Arora stood in the middle of her room, hands braced against the edge of the table, breathing like she had just run a mile.
She had made a mistake.
No—worse.
She had allowed herself to make a mistake.
Letting Jack get close. Letting him touch her. Letting him see her vulnerable.
She should have pushed him away the moment he crossed the line. She should have shut the door in his face, reminded him exactly who she was and what world he had stepped into.
But instead—
She closed her eyes, jaw tightening.
Instead, she let him in.
Her chest still felt tight, her thoughts messy, tangled in frustration and something far more dangerous: longing.
"This is stupid," she muttered under her breath, raking a hand through her hair. "Get a grip, Arora."
She straightened, forcing her spine rigid, her expression cold again. Leader. Black Rose. Winland.
The woman who survived hell didn't crumble because of one man.
