Primal Instinct

9- SPACE BETWEEN

The walk to his office felt longer than usual. The mountain sun had turned bright through the glass corridors, spilling soft gold across black marble, but I felt none of it. My stomach twisted with something that wasn’t fear — not exactly. Just too much awareness.

I’d barely slept, barely eaten, and yet somehow my pulse kicked up like I’d had five espressos before eight a.m. Every step toward his door felt like trespassing somewhere I shouldn’t. When I reached the top floor, the hallway was quiet. His door was half-closed, light spilling out across the dark floor like a warning.

I knocked once.

“Enter.” His voice was smooth as always, deep, restrained, and threaded with something dangerous.

Trenton stood behind his desk, sleeves rolled, tie discarded, that ever-present gold chain glinting faintly at his throat. He didn’t look up from the tablet in his hand until the door clicked shut behind me.

“Sit.” I obeyed, sinking into the chair opposite his desk. The silence stretched long enough to make me regret every decision that led me here.

Finally, he set the tablet down. “You made an impression this morning.”

I swallowed. “Should I apologize?”

“No,” he said. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You just have a talent for… drawing attention.” His gaze flicked up. “Unwanted attention.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” I said quickly. “We were joking.”

“Exactly,” he said softly. “And that’s the problem.”

My brow furrowed. “I didn’t realize conversation qualified as a disciplinary offense.”

His jaw flexed once, that telltale sign of restraint. “You don’t understand this place yet. You don’t understand me.”

“Then explain it.”

His eyes caught mine, dark brown, almost black, but with that ghost of silver lurking beneath. “This isn’t a normal community, Ms. Carter. The people here aren’t normal. They follow instinct more than reason. If you want to survive here, learn when to be silent.”

“I don’t need survival skill lessons,” I said before I could stop myself.

He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, voice low. “Everyone does. Even you.”

The air shifted. The hum that had lived under my skin since the first day flared again, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. My body betrayed me before my mind caught up.

“I’m not your enemy,” he said finally. “But I’m not here to coddle you, either. You’ll find the world is kinder when you don’t invite it to bite.”

“And you?” I asked, quieter now. “Do you bite, Mr. Steele?”

Something flickered across his face, it was not amusement, more like recognition. He stood abruptly, breaking the connection like he’d just realized how close we’d been sitting in silence. “You’re dismissed. You have a staff briefing at two. Don’t be late again.”

I rose, pulse still sprinting, and turned toward the door.

“Nahiry.”

He never said my first name. The sound of it in his mouth stopped me cold. When I turned, he was watching me, never angry or composed, just… conflicted.

“Stay out of the east wing tonight,” he said. “Understood?”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes cut that short. He wasn’t asking. I nodded and left. I didn't make it three steps from his office before the elevator dinged and Damien stepped out, tablet in hand, looking like he hadn’t slept either. His eyes flicked between me and Trenton’s door, taking in too much.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“Define alright,” I muttered.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “He’s pushing you early. Don’t take it personally.”

“Hard not to when I’m the punching bag.”

“He doesn’t hit what he doesn’t value,” Damien said, already walking past me toward the open door. “Get some coffee. You’ll need it.”

That didn’t sound like comfort. It sounded like a warning. I took his advice anyway.

I got back to my desk and noticed a flood of flagged emails from Trenton’s account were waiting, revisions, requests, cross-referenced data reports I hadn’t even seen yet. Each one timestamped within minutes of each other. No subject lines. Just “Handle this.”

It was like he’d dumped half the company’s infrastructure onto my lap to see if I’d drown. But I’m not a b***h so I worked. Hard. My fingers flew across the keyboard, muscle memory kicking in from years of corporate triage. I streamlined three different department schedules, caught a mistake in procurement that would’ve delayed a shipment, and still managed to prep the staff briefing notes. Every time I thought I was done, a new notification appeared from him.

By noon, my coffee had gone cold and my eyes burned. I rubbed at my temples and glanced toward his office. The door was closed again, blinds drawn this time. Through the frosted glass, I could see shadows moving–– his, sharp and deliberate, and Damien’s, broader and restless.

