Bound by Honor *2ND DRAFT*

XI

July 25

Estella POV

The office was quiet when I walked in — too early for anyone else to ruin the peace. The hum of the lights, the faint smell of coffee from the break room... it was one of the few parts of the day I actually liked.

Everything was exactly where I'd left it — my folders, my planner, my pens — except for a small black box sitting right in the center of my desk.

I stopped. It wasn't mine. It wasn't supposed to be there.

The box was neat, no logo, no tag, just perfectly placed like someone had measured the distance from each corner. My first thought was that it was a mistake. My second — that it wasn't.

I slid it closer and opened the lid carefully, half-expecting something stupid like promotional stationery. Instead, my breath caught.

Inside was a silver pen — sleek, polished, heavy in that expensive way. My initials were engraved near the clip, clean and precise. Beneath it, a folded card.

I picked it up.

For the woman who makes chaos look elegant.

The handwriting was unmistakable — bold strokes, sharp edges, measured spacing. Malakai.

The warmth that hit me was sharp, sudden.

He'd noticed. Not just noticed — he'd asked. Weeks ago, when he saw me using the same pen every day, he'd leaned over and asked what brand it was. I thought it was just small talk, some passing curiosity between meetings. I didn't think he'd remember.

But he had.

I turned the pen in my hand, feeling its weight. The ink inside was bold — I could tell just from the balance — exactly the kind I liked. A soft smile tugged at my mouth, the kind I didn't let people see.

It was such a small thing, but it meant more than I wanted it to. He didn't buy things without meaning behind them. Every move he made was calculated, but this... this felt kind.

Footsteps echoed down the hall. My chest tightened. I tucked the pen into my planner and slipped the card beneath a file just before the door opened.

By the time someone passed by my office, I was already at my computer, face unreadable, hands steady.

But all day, I kept reaching for that pen.

Every time I signed something, the ink flowed smooth and dark, and the warmth in my chest spread a little more.

I didn't tell him I liked it. I didn't have to.

The smile I kept hiding said enough — at least to me.

The office had gone quiet hours ago, the kind of silence that settled heavy after a long day. Everyone else had gone home, but Malakai and I were still there — him buried in reports, me finishing the last of my summaries. The only sound was the steady tick of the clock and the soft scratch of my pen — his pen.

I was halfway through another page when the scent hit me — dark roast, two sugars, no cream. I looked up just as a cup of coffee was set down beside my elbow.

He didn't say a word. Didn't even look at me at first. Just set it down like it was routine.

But it wasn't.

He didn't ask how I took my coffee. He'd just... remembered.

I stared at the cup, a little too long, then up at him. He was standing close, his sleeves rolled, eyes still fixed on the document in his hand like he hadn't just made my heart trip over itself.