/Jake/
A sudden grip on my hand yanked me out of the hall, hundreds of eyes following us. I could feel the weight of their stares—people already filing this away as their next piece of gossip. Doors opened and closed behind me in quick succession, and before I could even process what was happening, I was already in Leo's car. His hand was still on mine, the grip tightening with every passing second.
"Leo… my hand hurts." I glanced at his face, searching for some clue to explain this strange, intense reaction. My eyes silently begged him to let go.
He turned to look at me, his gaze boring into mine—sharp, unblinking, as if he could strip away every thought I'd ever had. The chill it sent down my spine was immediate. Finally, he let go, and the skin he'd gripped throbbed, red and sore.
"What happened?" I asked, rubbing the spot to ease the ache.
Silence. Just the low hum of the car in front of us and Leo's fixed stare on the steering wheel. Without a word, he started the engine.
"What happened, Leo?" I tried again, unsure if I had somehow done something wrong.
I replayed the evening in my head: I'd left for the party with friends around 5:30, had a couple of drinks, danced, laughed—it was all harmless fun. I couldn't think of a single thing I'd done to make him upset. If anything, he was the one who showed up early to pick me up. Honestly, if he hadn't, I could have had a few more drinks.
But he didn't answer. Not once. He just drove, the silence between us thick and suffocating. His eyes were fixed on the road, but the anger in them was unmistakable—hot, sharp, and unsettling enough to make my stomach knot.
We reached his condo in fifteen minutes. Normally, it took thirty to forty, but tonight he drove like a man possessed, weaving past car after car with a speed that screamed his mind was anywhere but calm.
"If you won't speak," I said finally, "how am I supposed to understand what's going through your head?"
I needed answers—anything to explain why he'd dragged me out of there like that.
He stepped out of the car and came around to my side, opening the door. From that angle, I had a clear view of Leo's broad frame. Without a word, he bent forward, grabbed my hand, and pulled me along toward his condo. The door slammed shut behind us with a force that made me flinch.
I jerked my hand, trying to free myself, making it clear I didn't appreciate being handled this way. "Can you please just talk?"
"Who was that sitting beside you?" His voice was sharp, each word edged with restrained anger.
He took a few steps back, striding to the small liquor bar at the far end of the kitchen. A bottle was plucked from the collection with deliberate precision, and he poured himself a glass.
"Why was he sitting so close to you?" he pressed again, eyes narrowing at me.
I stood frozen, my mind still clouded by the alcohol, struggling to piece together the situation.
He lifted the glass and didn't just sip — he drained it in one motion, setting it down with a sharp clink. Then, without breaking eye contact, he started toward me. My blinking became slower, heavier, and every time my eyes opened, he was closer.
Until suddenly, he was right there — so close I could feel his breath mingling with mine. In a swift motion, he caught both my hands, pinned them above my head against the wall, and pressed his mouth to mine.
The kiss burned away the haze in an instant. Shock jolted through me, and I shoved him back with force. He stumbled, landing on the carpet, his gaze fixed downward.
"Leo… you're not in your right mind."
Without another glance, I walked toward the bedroom, my mind spinning with what had just happened. That kiss… it wasn't affectionate. It was hungry, desperate — and I didn't understand why. The thought unsettled me. I told myself I'd confront him when we'd both cooled down.
I toed off my shoes, relishing the fresh air against my feet, removed my watch, and shrugged off my jacket. But before I could drape it over the chair beside the bed, I was shoved onto the mattress.
Leo loomed over me, his weight caging me in. I tried to push him away, but his grip was unyielding. My wrists were pinned to the headboard as his other hand roamed, searching, hesitating, almost trembling.
His eyes locked onto mine for a moment, unreadable, before he dipped down again, capturing my lips. This time, the kiss was deeper, more demanding. He forced my lips apart, his tongue sliding in, moving with an urgency that left me breathless.
I hated it. My teeth sank into his lower lip, breaking the connection. His head lifted, and for the first time, he saw the tears in my eyes.
The sight made him freeze. In an instant, his hold loosened. He rose from the bed, grabbed his coat from the table, and without a single word, walked out — leaving me alone in the heavy silence, my emotions in chaos.
I settled myself on the bed, one hand draped over my eyes, trying to blink away and absorb the stubborn tears that refused to stop. My chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath feeling heavier than the last.
I knew… deep down, I knew that whatever had just happened was born from the heat of the moment. That it wasn't planned. That he didn't mean to cross that line. And yet, the memory of his grip, the weight of his body, and the desperation in his kiss lingered like fingerprints pressed into my skin.
Pulling the blanket over myself, I curled into its warmth, as if it could shield me from the confusion gnawing at my mind. My thoughts spun, desperate to make sense of his behavior. Was it the alcohol? The party? Something someone said? Or… was it something else entirely?
No matter how many reasons I tried to conjure, none of them fit — and that uncertainty was worse than the act itself.