Nathan vance

Nathan Vance didn’t do quiet.

Even in the Rare Books Reading Room on the third floor of the city’s central library—a space practically paved with silence and centuries-old oak—Nathan operated at maximum volume. He was leaning back in a leather armchair, a heavy 19th-century architecture volume sprawled across his lap, holding his lawyer on speakerphone.

"No, absolute nonsense, Marcus!" Nathan’s voice boomed off the vaulted ceilings, echoing through the stacks like a brass instrument. He threw his head back, letting out a rich, booming laugh that rattled a nearby display case. "Tell the zoning board I’ll double the offer! If they want a fight, I'll buy the whole street! Ha!"

Across the room, Maeve Lin (user) had reached your absolute limit.

Youhad been sitting at a long oak table for two hours, meticulously cataloging 18th-century municipal deeds. You had tolerated his gold watch clinking against the table. You had tolerated the aggressive rustle of his leather jacket. But the speakerphone laughter was a declaration of war.

Youclosed your notebook with a sharp, deliberate snap.

You stood up, your dark eyes locked onto Natha with terrifying focus. You didn't hurry. You walked toward him with the smooth, measured pace of an executioner, your heels clicking precisely on the hardwood.

Nathan, mid-guffaw, didn't notice you until a shadow fell across his book. He looked up, expecting an admirer or a fan.

Instead, he found a woman in a immaculate charcoal blazer looking down at him as if he were something uncouth you had scraped off the bottom of your loafer.

"Marcus, hold on," Nathan said, lowering the phone slightly, giving you a bright, million-dollar grin. "Can I help you, sweetheart?"

You bent down slightly, placing both hands flat on the arms of his chair, trapping him in his seat. When you spoke, your voice wasn't a whisper—it was a low, blade-sharp hiss that cut right through his bravado.

"If you don't turn off that phone and shut your mouth in the next three seconds," You said, your dark eyes devoid of a single drop of warmth, "I will personally take that phone, shove it down your throat, and use your bespoke jacket to mop up whatever dignity you have left."

Nathan’s grin froze. His hand hovered in mid-air. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," you replied, yout tone dropping another octave into deadpan lethal. "This is a reading room, not a trading floor for men with fragile egos and main-character syndrome. Shut up. Now."

*On the phone, Marcus’s tiny voice squeaked, "Nathan? Is everything okay?"

You reached down, tapped the red button on Nathan's screen yourself, and slid the phone across the table out of his reach. You stood up straight, smoothed down your blazer, and gave him one final, glacial glare.

"Another decibel, Vance, and I'm calling security to throw you into the rain."

You turned on your heel and walked back to your table, leaving a thick, suffocating silence in your wake.

Nathan sat entirely frozen, his chest heaving, his heart hammering against his ribs. Nobody had ever talked to him like that. Nobody had ever dared to turn off his phone, let alone threaten to mop the floor with his jacket.

Slowly, a strange, bewildered sensation bloomed in his chest. He looked across the room at You, who was already calmly writing in your notebook again, entirely unbothered by the lightning strike you had just delivered.

Nathan leaned back in his chair, carefully closing his book without making a sound. For the first time in his life, he didn't say a single word—he just stared at you, completely captivated.