Come Closer

"Don't do this, Silvia, you might not make it back!" James cried, his voice trembling with urgency.

"But I could be right, Aurelius," Silvia responded, her tone resolute yet tender.

"How can you be so sure? What if you're not? I don't want to lose you!" His voice cracked under the weight of his words.

Silvia reached out, placing a hand on his chest, over his heart. Her touch was warm, grounding, but filled with an undercurrent of finality. "I'll be back... I promise. I love you."

The memory fractured like glass shattering, and James’s eyes flickered open. The remnants of the dream clung to him like a second skin. Though three centuries had passed, Silvia’s presence lingered in his mind, a ghost that time could not exorcise. Her face, her voice, her determination—they were seared into his soul.

It wasn’t often that he dreamed of her—once in a blue moon, when something triggered the memory. Last night, it had been Nigel’s casual remark about their past. Now, in the stillness of the early morning, the dream's echo refused to fade.

James sat up in bed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. The cool air of the room did little to soothe his restless thoughts. He stood, crossing to the window and pulling the curtains aside. The first faint light of dawn crept into the room, casting long shadows across the floor. He exhaled sharply, willing himself to let go of the past.

As sunlight poured into the city below, James dressed with methodical precision, each movement grounding him in the present. Silvia's memory began to recede, retreating to the recesses of his mind. There was no room for ghosts today.

James’s driver navigated through the bustling city streets, the morning traffic already thick. The hum of the car and the rhythm of the city outside gave him a sense of detachment. It wasn’t until they reached his office building that James's attention snapped back to the present.

Nigel was waiting outside, leaning casually against the wall, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Morning, Aurelius," Nigel greeted, his voice laced with mischief.

James chuckled softly, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. "It’s become a part of you, hasn’t it? Stubborn."

Nigel raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "What can I say? It’s a better name than… 'James.' I mean, really, how do you live with such mediocrity?"

James rolled his eyes. "What do you want, Nigel?"

Nigel’s grin widened. "Well, I've been bored. I was thinking of finding myself a beautifully toned gal with brown eyes. You know, spice things up."

"Good luck with that," James replied dryly, brushing past him.

But as James stepped into the building, his gaze caught on a familiar figure—Joyce. She stood at her desk, her laughter spilling into the air like sunlight breaking through clouds. For a moment, James paused, captivated. His chest tightened as his eyes followed the man seated on her desk, leaning in far too close for comfort.

"James?" Nigel called, snapping him back to reality.

James ignored him, his focus fixed on the man. "Now, who's that guy?"

Nigel’s smirk deepened. "Oh, you don’t know about Nathan?"

James’s brow furrowed. "Who now?"

"Her boyfriend, obviously," Nigel replied, his tone dripping with mockery. "You didn’t know? Joyce is beautiful, after all."

James’s jaw tightened. "Nathan is Joyce’s boyfriend? Since when?"

Nigel shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe she kept it private. Not everyone lives their life under a spotlight, James."

James’s gaze darkened. Summoning his composure, he strode toward Joyce’s desk. "Joyce Walter," he said, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. "May we talk?"

Joyce’s smile faltered as her attention shifted to James. She quickly pushed Nathan off the desk and followed James toward the elevator. As she stepped in, she glanced at Nigel, her gaze lingering for five seconds too long. A sudden, unshakable chill ran down her spine, leaving her insides trembling.

The elevator doors slid shut, enclosing her and James in a cocoon of silence. The hum of the elevator filled the air, but Joyce’s mind was elsewhere. The unease she felt from Nigel’s presence clung to her like a second skin. Her breathing quickened, her pulse pounding in her ears.

James turned to her, his alpha presence unmistakable. "Joyce, I’ve been—"

Before he could finish, Joyce stumbled backward, her movements jerky. Her shoe heel snapped, sending her sprawling. James caught her just before she hit the wall, his arm cradling her head.

Her body went limp, her eyes fluttering shut.

"Joyce!" James's voice was sharp, his concern cutting through the haze of confusion.

As she blacked out, James held her, his mind racing. Something was wrong—deeply wrong.

The elevator hummed softly, its rhythmic vibrations resonating through the stillness. James held Joyce close, his sharp eyes fixated on her unconscious face. He didn’t know what had just happened—or what she might have felt—but he was certain of one thing: this wasn’t normal. Something had affected her deeply, and it wasn’t mere exhaustion. As the elevator doors opened, James strode out with purposeful steps, his arms cradling Joyce protectively. Once inside the office, he carefully laid Joyce down on the leather couch near the windows, adjusting a cushion beneath her head. The soft glow of sunlight creeping through the glass walls fell across her face, highlighting her features—the faint freckles on her cheeks, the tremble in her eyelashes, the furrow in her brow, as if she were fighting something in her subconscious. For a moment, he stood over her, his brow furrowed in thought.

