The morning light was cruel.
It spilled through the tall windows of the mansion, illuminating the faint bruise along my shoulder and the dull ache in my chest I couldn't name.
Luca didn't speak. He didn't look at me. He sat at the head of the dining table, black suit crisp, expression flawless. Cold. Untouchable. The same man I had been thinking of in my dreams, only now, somehow, farther away.
I tried to meet his eyes. He didn't flinch. Didn't even acknowledge my existence beyond the corner of his vision. The silence stretched like thin ice beneath my feet, treacherous, unstable.
I tried to meet his eyes. He didn't flinch. Didn't even acknowledge my existence beyond the corner of his vision.
I hated it.
I hated it so much I could feel it pressing under my skin, twisting in my stomach.
I hated him.
I hated him.
And yet… my lips still remembered the warmth of his. That kiss in the library played over and over in my mind, vivid enough to make my heart pound and my shoulders ache, and I wasn't sure if it made me furious or alive.
Hours passed with silence.
And then the sharp sting of confusion became unbearable.
"Luca!" I snapped as he barely moved a finger to signal the staff. "Are you… ignoring me? What is this?"
He didn't answer.
"Answer me!" I said, standing abruptly. My shoulders ached, my pulse raced, but I couldn't contain it any longer. "If you hate me so much… if you truly despise me, then why, why did you worry when I was shot? Why did you stay at the hospital all night? Why did you make me recover instead of leaving me there? Why..."
I swallowed the lump in my throat, voice breaking. "Why did you kiss me?!"
Silence. Then finally, a low, controlled rumble from him:
"I.."
"You kissed me too!" I shouted. "I didn't force you. And if this is what you call hating me… then throw me away! Fine! Throw me away, Luca!"
The air between us was electric. I could feel the heat of my own words, the way my chest ached from shouting and heartbreak.
He stepped forward slowly, a predator measuring his next move, and I realized, he wasn't going to answer with words. Not yet.
Instead, he kissed me.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't tender. It was sharp, deliberate, and all-consuming, meant to silence me, to cut through my chaos and stop my shouting. His lips were surprisingly soft against their rough treatment, a contrast that made me gasp. I tasted mint and something darker, whiskey perhaps? beneath the controlled pressure. His breath hitched briefly as I pushed against him, and I felt the muscle in his jaw twitch against my cheek.
I gasped, pushed against him, tried to break free. But his hand didn't hurt, it just anchored me, insisting I stay. His thumb brushed across my cheekbone, an unexpected gentleness that contradicted the possessive claim of his mouth.
I finally shoved him away, hard. His expression darkened, almost feral. A strand of hair fell across his forehead, breaking his perfect facade for just a moment.
I slapped him. Hard. Enough to sting, enough to mark my anger.
"I… I'm leaving," I said, trembling, turning to storm toward my room.
But the moment I tried to move, a searing pain shot from my shoulder down to my leg. I cried out, staggering.
Luca was there in an instant, catching me effortlessly. His hands were firm on my waist, and for a fleeting moment, I could see his control cracking, just a little. The heat of his palms seeped through the fabric of my shirt, familiar somehow, like the memory of the library kiss.
"Stop being stubborn," he said, voice low and rough. "You're not walking anywhere like this."
"I, I can..." I tried to push him away, but he didn't budge.
"You're hurt. Let me help," he said.
"I don't need..." My words faltered. The pain from my shoulder spread, and my balance gave out.
He gritted his teeth, holding me close, not letting me fight it. "Quit being ridiculous," he muttered, jaw tight, eyes flashing. "You don't get to walk away when you can barely stand."
The scent of him enveloped me, expensive cologne mixed with laundry detergent and something uniquely him. It was the same scent from the library, when we'd stood so close I could count his breaths.
I swallowed hard, chest heaving, mind spinning with anger, desire, and the lingering memory of the library kiss.
For the first time, I realized just how fragile our balance was, how thin the ice between hatred and something dangerously close to obsession could be. It creaked beneath us, threatening to fracture at any moment. One wrong move could send us plummeting into freezing waters, or perhaps into something equally dangerous.
And I hated myself for noticing.