Maya wasn't planning to stay late.
She had walked into Vortex Studios that afternoon determined to record a clean vocal track and leave without incident. Liam had kissed her goodbye with a playful smirk and a gentle squeeze on her hip that lingered longer than it should've. She was calm, centered. But she knew, deep down, that walking into the same room as Julian meant entering a space wired with tension. There was no avoiding it—only managing it.
The song was almost finished. One final vocal track from Maya, one final mix, and it would be complete. That knowledge gave her power. Control. She hadn't realized how strong she'd become until she saw the flash of surprise in Julian's eyes when she walked in, confident and unapologetically poised.
"Ready?" he asked, standing behind the glass of the control booth.
"Always," she said, her voice smooth.
She entered the sound booth and adjusted the headphones. The lights were low, and she could just make out Julian's silhouette through the glass. There had been so many nights—so many moments—they had spent together like this: him on one side, her on the other, their connection vibrating through music.
She closed her eyes, letting the instrumental track wash over her. The melody was haunting, a slow build of acoustic strings, soft percussion, and aching piano. She started to sing—low, sultry, emotional. The lyrics were a blend of memory and defiance, of sorrow and strength. It was her story, her wound, her weapon.
She didn't look at him, not until the take was over.
Julian's voice crackled over the intercom. "That was... incredible."
She exhaled, removed the headphones, and stepped out of the booth.
Their eyes met.
He was watching her the way he used to—like she was something too bright to touch. But there was something new in his gaze now. Respect, maybe. Hunger, definitely. But not entitlement. Not anymore.
"Want to hear it?" he asked.
She nodded and followed him to the control board. He played the track back, and they both sat in silence as her voice filled the room. Julian tapped along on the desk, the corners of his mouth curling slightly when her harmony dropped on the bridge.
When the final note faded, he turned to her. "That's the best thing you've ever written."
"Because I wasn't writing for you this time," she said simply.
He studied her face, the silence between them pulsing.
"I still want you," he said.
Her body went still. The air felt charged, like electricity before a storm.
"I know," she said.
He stood slowly, walking over to her with measured steps. "I know I don't deserve it. I know you're with someone now. But when I hear your voice, when I see you like this… I can't help it."
"You don't get to have me just because you remember how I felt," she said, standing too.
Julian reached out, brushing a knuckle along her jaw. "But you remember too."
Maya swallowed hard. "I remember who I was. That's not the same."
He leaned in, close enough for her to feel his breath. "Let me remind you."
She should've stepped back. Should've shut it down. But instead, she tilted her head slightly, not quite an invitation, but not a refusal either.
His lips brushed hers—soft at first, hesitant. Then deeper. Her body responded before her mind could catch up. She kissed him back with heat, with fire. And just like that, they fell into the old rhythm. Dangerous, familiar.
Julian pressed her back against the mixing desk, his hands gripping her hips as he kissed down her neck. She gasped, the pressure of his mouth igniting sparks down her spine.
"You still taste like defiance," he murmured.
She tugged at his shirt, her breath ragged. "You still kiss like a thief."
Clothes came off in messy increments—her jacket sliding from her shoulders, his shirt pulled over his head. His skin was warm, tattooed, marked by time and regret.
His hands slid beneath her top, thumbs grazing the curve beneath her breasts, palms rough with calluses but tender in their exploration. She arched into his touch, a moan slipping free as his mouth found the soft swell above her heart.
He lifted her onto the console, parting her thighs with urgency. Her jeans were yanked down hastily, her underwear discarded to the floor. He knelt in front of her without hesitation, his mouth finding her center with practiced ease. Her back hit the wall with a dull thud as his tongue explored every inch of her, licking and sucking until she trembled, one hand clutching his hair, the other gripping the edge of the board.
"Julian," she gasped, the sound raw.
He looked up, lips glistening, eyes dark. "You still come undone for me."
She pulled him up, fingers fumbling at his belt. "Don't speak. Just… fuck me."
His breath hitched as she freed him, her touch confident, angry, hungry. He slammed his hips forward, burying himself inside her with a guttural groan. Maya threw her head back and cried out, nails raking down his back.
They moved with fury, not finesse—his hands gripping her thighs, her legs wrapped tight around his waist. Every thrust hit deep, hard, punishing. The sound of skin against skin filled the studio, mingled with broken moans and whispered names.
She bit his shoulder. He kissed her throat. They moved like addicts—high on memory, hooked on hurt.
"Say it," he growled. "Say you still want me."
She met his eyes, breathless. "I want to forget you."
And then she came—loud and fierce, her body clenching around him as he followed seconds later, both of them unraveling in a tangled mess of lust and leftover love.
When it ended, they collapsed in a heap of tangled limbs and sweat, her back pressed against the console, his chest heaving against hers.
Reality rushed back in like cold air.
Maya pushed him off gently and stood, gathering her clothes in silence.
Julian watched her, his expression unreadable. "Maya—"
"Don't," she said, pulling on her jeans. "Don't ruin the song with this."
"You wanted it too."
"I wanted closure. That wasn't it."
He stood slowly. "Then what was it?"
She turned to him, her voice flat. "It was habit. History. Not a future."
He reached for her, but she stepped back. "We wrote our last song tonight, Julian. Don't mistake the encore for a comeback."
She left the studio with her head held high, even as her heart pounded against her chest like it wanted to scream. She didn't call Liam. She didn't go home right away.
Instead, she sat in her car and let the silence settle in. She had crossed a line again, but this time, there was no delusion. No romance.
It was a final seduction.
And now, there was only the aftermath.
The booth had always been a confessional. Tonight, it had become a battlefield.
But the war was over.
And Maya Delaney had already chosen peace.