It rained again the next morning—cold and sharp, like the mood in Arvi's office.
Rose sat at her desk, quiet. Her eyes stayed on the screen, but her hands hovered, unmoving. The words blurred.
Across the glass, Arvi stared at nothing.
Neither of them spoke.
Not since the fight.
But silence was loud between them. Louder than shouting. It held every unspoken word, every half-swallowed truth.
He had watched her before she even existed to him.
She had trusted him more than anyone else in years.
And now?
They didn't know what they were anymore.
By noon, she couldn't take it.
She stormed into his office without knocking.
His eyes snapped up, guarded.
"I need to know something," she said, voice low.
He leaned back in his chair. "Then ask."
"Why me?" she asked. "Out of all the people in this city—why did you choose me to work with you? Was it just safety? Was I just convenient?"
He stood up slowly. Walked around the desk.
Now they were face-to-face.
"You want the truth?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "Even if it hurts."
His eyes flicked over her face—quiet, unreadable.
"You were the first person I looked at," he said, "and didn't feel like I had to destroy."
Her breath caught.
"I didn't choose you because you were perfect," he added. "I chose you because you were real. You didn't pretend. You didn't flinch when I was cruel. You hated me, and I knew you meant it."
"I still do," she whispered.
He stepped closer.
"Good," he murmured. "Because the only thing worse than hate is nothing."
She looked up, eyes wide.
"And what do you feel when you look at me now?"
He didn't blink.
"Chaos."
She swallowed. "And you still want me close?"
"I want you too close," he said.
And then his mouth was on hers.
It wasn't gentle.
It wasn't sweet.
It was fire meeting ice. Heat crashing into years of cold.
His hand slid to her waist, pulling her in like he couldn't stop himself. Her fingers curled into his shirt, angry and desperate and alive.
She hated how much she wanted it.
She hated how much it felt.
But when he pulled away, breathing hard, she saw it in his eyes—confusion, pain, need.
"I can't feel this," he said.
"Then stop," she whispered. "But you won't."
He stared at her, jaw clenched.
"I burn everything I touch, Rose."
She looked him straight in the eye.
"Then let me be the first thing that doesn't turn to ash."
Later that night, Arvi stood in his study alone.
Whiskey in his hand. Storm outside. Thunder growling like a warning.
He touched his lips, still remembering the way she kissed him back. Fierce. Unafraid.
For the first time in years, he was afraid.
Not of enemies.
Not of betrayal.
But of feeling something real.
And deep in his chest, something cracked—quiet but irreversible.