By the time Lina Hart stepped out of Foxworth Corporation, night had fully claimed the city.
The sky was deep indigo, streetlights glowing like scattered embers below. The building behind her still shone—glass and steel reflecting power, wealth, and secrets—but Lina didn't look back. Not this time.
Her body ached in places she didn't know could ache.
She loosened her ponytail as she walked, letting her hair fall around her shoulders, the tension of the day slowly unraveling with each step away from the tower. The city at night felt different from the one she saw through Damien Foxworth's windows. Louder. Messier. Human.
She liked it that way.
The bus stop was three blocks down. Lina walked past closed boutiques, a late-night café buzzing with quiet laughter, and a street vendor packing up for the night. The smell of fried dough and spice lingered in the air.
Her phone buzzed.
Maya: You alive?
Lina smiled faintly and typed back as she walked.
Lina: Barely. Just left work.
Maya: Again?? It's almost 9.
Lina: Don't start.
Maya: Too late. Come home. I made noodles.
Home.
The word softened something in Lina's chest.
---
The apartment was small but warm, tucked above a convenience store and two floors below a family that argued loudly and loved even louder. The paint was chipped, the heater unreliable, and the couch had a permanent dent where Lina liked to curl up with a book.
But it was safe.
When she opened the door, the familiar sounds wrapped around her—music playing softly, the hum of the kettle, the clatter of dishes.
"You look like you fought a war," Maya said, peeking over the counter.
Lina dropped her bag and kicked off her shoes. "I think I did."
Maya studied her with narrowed eyes. "Let me guess. The boss."
Lina groaned and collapsed onto the couch. "He's not human."
Maya blinked. "Wow. First week and you're already losing it."
"I'm serious," Lina muttered into a pillow. "He's impossible. Cold. Arrogant. He looks at you like he knows things he shouldn't."
Maya handed her a bowl of noodles. "Eat. Then you can tell me all about Mr. Tall, Dark, and Traumatizing."
Lina sat up, cradling the bowl gratefully. The warmth seeped into her fingers, grounding her.
As she ate, she talked.
About the endless meetings. The sharp comments. The way Damien Foxworth seemed to notice everything—how she spoke, how she stood, how she didn't back down when challenged.
"And the weirdest part," Lina said quietly, twirling noodles around her fork, "is that sometimes it feels like he's… holding back."
Maya raised an eyebrow. "From what?"
"I don't know." Lina hesitated. "From something dangerous."
Maya laughed. "Congrats. You work for a corporate villain."
Lina smiled weakly.
If only it were that simple.
---
Later, after a hot shower washed the day off her skin, Lina retreated to her room.
Her bedroom was the smallest space in the apartment, but it was hers. Books lined the shelves—fantasy novels, old paperbacks with dog-eared pages, stories of other worlds and hidden magic. A habit from childhood she never quite outgrew.
She curled up on her bed with one of them, intending to read.
She didn't make it past the first page.
Her mind kept drifting back to amber eyes behind glass walls.
To the way the air had shifted earlier that afternoon.
To the brief, impossible glow she knew she hadn't imagined.
Lina sighed and set the book aside.
"Get a grip," she whispered to herself.
She opened her laptop instead, pulling up her budget spreadsheet. Rent. Utilities. Groceries. Savings—small, but growing. This job mattered. Not just for her pride, but for her future.
She couldn't afford distractions.
Not even one with a dangerously sharp tongue and a presence that made her skin prickle.
---
Across the city, Damien Foxworth stood on the balcony of his penthouse, the wind tugging at his coat.
Below him, the city pulsed with life—fragile, fleeting, human.
He closed his eyes.
Her scent still clung to his senses.
Not perfume. Not soap.
Something warm. Something alive.
Human, his instincts reminded him sharply.
And yet—
She had not flinched when challenged.
Had not bowed when tested.
Had not run when the air trembled with power she wasn't meant to feel.
Damien's jaw tightened.
"She's a risk," he murmured to the night.
Fox law was clear. Humans did not belong near the inner circles of the clans. Especially not ones like him. Especially not now.
And yet, when he thought of Lina Hart leaving the building—tired, stubborn, unbroken—something unfamiliar twisted in his chest.
Curiosity.
Dangerous, foolish curiosity.
---
Back in her room, Lina stared at the ceiling.
Sleep refused to come.
She rolled onto her side and glanced at the faint glow of the city through her window. Somewhere out there, Damien Foxworth was probably still working, still watching, still being exactly who he was.
She frowned.
For the first time since starting the job, she wondered—
What happens after work… for him?
The thought lingered longer than it should have.
Eventually, exhaustion won.
Lina drifted into sleep, unaware that ancient instincts had already marked her presence.
And as the city breathed beneath the moon, two worlds—human and something far older—continued to inch closer together.
Whether either of them was ready or not.