Voices filtered through the glass, low and muffled. I told myself not to eavesdrop.

I failed.

“…She doesn’t know,” Damien was saying. His tone was careful. Controlled.

“She doesn’t need to,” Trenton replied, quieter but edged. “The less she knows, the safer she is.”

“You’re playing with fire, Alpha. You can’t hide something like this forever—”

There was a thud, not violent, but final. “I said enough.”

The silence after that stretched until my pulse filled it. I forced myself to look away, pretending to focus on my screen. When the door opened a minute later, Damien came out first. His expression was blank, too blank. He nodded once in my direction before heading toward the elevator without another word.

Trenton followed. His sleeves were rolled again, forearms inked with something I hadn’t noticed before, thin black markings that shimmered faintly silver when he moved. He paused by my desk.

“You’ve been busy,” he said, voice unreadable.

“You told me to ‘handle it’,” I said, gesturing at the pile of digital chaos on my monitors.

“And you did.” He tapped the tablet in his hand. It wasn’t a compliment. Not really. But the faintest twitch in his mouth made my chest tighten anyway. Fifteen minutes later, I stood in front of a dozen executives in the main conference room, presenting shipment numbers like my hands weren’t shaking. He sat at the head of the table again, unreadable, one hand wrapped around a glass of water like it was the only thing keeping him from strangling someone.

Every time I spoke, I could feel his gaze trace me, deliberate, assessing. Not in a way that belonged to a CEO reviewing data. In a way that belonged to something else entirely.

When it was over, there was silence. Then, finally, “Good,” he said simply. “Next time, slow down.” That was it. The room cleared. He stayed seated, still as stone, until the last person filed out. I started to gather my notes, but his voice stopped me again.

“Close the door, Ms. Carter.”

I hesitated. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Not yet,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “But I have a feeling you might.”

I turned slowly, the door clicking shut behind me, the air thick again.

“Tell me,” he said softly. “Do you always talk back to your employers, or am I just special?”

“That depends,” I said carefully. “Do most of them insult me first?”

His eyes flashed silver, quick as lightning, there and gone. “Careful,” he said. “You’re not ready to find out what happens when I stop being polite.”

My throat went dry, but I forced a smile. “If you get any worse, I may just be more appreciative of this version of your ‘polite’.”

He stared for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose, slow, controlled, dangerous. “Dismissed.”

This time, I didn’t hesitate. I walked out, heartbeat drumming, skin buzzing with the weight of something I didn’t want to name. And for the first time since I’d arrived in this strange mountain town, I realized something about Trenton Steele. He didn’t just like control. He needed it. And for reasons I didn’t understand, he was starting to lose it.

The estate was quieter than usual that afternoon. Clouds had rolled in, draping the mountain in a silver haze. From my balcony, the forest below looked like a living thing breathing under the fog.

I was supposed to be reviewing contracts, but my focus had evaporated hours ago. Every time I tried to read, my mind drifted back to his voice — the way he said Nahiry, the restrained danger under it.

Lyric stopped by near sunset, balancing a glass of wine in one hand and a basket of bread in the other.

“You looked like you were about to drown in paperwork,” she said. “I come bearing carbs.”

“You’re an angel.”

She smiled faintly, then studied me. “How’s the chest? Any more pain?”

“Gone, mostly. I feel… tired. Like I’ve been running without moving.”

“That’ll pass.”

I frowned. “That’s what you said last time.”

“And it was true last time too,” she said, sipping her wine. “You’re adjusting. This mountain does strange things to people.”

“Strange how?”

Her eyes softened, but her tone didn’t. “It shows you who you really are.”

Before I could ask what that meant, a sound drifted up from below, the faint crash of water, then a chorus of low, unearthly howls threading through the trees. My skin prickled.

Lyric set her glass down slowly. “Stay inside tonight, Nai.”

“What’s happening?”

“Nothing crazy,” she said too quickly. “Just… don’t wander.”

And then she was gone, leaving the faint scent of rose and warning behind her.