Chapter 17
835 Words
Chapter 17: Fever Heat
The hum of sewing machines filled the Maison Sauveur like a pulse—steady, relentless, and just loud enough to drown out the sound of her own racing thoughts. Feliz bent over her work table, fingers smudged with pencil lead, sketching the curve of a corset that didn’t quite want to obey her today.
“Has anyone seen Sly?”
Team Leader Joseph’s voice sliced through the room, irritation sharp in every syllable.
Feliz didn’t look up, but her pencil halted.
“He’s not in?” he asked again, scanning faces. “He’s got final renderings due by tomorrow afternoon. Where the hell is he?”
Aaron rolled his chair back from his workstation. “I called him earlier. He picked up but didn’t say much. Voice was rough—he sounded sick. Then he hung up after saying he’s not coming in.”
Joseph cursed under his breath. “Great. Of course he chooses now to disappear. Those revisions need to go out for patterning tonight.”
Aaron glanced at Feliz, voice a bit too casual. “We could send someone. Feliz knows where he lives, right?”
She looked up then, wary. “I’m sure he just needs rest.”
“But he also needs those files,” Joseph said quickly, seizing the solution. “Feliz, grab his drafts from his table. Just drop them off. Don’t need to make it a thing.”
Feliz hesitated. Then stood without another word.
She packed the designs into a slim portfolio. And—because her hands moved faster than her brain—she grabbed the soup she’d cooked last night. For no one, apparently.
---
The streets were quiet as the sun began to dip low, casting amber light along the sidewalks. Feliz clutched the soup container in one hand, the portfolio in the other. She’d told herself this was just work. A delivery. That was it.
But her chest told another story.
She paused in front of Sly’s door.
Knocked once. Then again.
No answer.
She turned slightly, thinking to just leave the files—
Click. The lock turned.
And there he was.
Messy hair, flushed cheeks, eyes shadowed with fever. His shirt hung open at the neck, revealing skin damp with sweat and heat.
Sly [hoarse, raspy]
“Didn’t know they sent angels with delivery.”
Feliz [flatly]
“You look like hell.”
He stepped aside wordlessly. She entered.
The door closed.
The heat inside wrapped around her. His scent lingered in the room—warmth, citrus, sickness, and something darker. Something familiar.
He moved slowly toward the couch, breathing shallow. She followed, not meaning to.
Feliz [quietly]
“Did you even take anything?”
Sly [grinning faintly]
“Thought I’d sweat it out. Old school.”
She rolled her eyes and pulled out the soup, along with medicine from her bag.
He looked at her—really looked—and said, softer this time:
“You didn’t have to come.”
Feliz [almost a whisper]
“I know.”
She reached out, checking his temperature with the back of her hand.
Burning.
His eyes fluttered shut at her touch. His breath caught.
Sly [barely audible]
“You feel good.”
She didn’t move.
Her fingers trailed to his hairline. He leaned into her palm.
Silence settled like a breath held too long.
Then—
Sly [hoarse]
“You keep touching me like that, I’ll forget I’m dying.”
She laughed under her breath. Soft. Nervous.
And then—
He reached up. Fingers grazing her wrist.
“Feliz.”
She leaned closer.
Closer still.
Their lips met.
Gentle. Testing.
Then—
The hunger kicked in.
His hand slid to her waist. Her fingers tangled in his hair. She gasped into his mouth as his lips trailed lower.
She whispered his name.
Feliz [breathless]
“Sly…”
He moaned against her skin.
“You’re driving me insane.”
And just when she let herself fall—
Click.
The front door opened.
A voice rang out.
Leo [cheerful, oblivious]
“Sly? I brought food! Also—wait—hello? One sec, someone’s calling—”
The bedroom door creaked open.
Feliz froze. Half on top of Sly. Blouse open. Sly shirtless.
Leo [deadpan, into the phone]
“…I’ll call you back, Sir.”
He placed the food on the floor, backed out.
Leo [flatly]
“Didn’t see anything. Carry on. Or not. Bye.”
Door shut.
Silence.
Then Feliz laughed. She couldn’t help it. Mortified, breathless laughter.
Sly [laughing, hand over eyes]
“I’m gonna kill him.”
She pulled her blouse closed, still shaking.
Feliz
“God. I think I stopped breathing.”
Sly [grinning]
“I definitely did.”
They lay there, heartbeats thudding.
Then she looked at him—really looked. And the laughter faded.
Feliz [soft, uncertain]
“What are we doing?”
Sly didn’t answer. His hand brushed her jaw.
And just like that—
She kissed him again.
And this time, she didn’t stop.
- Writer