The door opened, and Nigel appeared, his expression uncharacteristically serious. James didn’t even look up.

“I felt something,” Nigel said, stepping inside and closing the door quietly. “It was... strange. What happened?"

James didn’t respond immediately. His sharp gaze focused on Joyce, her pale face framed by unruly locks of dark hair. She looked small, fragile—a stark contrast to the fiery personality she exuded in the workplace.

“She fainted. In the elevator” James finally replied, his voice clipped.

Nigel approached the couch, his gaze flicking between Joyce’s pale face and James’s tense posture. “She’s never fainted before?”

“No,” James said firmly, crossing his arms. "But isn't it normal for girls to faint?"

Nigel tilted his head, observing Joyce with narrowed eyes. "Well, yeah... But this feels... Off"

"Probably she hasn't had breakfast yet"

Nigel tilted his head again to the opposite side, watching James’s uncharacteristically gentle movements. “Interesting,” Nigel muttered under his breath. “Very interesting... It’s not her first time around wolves, she's been with you already”

James froze for half a second “What do you mean?”

Nigel’s gaze narrowed. “She didn’t just faint. She felt something. She fainted right after she looked at me for a few seconds. You saw it—the way she reacted in the elevator. And don’t pretend you didn’t feel it too.”

James stood abruptly, towering over Nigel in an instant. “If you’re implying anything—”

“I’m not implying,” Nigel interrupted, unfazed by James’s looming presence. “I mean she couldn't possibly... I’m just saying, whatever’s happening here, you might want to start paying attention.”

James shook his head, his expression hard. “You’re reaching.”

“Am I?” Nigel shot back, crossing his arms as well. “Think about it, James. She was fine this morning, laughing so giddily. But as soon as you dragged her into that elevator, and she looked at me something triggered her. You know I’m right.”

James turned back toward Joyce, his gaze softening. Her breathing was steady, her chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm, but the tension in her face hadn’t eased. Whatever she’d felt, it had shaken her to her core.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” James admitted quietly. “But I’ll figure it out.”

Nigel leaned against the edge of the desk, his posture relaxed despite the weight of the conversation. “She’s not like other humans. You’ve known that for a while, haven’t you?”

James didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes.

Nigel smirked, though it lacked his usual playfulness. “Keep telling yourself you’re not worried about her, Aurelius. But don’t forget—if she’s as special as we think she is, others will take notice. And not everyone’s as... noble as you are.”

Nigel raised his hands in mock surrender but didn’t leave. Instead, he watched as James brushed a stray strand of hair from Joyce’s face, his touch uncharacteristically gentle.

With that, Nigel gave a lazy salute and exited the room, leaving James alone with Joyce. He stared after him for a moment before returning to her side. She was still unconscious, her breathing steady but shallow.

“Who are you, Joyce Walter?” he muttered under his breath.

Whilst the world around Joyce had shifted, her body weightless as though floating in a vast void. Then, slowly, images began to form—familiar, yet distant, like a memory buried deep within her mind. She was back in her childhood, a time playing out with painful clarity. She was seven years old, sitting at her desk in Grade 2. The bell had rung, signaling the end of the school day, and children were gathering their things, their voices full of excitement. Parents and nannies began arriving to pick them up, calling out names and ushering the little ones toward the door.

Joyce sat quietly, clutching her backpack. Then she saw her classmate’s nanny walk into the room. Her heart dropped.

She didn’t know why—couldn’t explain it—but the sight of the woman made her stomach churn. A wave of cold fear washed over her, and her hands gripped the edges of her desk so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her breathing quickened, and tears welled up in her eyes.

Without warning, she began to sob uncontrollably, her small body trembling as the fear consumed her. She felt a warmth spread through her skirt and realized, to her humiliation, that she’d wet herself.

The teacher rushed to her side, but it was her mother who came to her rescue moments later. She scooped Joyce up in her arms, whispering soothing words as she carried her out of the classroom. Joyce buried her face in her mother’s shoulder, unable to stop crying. At home, her mother knelt in front of her, brushing away the tears that streaked her face. “Sweetheart, what happened? Why were you so scared?”

“I don’t know,” Joyce whispered, her voice barely audible. “I just... I just felt scared.”

