Aria slammed her apartment door behind her, pressing her back against the wood. Her pulse was still racing from the alley, but it wasn't just fear—it was him. Always him.
She hated the way he lingered in her thoughts. The way his voice curled around her in the dark, the way his touch had steadied her trembling hands. It wasn't supposed to feel like this.
The knock came ten minutes later. Firm. Certain.
Her chest tightened. "No," she whispered to herself. She didn't need to look; she already knew who it was.
Another knock.
Against every instinct screaming to ignore him, she pulled the door open.
There he stood—dark coat, rain clinging to his hair, eyes as sharp as the night.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded.
"Making sure you're safe," he said simply. His gaze swept the hallway behind her, then settled back on her face. "They won't come back, but I don't trust leaving you alone."
Aria gritted her teeth. "You can't just—show up whenever you feel like it. You don't own me."
Something flickered in his expression. Not anger. Not quite amusement either. "You're right. I don't." He stepped closer, and she instinctively stepped back, retreating into her apartment. His presence followed, uninvited yet impossible to resist.
"Then why are you here?" she pressed, her voice sharper than she felt.
He closed the door behind him with deliberate care, then turned to her. "Because every time I tell myself to stay away…" His jaw tightened. "…I don't want to."
Her breath caught. For one reckless moment, she thought of the warmth of his thumb against her skin, of how her heart had raced for reasons she didn't want to admit.
She shook her head, forcing steel into her voice. "You can't keep doing this. I don't want you in my life."
Silence stretched between them. His eyes studied hers, searching, and then his lips curved in that faint, dangerous half-smile.
"Then why," he murmured, stepping close enough that she could feel the heat of him, "do you look at me like you do now?"
Aria froze. Because she knew he was right. Her glare wasn't pure hatred—it was fear tangled with something far more dangerous. Want.
Her throat tightened. "You should go."
For a moment, it seemed he might lean in, claim the closeness that sparked between them. Instead, he drew a breath, controlled, and whispered, "Not tonight."
And then he left her there—heart pounding, body trembling, fury and longing burning in equal measure.
Aria locked the door behind him, slid to the floor, and buried her face in her hands. She had pushed him away… but all she could feel was how much closer he had gotten.