Bound by Honor *2ND DRAFT*

VIII

May 20

Estella POV

The car smelled faintly like his cologne—something dark and clean that clung to the leather seats. I was trying to look productive, pretending to respond to emails when really, I was rereading the same line about six times. My thumb hovered over the send button like it was a trigger I wasn't sure I should pull.

Malakai drove like he did everything else—steady, focused, quietly dangerous. His hand rested on the steering wheel with that lazy confidence that said I'm in control, and I don't even need to prove it. Every turn felt precise, calculated. Meanwhile, I was in the passenger seat, clutching my phone like a lifeline and silently questioning all my life choices.

Look at me, I thought, being chauffeured like royalty while the dragons of the office wait to pounce. Maybe I should've brought armor instead of lip gloss.

The morning sunlight spilled through the window, catching in the strands of his hair. He looked unfairly composed for someone who'd been up since before dawn. I glanced at him once—just once—and regretted it immediately when his mouth twitched into the smallest smirk.

"You're overthinking again," he said, voice low and casual, like he was commenting on the weather.

I didn't even bother looking up from my phone. "That's my cardio."

He huffed a quiet laugh, the kind that didn't quite escape his throat. "You need to relax, baby."

That word—baby—rolled out of him too easily, and for a second my brain just... glitched. I blinked, typing nonsense into an unfinished email before realizing the screen now read: 'Thank you for your timmmmmeeeeeee.' Great. Professionalism at its finest. But you would do the same if your man was a 6'0" Italian that has tattoos.

"Relax?" I echoed, finally looking at him. "You say that like I don't work in a building full of people who'd sacrifice me to the printer Gods if my report formatting is off."

His smirk deepened, the corner of his mouth lifting like he was holding back a laugh. "Then I'll have a word with their Gods."

"Of course you will." I leaned back in my seat, crossing my legs. "Because nothing says calm workplace environment like a big man threatening divine retribution."

He chuckled quietly, eyes flicking toward me at a stoplight. "You're not funny."

I tilted my head, smiling just enough to irritate him. "Then why are you smiling?"

He looked away first. Victory.

I turned my gaze out the window, trying to ignore the butterflies stirring in my stomach. It was ridiculous, really. I'd faced harder things than a Monday morning meeting, and yet somehow, knowing he'd be there—watching, protecting in that silent way of his—made the dragons feel just a little less sharp.

Still, I wasn't about to admit that. Not out loud.

The elevator doors slid open with a hiss that sounded way too dramatic for 9 a.m. My reflection in the metal walls looked calm, collected—even professional. A lie in high heels.

Malakai stood beside me, composed as always—dark suit, darker gaze, every inch the man who could silence a room just by breathing. Easton followed behind us, typing something on his phone with the kind of focus that made me wonder if he'd already solved world peace before breakfast.

And me? I was mostly just trying to remember if I'd put my ID badge in the right bag and if my nerves were visible from space.

Look at us, I thought. Corporate power trio, entering the lion's den. Him, the quiet storm. Easton, the silver-tongued saint. And me—armed with caffeine and misplaced optimism.