Her mother frowned, but she didn’t push for more answers. “It’s okay, baby. You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you.”

That night, Joyce lay awake in bed, the fear still lingering in the corners of her mind. As she stared at the ceiling, she heard voices drifting in from the living room.

“...It’s starting,” a man’s voice said. It was low and calm, but unfamiliar.

“I know,” her mother replied, her tone heavy with worry. “But she’s so young. How can I tell her?”

“You don’t have to. Not yet. But you need to be ready. Her reactions will only get stronger as she grows. And when the time comes, you’ll need to explain everything—about them and about her power.”

Joyce’s eyes widened. She crept out of bed and tiptoed closer to the living room, her heart pounding.

“She can’t stay in the dark forever,” the man continued. “When she’s older, she’ll need to understand what’s happening to her. Otherwise, it could destroy her.”

Her mother’s voice trembled. “I just want her to be happy. To be normal.”

“She’s not normal,” the man said gently. “She’s extraordinary. But that comes with responsibility.”

The dream shifted again. She was thirteen, sitting beside her mother’s hospital bed. Her once-vibrant mother looked pale and frail, her body weakened by illness.

“I’m sorry,” her mother whispered, her voice barely audible. “I should’ve prepared you better.”

Joyce shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “Don’t say that. You did everything for me.”

Her mother’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You’re special, Joyce. You have a gift—one that comes from God Himself. But you have to promise me something.”

Joyce nodded, her voice breaking. “Anything.”

“Join your father and brothers. Help them in their work. They’ll guide you. They’ll teach you how to control your powers.”

Joyce’s expression darkened. “No. I don’t want to. I hate what they do.”

Her mother sighed, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.”

Joyce woke with a gasp, her chest heaving as though she had just surfaced from deep water. The weight of the dream—of the memories—hung heavy over her. For a moment, her gaze was unfocused, darting around the room before landing on Jame standing over her, his expression a mixture of worry and relief.

Joyce stirred then, a faint groan escaping her lips as her eyes fluttered open.

“You’re awake,” he said softly.

Joyce blinked, trying to ground herself in the present. Her lips trembled as she whispered, “It’s happening again.”

The confusion in her brown eyes was quickly replaced by a flicker of fear and embarrassment as her real memory returned.

“Mr... James ... what... what happened?” Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. Her cheeks red with embarrassment

“You fainted,” James replied simply, standing to give her space. “Do you remember anything?”

Joyce pressed a hand to her temple, wincing slightly. “I... I don’t know. I just... felt something. It was like... Oh wait, I saw a guy, man.”

“Drink this. Take a moment to breathe,” he instructed, his tone softer than usual.

Joyce obeyed, her hands trembling slightly as she took the bottle. As she sipped, her mind raced with questions she wasn’t ready to voice.

But one thought lingered above the rest: What just happened to me?

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to focus. The dream had felt so real—more real than any dream should. And it wasn’t just any dream. It was a memory.

“I saw something...” Joyce started hesitantly, her fingers gripping the bottle a little tighter. “Or rather, I remembered something.”

James waited, his sharp eyes studying her face.

“It was when I was in grade two,” she continued slowly, glancing up at him. “It was the end of the school day, and parents were coming to pick up their kids. I saw a man—a classmate’s nanny, actually—and I just... froze. I don’t know why. But something about her terrified me. I started crying and... I peed my pants.” She exhaled shakily, pressing her lips together in embarrassment before adding, “My mom carried me home.”

James tilted his head slightly. “And you remembered this just now?”

Joyce nodded. “Yeah. But that’s not the part that’s freaking me out. That night, I overheard my mom talking to someone. A man.”

She looked up, searching James’s face for any sign of ridicule, but he was listening intently.

“She thought I was asleep, but I wasn’t,” Joyce went on. “I heard the man telling her that... that my reaction wasn’t normal. That it was something inside me reacting to something else... And that it could get worse.”

James’s jaw tensed. “Did your mother ever explain any of this to you?”

Joyce shook her head, a distant sadness flickering in her eyes. “No. Not until she was dying.”

A silence stretched between them, thick with unsaid words.

“She had blood cancer,” Joyce finally whispered. “And I was only thirteen when she told me — before she passed. She said I had a gift. But she also said... she was scared. Scared of what would happen to me if I didn’t learn to control it. I don't know what she was talking about, but she wanted me to follow in my family’s footsteps, but I...” Joyce swallowed, her throat tight. “I hated what they did.”

James, who had been leaning slightly against his desk, straightened at that.

“What did they do?” he asked.

