My steps are steady, asured, each one landing with cold precision on the marble floor of the Kael Holdings lobby.
My face is a mask—unreadable, carved from stone, the face of Zyren Kael that makes employees tremble and opponents second-guess every move they’ve ever made.
The guards bow as I pass, their movents synchronized, practiced, perfected over years of serving this family. Soone opens the massive glass door, and I step out into the night.
The cool air hits imdiately, a sharp contrast to the heated frustration simring beneath my skin.
And there he is.
Moon leans against his car like he owns the night itself. It’s an expensive machine, sleek and black, the kind that probably costs more than most people’s hos.
His arms are crossed over his chest, his posture radiating calm control, absolute certainty. A smile plays on his lips—slow, confident, infuriating.
Like he hadn’t cornered in my own room this morning.
My eyes scan him head to toe, a deliberate, unimpressed inventory.
He looks... different tonight.
He’s dressed in sothing extra special—a black outfit tailored to every line of his body, every curve of muscle, every sharp angle. It fits him like a second skin, like it was made for this mont, for this night.
It’s the kind of outfit you wear when you’re going sowhere important.
Sowhere aningful. Sowhere romantic.
My steps slow as I descend the stairs, and I let my expression show exactly what I think of this display.
Unimpressed. Completely, utterly unimpressed.
He pushes off from the car, a fluid movent, and walks to the passenger side. He opens the door with a flourish—a gentleman’s gesture, practiced and perfect.
Mocking, probably. Definitely.
I glance inside the car, then back at him. My voice is ice wrapped in silk.
"Where’s your driver?"
His teasing smile doesn’t waver. If anything, it deepens.
"Tonight, I wanted to drive."
"Move aside."
He opens the door wider, gesturing inside with an elegant sweep of his arm.
"Co on. Sit."
I stare at him, sothing tight coiling in my chest, ready to snap.
I slide into the seat, movents sharp and deliberate, and mutter under my breath—loud enough for him to hear.
"You look like a servant. Opening and closing doors."
His playful smile doesn’t fade. It widens. Brightens. Becos sothing almost warm.
"I’m trying to be a gentleman," he says, his voice dropping.
"My lady."
My eyes fly wide.
He winks.
Then he closes the door.
I grit my teeth. He’s doing this on purpose. Every word, every gesture—calculated.
To get a reaction. To win so ga I didn’t agree to play.
He slides into the driver’s seat, and I imdiately turn my face to the window, staring out at the city lights, at anything that isn’t him.
I feel his gaze on . A long, heavy stare that prickles at my skin.
Then he leans closer. His hand reaches toward my shoulder.
I react before I think. Before I can stop myself. My hand flies up, slapping his away with a sharp crack that echoes in the enclosed space.
"Don’t you dare touch again," I hiss, turning to face him, my eyes blazing with everything I’ve been holding back.
"Or I swear I’ll kill you."
He doesn’t say anything. Just blinks at , those blue eyes wide and innocent—fake innocent, performative innocent, the innocence of soone who knows exactly what they’re doing.
Then he reaches again, slowly, deliberately, and pulls the seatbelt across my body. He locks it into place.
"I’m not touching you," he says quietly.
My heart races, not just from irritation but from sothing far more dangerous.
I turn back to the window, my fingers knotting together in my lap.
I really don’t understand him. I don’t understand what goes on in his mind. Ever.
The drive is silent. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t look at .
His face is blank, unreadable, and for once, I’m grateful for the quiet. Grateful for the space.
The car stops.
I look up. We’re not at a restaurant.
We’re at a hotel.
I turn to him, confusion and suspicion mixing in my chest like oil and water.
"Why are we at a hotel?"
He doesn’t answer. Just steps out of the car and walks around to open my door.
I cross my arms, refusing to move. My voice is flat, final.
"I’m not going anywhere."
He leans against the open door, eting my gaze. The city lights catch his eyes, make them glitter like sothing dangerous.
"Didn’t we agree on dinner?"
I cut him off.
"Yes. Dinner. At a restaurant. Not a hotel."
He crosses his arms, mirroring my posture, mirroring my defiance.
"Fine. If you want to show up on social dia as my secret lover, then let’s go to a public restaurant."
I stare at him.
"What do you an?"
He tilts his head, patient, explaining sothing obvious to a child.
"Because of my recent post, fans and dia are on fire. Everyone wants to know who the secret lover is."
A pause. "Eating in a restaurant right now would be... risky."
My jaw tightens. "So eating in a hotel isn’t?"
"There’s a private penthouse upstairs. High security. No one will interrupt us."
Interrupt us.
The words land strangely, weighted with sothing I don’t want to examine. Sothing that makes my stomach tighten.
I press on, stubborn, desperate for an out.
"If you were so worried about security, we could have eaten at the mansion. Why all this fuss?"
He looks away for a mont, his profile sharp against the city lights, against the dark sky. When he speaks, his voice is different. Harder. Colder.
"Because your precious Oga friend always shows up when he shouldn’t."
A pause. "I don’t like it."
That hits a nerve.
"Don’t talk about him. I won’t tolerate it."
He looks back at , and the calmness in his eyes is gone.
Replaced by sothing else—sothing blue and burning and cold. Sothing that makes my breath catch.
His voice drops, low and dangerous. "Are you getting out, or should I carry you inside?"
A beat. "I don’t think you like it when I’m gentle."
The threat hangs in the air between us, unmistakable. Unignorable.
I exhale slowly, jaw tight.
I unlock the seatbelt and step out of the car, my movents sharp and resigned.
He turns and starts walking toward the hotel entrance without looking back.
I follow in silence, my fists clenched at my sides, my heart a war drum in my chest, my feet heavy on the pavent.
The doors open —
User Comments
0 comments from readers