Catalina's body stiffened as Alexander's hand closed around her wrist. The touch was firm, grounding, but it sent a jolt of electricity through her veins. She stared up at him, her breath caught in her throat. His eyes, usually unreadable, flickered with something dangerous—possessive.
"Where were you going?" he asked, voice low, almost too calm.
"I—I just needed air," she replied, voice trembling more than she intended.
"Liar." The word landed softly, but the accusation behind it hit hard. "You were running again."
Catalina's eyes widened. Her lips parted to deny it, but no sound came out. Alexander stepped closer, his grip still on her wrist, his body radiating a heat that threatened to burn her defenses to the ground.
"You can't keep doing this," he said, his jaw clenching. "Running away every time things get hard."
She tried to pull away, but he didn't let go. "You don't understand, Alexander—"
"I understand more than you think," he cut in. "You're scared. But running won't save you. It never does."
Her heart thudded painfully. "Why do you even care?"
Alexander's gaze burned into hers. "Because you're mine, Catalina. You married me. You signed those vows, even if they were a lie. And I'll be damned if I let you walk away without a fight."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Catalina felt herself shaking, not from fear, but from the weight of everything unspoken between them.
"Let me go," she whispered.
But he didn't. Not yet.
Instead, he stepped even closer, his free hand rising to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. His fingers grazed her cheek, lingering for a second longer than necessary.
"You think I don't see you," he murmured, softer now. "But I do. Every damn second."
Something broke inside her. The armor she'd built, the walls she'd relied on—it all began to crumble. Because the look in his eyes wasn't just possessive. It was something else. Something real.
"You don't know what you're doing," she said, trying to sound firm.
"Don't I?" he challenged.
Then, before she could stop him, his lips were on hers.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't soft. It was fire. A kiss laced with anger, confusion, want, and something far more dangerous—need. His mouth devoured hers, hands sliding to her waist, pulling her flush against him.
Catalina gasped into the kiss, her hands instinctively pressing against his chest, but she didn't push him away. She couldn't. Because part of her had been aching for this—for him.
When he finally pulled back, both of them breathless, he said, "You think this is just a game, Catalina. But I feel everything."
She touched her lips, still tingling from the kiss. "You can't keep doing this. You can't control me."
"I'm not trying to control you," he said, voice rough. "I'm trying to keep you safe."
She stepped back, finally pulling free. "Safe from what? From you?"
His eyes darkened. "From the people who want to use you. From your past. From yourself."
The words hit her like a slap. He didn't know—couldn't know—what her past really was. And yet, he looked at her like he saw straight through the façade she wore like armor.
"I don't need saving," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
"No," he agreed. "But maybe I do."
The admission hung between them like a fragile thread, so thin it could snap at any moment.
Catalina turned, needing distance. Needing space to think. She walked down the hall, into the guest bedroom she'd claimed as hers. Alexander didn't follow, but she could feel him watching.
Inside the room, she closed the door and leaned against it, heart racing.
Everything was spiraling.
His touch still lingered on her skin. That kiss—it hadn't been planned. It hadn't been rational. But it had cracked something open inside her she wasn't ready to face.
She stared at herself in the mirror, eyes searching for the girl she used to be. The one who didn't get caught up in CEOs with smoldering eyes and impossible tempers. The one who kept her promises to herself.
But that girl was gone.
The woman staring back at her had changed. She was still changing.
And that terrified her.
Later that night, she couldn't sleep. The kiss haunted her, replaying over and over. She could still feel the press of his mouth, the heat of his hands, the tension in his body.
Every second screamed one truth she didn't want to admit:
Alexander Moretti was getting under her skin.
In the morning, she found him in the kitchen, dressed in a crisp suit, coffee in hand like nothing had happened.
She hesitated at the door. "Morning."
He didn't look at her, but his voice was calm. "Did you sleep?"
"No."
He finally glanced her way. "Me neither."
She poured herself coffee, keeping a careful distance.
"You're avoiding me," he said simply.
She looked up, meeting his gaze. "You kissed me."
"I know."
"You weren't supposed to."
Alexander walked toward her, slow, purposeful. "Do you regret it?"
She froze. "I don't know."
"That's not a no."
Catalina set her cup down. "What do you want from me, Alexander?"
He stepped closer. "I want the truth."
"The truth?" she whispered.
"Yes. Why you really married me. Why you really ran. Why you're so afraid to let anyone in."
Her hands clenched. "You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
She opened her mouth, but the words got stuck in her throat. How could she tell him that love had never been safe for her? That every time she got close to someone, they left—or worse.
Instead, she said, "Don't ask for things you're not ready to hear."
He stared at her, silent, intense.
Then, slowly, he reached out and took her hand.
It was such a simple gesture. But it felt monumental.
"I'm here, Catalina. Whether you want me to be or not."
She pulled her hand back, gently. "That's what scares me."
She turned to leave, heart pounding.
But before she could, Alexander said quietly, "You're not the only one with scars."
She paused.
She didn't look back.
But his words stayed with her.
Later that afternoon, a package arrived addressed to her. She opened it cautiously, finding a small velvet box inside.
Her breath caught when she saw what was inside: a necklace. Delicate. Silver. With a charm that resembled a tiny compass.
Attached was a note, in Alexander's handwriting:
"So you never lose your way again."
Tears prickled at her eyes.
He saw more than she wanted him to.
And maybe... that was the problem.