The air between them was thick—too thick.
Kian's face hovered close, and the usual icy calm he carried had fractured into something darker, heavier. His gaze wasn't merely steady—it was hungry, as though he'd gotten lost in a place he rarely allowed himself to go. Lost in her. Lost in lust.
And Isabella? She knew it. She felt it. Every nerve in her body screamed with the intensity of his stare, and for once her dramatic mouth didn't know what to do.
So, of course, she did the only thing Isabella ever did when things got too serious—she started talking.
Her lips curved into a small, sweet smile, and her voice softened into that honeyed, coaxing tone she always used when she wanted to wiggle her way out of trouble. "Um… is it too late to say I'm sorry? Because, you know… this was all just a joke, I might have taken too far."
The words tumbled out quickly, almost too quickly, like a shield she was desperately trying to hold up against his burning gaze.
