Chapter 4 The First Fracture

• The summons came at 10:06 a.m.
• No knock. No warning. Just a message in her inbox marked urgent.
• “Mr. Maddox would like to see you in his office. Now.”
• Aurelia stared at the screen for a full thirty seconds, heart hammering against her ribs like a threat. Her palms went cold, stomach twisting itself into knots she couldn’t name.
• She hadn’t spoken to him since that first day. Had barely seen him. Not that she’d expected more. A man like Callum Maddox didn’t interact with temps. He existed in a different world—above the glass, the boardroom, the goddamn clouds.
• And yet.
• Here she was.
• Invited—no, summoned—to his office.
• She stood on legs that felt too long for her own body, nerves thrumming under her skin like live wire. The elevator ride stretched forever, each ding another reminder of how little she understood what the hell was happening to her.
• By the time she reached the top floor, her throat was dry.
• The receptionist nodded her through without a word. Like she’d been expected. Like the whole building had been waiting.
• He didn’t look up when she entered.
• Didn’t speak.
• Didn’t even move.
• Callum Maddox sat behind his massive desk, hands steepled in front of him, eyes locked on a document he didn’t seem to be reading.
• Aurelia hovered inside the doorway.
• “Sir,” she said carefully, voice soft.
• He glanced up.
• Just once.
• But the impact was immediate.
• Her breath caught.
• He looked… sharper today. Crisp suit. Hair styled. Jaw clenched. There was something in his gaze that didn’t match the stillness of his posture.
• Something unsettling.
• “Close the door.”
• Her fingers twitched. She did as told.
• Silence wrapped around them like a chokehold.
• “Sit.”
• She obeyed, sliding into the chair opposite him. The leather was cold beneath her thighs, her skirt riding slightly higher than she wanted. She shifted, uncomfortably aware of how tight the space suddenly felt.
• He watched her.
• Not like a man observing a stranger.
• Like a predator learning a pattern.
• “I wanted to speak with you,” he said finally, voice low, smooth, dangerous. “About your placement.”
• “My placement?” she echoed.
• “You’re a temp, are you not?”
• “Yes.”
• He nodded slowly. “And yet, I find myself curious about you.”
• Her stomach flipped.
• “I don’t… understand.”
• He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, gaze fixed to hers. “You don’t talk much. You keep your head down. You work late. You don’t ask questions. No social media. No emergency contact.”
• “I didn’t realize those were disqualifying traits.”
• “They’re not.” His smile was razor-thin. “They’re just rare.”
• She swallowed hard.
• “I’m not here to cause trouble,” she said softly. “I’m just… trying to do a good job.”
• “I know.” His voice dropped lower. “You’re very good at being invisible.”
• Her pulse stuttered.
• Was that a compliment? A threat?
• Her fingers curled tightly in her lap.
• “You said you had questions about my placement,” she said, careful now. Controlled.
• “I did.” He stood suddenly and walked around the desk, moving to lean against the edge of it—right in front of her. Too close. His scent hit her first. Clean. Expensive. Dark.
• She looked up at him.
• He looked down.
• And for a moment—nothing existed outside that space.
• Just the two of them.
• Just this.
• “Your last name,” he said after a beat. “Wynter. Is it real?”
• “I… I think so.”
• “You think?”
• Her cheeks flushed. “I was in an accident. Two years ago. I lost my memory. That’s the name that was given to me at the hospital.”
• Silence.
• Tension.
• He didn’t blink.
• Then he reached out—slow, deliberate—and touched the scar just behind her ear.
• Aurelia froze.
• His fingers were warm. Gentle. Callused.
• And the moment he touched her, something inside her snapped.
• Heat. Pure, sharp, electric heat surged through her veins, straight between her legs. She gasped, lips parting, breath hitching as her thighs pressed together involuntarily.
• She should’ve moved.
• Should’ve pulled back.
• But she didn’t.
• Couldn’t.
• He stared at her like she was the answer to a question he never wanted to ask.
• “I had a woman I loved once,” he said, voice so quiet it nearly didn’t reach her. “She died.”
• She blinked up at him.
• “I’m sorry.”
• His hand dropped.
• She exhaled shakily.
• He stepped back.
• The distance was a mercy—but the absence of his touch felt like punishment.
• “You can go.”
• Just like that.
• Dismissed.
• Aurelia rose on trembling legs and turned to leave.
• But before she opened the door, he said—
• “What do you dream about, Aurelia?”
• She froze.
• Her spine went stiff.
• “I… I don’t remember.”
• A lie.
• She remembered.
• She remembered him.
• The way his hands felt in the dark.
• The way her body responded like it already belonged to him.
• The way it ached now, standing ten feet from the man whose voice could make her blood turn molten.
• “I see,” he said simply.
• She left without another word.
• Callum sat in silence long after the door clicked shut.
• He didn’t trust himself around her.
• Not his instincts. Not his discipline. Not his self-control.
• Because the way her skin reacted under his touch?
• Identical.
• The way her pupils dilated. The soft hitch of her breath. The tension in her muscles.
• All of it.
• The same.
• It didn’t make sense.
• And it didn’t need to.
• Because logic didn’t matter when his body remembered her before his brain gave it permission.