Joyce hesitated. “They were... hunters.”

James’s entire body stilled.

“Hunters?” he echoed.

She nodded. “Yeah, so embarrassing... but I wanted no part of it.”

A long silence settled between them.

Then James exhaled, raking a hand through his hair. “Joyce, do you realize what you’re saying?”

Joyce frowned. “Of course I do.”

His eyes darkened. “You were raised by hunters?”

“I wasn’t... raised... by them,” she corrected firmly. “I just come from a family of them. And like I said, I wanted nothing to do with it.”

James studied her for a moment, as if weighing her words. Then, after a long exhale, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well... that explains a lot.”

Joyce raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Like why you fainted,” he muttered. Then he said to himself “Like why you reacted that way to... Nigel”

“What?” Joyce pressed.

James shook his head. “Never mind.”

But she wasn’t about to let it go. “But...”

He sighed. “Forget it, Joyce.”

“No, I won’t forget it. You clearly have something to say.”

James hesitated for a moment longer before muttering, “You must be going through some pressure from your family, hence why you fainted”

Joyce frowned. “What? They don't pressure me at all, I live my life”

James exhaled. “What do your family hunt?”

"Some kind of... wolves... I think... It's silly, I know" she rolled her eyes

"I see"

Joyce narrowed her eyes. “I have no clue as to what... ”

“Just drop it, Joyce.”

She folded her arms, glaring at him. “Fine. Be secretive. But just so you know, that only makes me more curious.”

James smirked at that, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“I know,” Joyce shot back, then took another sip of water before sighing. “God, I can’t believe I fainted. I don’t even faint.”

James smirked. “Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

“Oh, shut up.” Joyce uttered without thinking

"Are you always this... FREE... with everyone?" James rose his left eyebrow

"I'm so sorry, Mr Caesar" Joyce apologized regrettably, almost slapping her mouth

James took a seat on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms. “So... about Nathan.”

Joyce groaned. “I knew you were going to bring him up. The reason I ended up in the elevator with you”

James raised an eyebrow. “Am I not allowed to be curious?”

“Curious?” Joyce shot him a look. “you were glaring at him.”

James shrugged, feigning innocence. “I was? .”

“Yeah, you were intense with him, like your stare could actually murder him,” Joyce pointed out.

James scoffed. “I was not.”

Joyce smirked. “You were. You looked like you wanted to throw him out the window.”

James rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t have THROWN him out.”

Joyce raised an eyebrow. “So you DID want to do something to him.”

James stayed silent.

Joyce grinned. “Oh my God. You’re jealous.”

James gave her a LOOK. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Joyce laughed. “No, no, this is fantastic”

James scowled. “I’m not jealous.”

Joyce smirked. “You totally are.”

“I’m not,” James insisted.

“Are too.”

“Hmm... you act like a child”

James muttered something under his breath, looking annoyed.

Joyce grinned. “You’re so easy to mess with.”

James sighed dramatically. “Why do I even tolerate you?”

“Because I make your life interesting,” Joyce replied smugly.

James exhaled, shaking his head. “God help me.”

Joyce beamed. “Oh, come on. You love it.”

James said nothing. But the small, amused smile tugging at his lips said everything. After a moment, James stood. “You should go home and rest.”

Joyce blinked. “Wait... you’re giving me time off?”

James smirked. “I do have SOME compassion, you know.”

Joyce grinned. “Could’ve fooled me.”

James rolled his eyes. “Just go home, Joyce.”

She laughed, standing up. “Fine, fine. But I expect a raise after all this emotional trauma.”

James chuckled. “We’ll see.”

Joyce smirked. “That means no, doesn’t it?”

James just grinned. “Go home, Joyce.”

She sighed dramatically. “Ugh, fine.”

And with that, she left—leaving James staring after her, an amused glint in his eyes.

And maybe... just maybe... something more.

On the following day, Joyce stepped into the sleek, modern office of Caesar’s Fashion, inhaling the familiar scent of fresh coffee and expensive cologne. She had taken the rest of the previous day off—James’s orders.

She made her way to her desk, exchanging greetings with a few colleagues. The office buzzed with quiet efficiency, but as she set her bag down, she noticed something different—James was already at work, earlier than usual.

And he wasn’t alone.

He stood near his assistant’s desk, engaged in a low conversation with his PA. Though Joyce couldn’t hear the words, she recognized the sharp authority in his posture, the calculated precision with which he spoke. His presence commanded attention without effort.

Then, as if sensing her, James’s gaze flicked to her.

