The kiss still burned on her lips, her chest rising and falling like she had run miles. For one dizzy heartbeat, she had let herself sink into him—into the danger, the heat, the way he claimed her like she belonged to him.
And then reality crashed in.
Aria tore herself back, her palm striking his cheek with a crack that echoed in the night.
"Don't you ever do that again!" she spat, chest heaving. Her hand shook, but she didn't lower it.
The mark of her slap reddened his sharp cheekbone. He didn't flinch. Didn't lash out. He just stood there, eyes locked on hers, expression unreadable.
"You don't own me," she continued, her voice breaking. "You don't get to take what you want and call it protection, or love, or whatever game this is. I don't want you. I never will."
Her words cut sharper than her hand. She expected anger—expected him to grab her, to snarl, to remind her of the power he carried in his every step.
Instead… he softened.
His hand rose slowly, not to capture her, but to brush the side of her face, so gentle it made her stomach knot. His thumb ghosted over her cheekbone, not restraining—just touching, as though he were afraid she'd vanish if he pressed too hard.
"I know," he murmured, voice low, raw. "You want me to be the monster. It would be easier that way."
Aria froze, her fury faltering under the weight of his words. His eyes weren't cold now—they burned, yes, but with something far more dangerous than rage. Longing. Ache.
"But I don't want to hurt you, Aria," he continued, the faintest tremor in his voice. "I just… can't stay away."
Her throat tightened. She wanted to shove him again, to scream—but instead she stood trembling, trapped not by his arms, but by the tenderness she hadn't expected. Tenderness she didn't know how to fight.
His hand slipped away, leaving her skin cold where his warmth had been.
"You should hate me," he whispered, stepping back. "Maybe one day I'll let you."
And with that, he turned and disappeared into the night, leaving her standing alone, her palm still tingling from the slap—and her heart racing from the way he had touched her afterward.
Aria pressed her fingers to her lips, horrified by the truth she could no longer deny.
The danger wasn't only in his obsession.
It was in her own heart whispering: what if you don't want him to stop?