Cassian POV - Penthouse
The sunlight was too bright for the hour.
Cassian blinked against it, arm flung over his eyes. His mouth was dry. His head throbbed.
The night before hovered in pieces. Half a bottle of whiskey.
Silence.
Then memory, sharper than he'd wanted. Not imagined this time. Real.
It hadn't started in the garden.
It started in the car.
Her fingers grazed his jawline, unsure but electric. He kissed her like instinct demanded it. She kissed him like she'd been waiting to be found.
The desk. The couch. The bed.
Each surface lived in him now. Not as objects, but as impressions, as echoes.
It started at the desk.
Marble, cold and smooth under her thighs. Her dress had bunched at her waist, a midnight shade that clung to her like shadow. She'd gasped when he lifted her, but she hadn't pulled away. Her legs had curled around his waist, drawn tight. She was trembling. Not from fear, not from hesitation, but from restraint. From the same pressure coiling in him.
Her hands had scrabbled for purchase, knocking over one of his pens, flattening a memo that had once mattered and now didn't exist. He remembered the exact moment he kissed her collarbone. How she tipped her head back to bare her throat, how her breath stuttered when his mouth dragged along her skin.
He hadn't meant to be gentle.
But she was.
The contrast had almost undone him.
And then the couch, worn leather, low-lit in the room's corner, a place he rarely used until her body had filled it with heat.
She had pulled him there by the front of his shirt, palms shaking, lips already kiss-bruised. He hadn't guided her. She'd known what she wanted. Pressed her hips into his, unbuttoned his collar with unsteady fingers. He could still hear the tiny sound she made when he kissed her again. Like surrender wrapped in static.
Her scent had changed there. Warmed. Opened. Stripped down to something raw and wholly hers.
No suppressant. No synthetic veil.
Just her.
Sunlight in fabric. Wild things in bloom. Skin after rain.
It had short-circuited him. He remembered chasing that scent down her throat, across her ribs, down the line of her spine. He remembered the moment her fingers knotted in his hair, pulled hard. And how he hadn't growled, hadn't commanded.
He'd begged.
Not with words. With breath. With his body. With the way he steadied her hips and gave her everything she asked for.
And then the bed.
She'd stumbled backward onto it, laughing, breathless, shaking, startled by how fast everything had shifted. He'd followed like gravity, hands planted on either side of her, eyes locked on her face. He didn't want to forget it.
The way her lips parted. The way her pupils blew wide.
The way she looked at him like she couldn't decide if she was terrified or starving.
When she pulled him down, he gave in completely.
Her thighs opened. Her arms wound around his neck. Her nails dragged across his back. And his mouth found every place she softened.
She was sweet. Sharp.
Shattering.
No rhythm had ever felt so natural. No response had ever been so certain. Every movement she made invited his. No hesitation, no resistance.
And when she broke..
God, when she broke beneath him, shaking, clinging, whispering sounds that weren't language anymore.
It took everything in him not to bond. But he did mark her. Not a bite. Not a formal claim.
But a nip, just beneath her collarbone. A soft bruising at the hollow of her neck.
He hadn't thought it through. It wasn't a strategy.
It was a need.
And when her body arched into it, welcomed it. When her nails dug deeper and her legs tightened and her voice fell into his name.
He knew.
No one could fake that.
It wasn't just chemistry.
It was a memory.
The kind that rewired instinct.
And that was the moment he changed.
Because after that, he couldn't go back.
Six weeks and it hadn't let go.
He sat up slowly. Reached toward the drawer.
Still there. Smooth, weightless. Cool between his fingers.
Lyra Elmont.
Her name felt final now. Not a theory. Not a mistake.
He set the earring down and leaned back, bare feet on the floor. He wasn't going to that brunch with Celeste's father. He wasn't going to confirm anything.
And for the first time, he didn't care what the fallout would be. Let it come, but he wasn't retreating either.
That morning, for the first time in years, Cassian Dorne was late to the office.
---
Lyra POV - Strategic Meeting
Lyra kept her hands folded.
The conference room was too warm. Or maybe she was. Light buzzed overhead. A mild scent diffuser clicked in the corner, trying too hard to mask the tension.
Michael spoke from the front, walking through numbers. Her job was to listen. Take notes. Stay upright.
She tried. Fighting her pregnancy-related drowsiness in vain.
Halfway through, the text started to blur. Her temples pulsed. A sharpness behind her eyes.
Her pen slipped once. Then again.
The world tilted.
She didn't realize she was swaying until her chair shifted under her.
A hand caught the back of it.
Cassian.
His fingers didn't press. Just steadied.
She blinked. Sat straighter. Nodded once. She didn't look at him. He didn't speak.
He just moved on like nothing had happened.
But when the meeting ended, he stayed seated longer than usual, watching the door she left through.
---
Admin Floor – Breakroom
Talia didn't wait this time. She followed Lyra into the supply corridor, grabbed her by the elbow, and tugged her into the breakroom.
"You're going to pass out one of these days."
"I'm fine."
"No, you're running on fumes and mint tea. That's not fine."
Lyra sat, slow. One hand pressed to her side. "It's just today."
"You've said that for two weeks."
Talia crouched in front of her, voice lower now. "Lyra."
Silence stretched.
"I'm pregnant," Lyra said.
It didn't sound like a confession.
Just a fact.
Talia's breath caught. "How far?"
Lyra didn't look up. "Six weeks."
The math did itself.
"Oh my god. Was it the gala?" She didn't wait. "It was, wasn't it?"
Lyra nodded, just once.
Talia dropped into the chair beside her.
"Okay. Okay. Who is it?"
Lyra didn't answer.
"Michael?"
Lyra gave a small shake of her head.
"Then who?"
"Talia…"
Talia stared. "You're not going to tell me?"
Lyra looked at her, finally. "He's an alpha. That's all you need to know."
"That's not all I need to know. You need someone to help. To protect you."
"I'm handling it."
"No one handles this alone. Especially not here. No way if he's an alpha"
Lyra's hand went to her stomach, barely touching. "I'm not ready."
Talia stood, paced once, then turned. "We're going to the clinic. You need a checkup. Proper results. Health screening."
Lyra hesitated.
Talia crossed her arms. "Tomorrow. Noon. The clinic. I'm booking it."
Lyra didn't argue