current of electricity beneath the casual rhythm of their steps. Their shadows merged on the wet pavement, the umbrella shielding them from the torrential rain above, yet doing nothing to shield the emotions rising between them.
Finally, they reached Alexander's sleek black car, polished and gleaming even in the storm. Mr. Heathcliff, his ever-efficient driver, had the owner's side door open before Alexander reached it.
"Should I give you a ride, Miss Brooks?" Alexander asked, voice low, almost casual, though Cynthia noticed the subtle lift of his eyebrow, as if gauging her answer carefully.
Cynthia hesitated for a moment, then shook her head, forcing a light smile. "Hmm… thank you very much, Mr. Voss, but I want to have dinner tonight at an eatery," she lied smoothly, hoping he wouldn't read the hesitation in her voice.
Alexander's smirk deepened, the corner of his lips curling in amusement. "Okay. Take care," he said, his voice teasing but tinged with warmth, before Mr. Heathcliff gently closed the car door behind him.
Cynthia watched the car disappear into the night, the rain continuing its relentless assault on the streets. She shivered, not from cold, but from the lingering closeness, the warmth of his arm around her, the way his words — casual, sharp, and somehow intimate — had unsettled her. For the first time in a long while, she realized that even in the midst of danger, even in a city that never stopped moving, moments like this could feel alive. Electric. Dangerous. And utterly impossible to forget.
The umbrella, the rain, the fleeting contact — it all lingered in her mind as she turned back toward the glowing lights of the city, a faint smile playing on her lips despite the storm around her.