---
Miki checked the task twice.
> Deliver quarterly summary binder to Celeste Lorrain.
Urgent. Confidential. Top floor.
She stared at the notification on her screen, then at the file Dana had personally dropped at her desk.
Urgent.
Confidential.
Ridiculous.
Celeste Lorrain didn't need anyone to deliver anything personally. Especially not a junior consultant with zero authority over financial reporting.
Miki narrowed her eyes.
This wasn't a summons.
It was bait.
---
She still took the elevator.
Not because she wanted to — but because refusing meant explaining herself. And Miki didn't do explanations. She did the task, kept her head down, and avoided all unnecessary conversations — especially ones that involved ancient, dangerously attractive women who looked like they belonged in a Renaissance painting and smelled like forgotten temples.
Celeste Lorrain made her feel… off balance.
And Miki hated that.
---
The top floor was too quiet.
Every step she took echoed.
She adjusted her collar, ignored the strange flutter in her stomach, and knocked once on the tall double doors before pushing them open.
Celeste was already sitting behind her desk.
Relaxed. Confident. Wearing a navy blazer that didn't quite match her usual formal tone — a little too casual, like she wanted to seem approachable. Like this was a coffee shop chat, not a vampire CEO's lair.
She looked up, smiled.
"Ah. Miki."
Miki stood in the doorway. "You asked for this file?"
Celeste held out a hand. "I did. Come in."
---
The office was designed like a cathedral — high ceilings, long glass windows that dimmed at a touch, and a faint scent of books and orchids. Miki walked in carefully, each step more measured than the last.
She placed the file on the desk, keeping her eyes on the leather surface.
"This was already in your inbox," she said plainly. "Digitally, I mean."
Celeste didn't take the folder. She just leaned back slightly, resting her cheek on one hand, elbow on the desk.
"I know," she said.
Miki's fingers curled slightly.
"I didn't need it physically," Celeste added softly. "I just wanted to see you."
---
Miki didn't reply.
She looked up slowly, her expression unreadable — cool, quiet, but not cold.
"…Is this how you treat all your employees?" she asked.
Celeste tilted her head. "No. Only the ones who haunt me."
A beat.
"You say strange things," Miki murmured.
"And you wear the same perfume every day," Celeste replied. "But I don't complain."
"It's unscented lotion."
"Still smells like you."
---
Silence stretched between them like a wire, thin and full of tension.
Celeste finally broke it. "I didn't call you here to flirt."
"Then stop doing it."
"I'm trying," Celeste said honestly.
And that made Miki falter for just a second.
Because her voice wasn't teasing anymore. It was... tired. Soft.
Sincere.
Celeste looked down at her own fingers, folding them slowly.
"I've lived a long time," she said. "I've seen cities rise and fall, watched people destroy each other over pride, over power. And yet, someone walking beside me in silence—without fear or expectation—is still the rarest thing."
Miki blinked. Her throat tightened unexpectedly.
"I didn't ask for this," she said quietly.
Celeste's eyes met hers, bright and unreadable. "Neither did I."
---
The moment swelled — heavy and confusing.
Then, mercifully, Miki stepped back.
"I should go."
Celeste stood too, almost instinctively. "Will you let me walk with you again? Just to the elevator."
Miki hesitated at the door.
"…Only to the elevator."
---
They walked in silence again.
No jokes this time. No witty remarks.
Just two women — one far too ancient for modern awkwardness, and one far too guarded for her own good — standing shoulder to shoulder inside a steel box filled with soft music and flickering floor numbers.
When the doors opened, Miki stepped out first.
But before she turned the corner, she glanced back.
Celeste hadn't moved.
"Goodnight, Celeste," Miki said, just above a whisper.
Celeste smiled.