Joyce straightened, gripping the edge of her desk. There was something unreadable in his expression before he turned back to his assistant, giving a final word before the lady nodded and walked off.

James took a step toward her, hands in his pockets. "Feeling better?"

Joyce blinked at the unexpected question. "Yes, Mr. Caesar. Thank you for letting me take the day off."

He nodded. "Good. Because I have a proposal."

She tilted her head slightly. "A proposal?"

"A desk switch," James said smoothly. "You’ll take my personal assistant’s desk, which is just outside my office. He’ll move down here."

Joyce’s brow furrowed. "Closer to you?"

"Precisely."

Joyce’s heart skipped a beat.

James continued, his voice calm, but with an underlying authority that left little room for argument. "This will allow for more efficient communication. You handle both accounting and modeling. If we need to discuss numbers or business engagements, I don’t want you running back and forth across the office."

It made sense. But Joyce knew James well enough to suspect there was more to it than just efficiency.

"Or just want to watch over me after yesterday's incident" she teased with a smirk

James shook his head, his acting oblivious. "I know not of that you speak", he raised his chin and turn and walked away.

Joyce could feel him smiling, watching him walk away.

The elevator dinged in the distance, signaling a shift in the day’s pace. As James walked back into his office, Joyce couldn’t help but feel like things were shifting for her as well.

And she wasn’t sure what to make of it.

By midday, Joyce had settled into her new workspace. The sleek, modern desk just outside James's office gave her a front-row seat to his world—a world of power, precision, and unwavering control.

She stole a glance through the glass walls. James was on a conference call, his voice inaudible. His presence dominated the room, exuding the same sharp confidence that made him a force to be reckoned with.

Their eyes met.

For a moment, time stretched.

A flicker of something unspoken passed between them before James offered a small, knowing smile.

Joyce's breath hitched. She quickly averted her gaze, her heart pounding. She focused on her screen, willing away the tension curling in her stomach. She was still trying to gather herself when a notification popped up on her screen.

James Caesar: Joyce, could you come to my office? I'd like to discuss something with you.

Joyce swallowed, her fingers hovering over the keyboard before she responded with a simple:

On my way.

Her pulse quickened as she rose from her chair, smoothing down the fabric of her blouse, she made her way to James’s glass-walled office..

James was waiting for her, his figure bathed in the soft, ambient lighting of his office. His eyes, intense and unreadable, locked onto hers, and the air between them grew thick with an unspoken charge.

He gestured for her to take a seat, his gaze lingering a moment longer before he spoke.

"I have an upcoming business trip to Dubai. I’ll be meeting an old friend and partner, Kareem Faisal Tarek. He's one of the richest and most influential figures in Dubai."

Joyce straightened slightly. "Kareem Faisal Tarek? As in KFT Fragrance? The perfume mogul?"

James’s lips quirked. "The very same."

Joyce tilted her head, intrigued.

"Well, Joyce," James continued, his voice dropping slightly, "it’s not just a business trip. Kareem and I go way back, and we’ve planned a few days of leisure as well as red carpet exhibition sponsored by Caesar Fashion and KFT Fragrance... I was wondering if you’d be interested in accompanying me"

Joyce blinked, caught off guard. "Me?"

James nodded. "Yes, you... I mean, you're the star model for the red carpet, so it shouldn't be a question"

She exhaled slowly. "What exactly would you have me do?"

James leaned back in his chair, his smirk deepening. "Just pack a bag or two, that's all."

Her heart stuttered. "Hmm..."

Joyce barely had time to process that before he added, "You’ll be showcasing Caesar Fashion designs to Kareem’s business associates and the high tables of Dubai. It’s an opportunity to represent the brand on an international level."

She blinked rapidly, still trying to make sense of it all, anxiety crept in slowly "Uhm... when is this... uhh... trip, Mr. Caesar?"

James leaned forward slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes.

"This weekend."

Her stomach dropped. "Two days from now?!"

James chuckled, the sound rich and knowing. "Yes. You're excusd from the office tomorrow, to prepare for the trip"

Joyce opened her mouth—then closed it.

She had plenty of objections. The short notice, the unexpected invitation, the red carpet, Dubai.

Joyce kicked off her heels the moment she stepped into her apartment, sighing in relief as she sank onto her plush couch. The day had been nothing short of a whirlwind—first, the sudden desk switch, then James dropping the Dubai trip bomb on her like it was a casual coffee run. She still hadn't wrapped her head around it.

Her phone buzzed. A video call invitation from Stacy.

Perfect timing