MIRA
My back was still against the wall.
Not pressed anymore, not pinned, not held the way he had held me seconds earlier, but the memory of his body was a ghost-heat bruising through my skin. My breath felt like it wasn't mine. My lips felt swollen. My heartbeat was a skipping thing, trying to find a rhythm and failing because Damian had just shattered every rhythm I had.
I hadn't even moved yet.
He had stepped back only a single pace—if you can call that distance—and he was standing there like he knew exactly what he'd done. Like he liked the way I was unraveling in front of him. And I hated that he was right.
He didn't touch me again.
But his presence touched everything.
"Mira," he said softly.
It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a command. It was a slow stroke of sound, as if saying my name let him taste the last few seconds all over again.
I swallowed, wishing it didn't sound so loud.
"You… you can't—"
"Yes," he murmured, cutting through my stutter with the certainty of a blade, "I can."
His eyes dropped to my mouth again, and I felt something low in me tug toward him, traitorous and alive. Too alive.
He stepped closer.
Not touching. Just close enough for the air between us to tighten.
The hallway was too quiet. I felt like every part of me was tuned to him and only him.
"What happened just now…" I forced out, "it shouldn't have happened."
A soft breath left him. Almost a laugh, except it wasn't mocking. It was like he found me fascinating—like my resistance was just another part of the pull.
"Mira," he said again, voice lower, "you knew it was going to happen."
I shook my head too fast. "No. No, I didn't."
"You did."
His hand lifted, and for a second I thought he was going to touch my cheek. He didn't. He hovered his fingers a breath away from my skin, and the lack of actual contact made it so much worse.
"You felt it before I even stepped toward you. You felt it the moment you looked at me tonight."
"I didn't."
I whispered it. I meant it. I didn't know why it came out sounding like a confession instead of a denial.
His eyes sharpened.
"You're saying the wrong things," he murmured, voice silk and danger.
My breath hitched. "What are you talking about?"
"I told you," Damian said, leaning in with the quietest, most devastating confidence I had ever seen on a man, "I only want to hear my name on those lips."
My knees went weak.
And the worst part—the terrible, shameful, terrifying part—was that I almost said it. I almost whispered his name right then, like he'd already taken something from me and I wanted to give him the rest.
But I didn't.
I turned my head away, trying to breathe like my lungs remembered how.
"Damion… just… stop."
He didn't move for a long moment.
Then, with a slow exhale, he did.
Not out of frustration. Not even reluctance. The way he stepped back felt like he was indulging me. Like he was letting me breathe because he wanted to see what I'd do with the air.
"We're not done," he said.
My heart twisted.
Because I knew he was right.
DAMION
She thought stepping away from me would cool things down.
It didn't.
It only made the heat clearer, sharper, more defined. Watching her fold her arms across her chest like she needed to physically hold herself together… that was something I felt in every part of me.
She didn't understand the effect she had.
Or maybe she did and she was pretending she didn't, because acknowledging it would mean acknowledging the way she'd leaned into me seconds earlier.
Yes—she had leaned.
She could deny it. She could trip over the words. But her body had answered me before her mouth ever could.
And God, I wanted to hear her say my name again.
But not with fear.
Not with confusion.
With surrender.
She was shaking. Not visibly—Mira didn't give herself away easily. But I saw the tension in her throat. The tremor in her exhale. The way her fingers pressed into her own arms, like she was holding on to reality.
"You should go," she whispered.
It wasn't an order. It was a plea she didn't want me to hear.
"We both know I won't."
Her breath skipped, tripping over itself. She made the mistake of looking at me again, and her eyes—a soft, wary brown—went wide when she saw the truth I no longer bothered hiding.
"You're going to run again," I murmured, "and I'm going to let you. But Mira… don't lie to yourself about why you're running."
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
I stepped past her—not toward the exit, but just close enough for her to smell my cologne again—and lowered my head toward her ear.
"When you're done pretending this isn't consuming you," I said gently, "you'll come to me."
Her breath shivered.
And then, finally, she slipped away, leaving me in the shadow-heavy hallway with the echo of her pulse still audible in my head.
She thought distance would help.
She didn't know distance was a fuse—and I was the match waiting at the end of it.
MIRA
I didn't run.
Not literally.
But I walked fast enough that my steps sounded guilty, and my chest felt like it was stuffed with fire and ice at the same time.
What was happening to me?
No—better question: What was he doing to me?
I stepped outside into the cool night and dragged a deep breath into my lungs… only to feel his presence again. Not physically, but in the memory of his breath near my ear.
The way he talked to me—like he was peeling away every layer I tried to hide behind.
I hated it.
I hated him.
I hated that I didn't hate him.
My phone buzzed in my hand. The screen lit up with a message notification.
Unknown Number.
My stomach dropped.
The same feeling I'd tried to bury. The same unease. The same fear I'd been gaslighting myself out of for weeks.
Slowly, I opened the message.
Don't go home yet. He's still watching you.
Cold washed through my entire spine.
My eyes darted across the empty parking lot, every shadow suddenly too loud.
Every stillness suddenly threatening.
My breathing went shallow.
Not again.
Not this.
Not the stalker.
Not tonight—not after the mess inside my head with Damian.
I backed up until I hit a lamp post.
I typed back with shaking fingers.
Who is watching me? Who are you?
The reply came instantly.
The one you think you understand. The one you shouldn't trust.
My heart lunged up into my throat.
"Damion?"
I whispered it aloud before I could stop myself.
No.
It couldn't be him.
It couldn't.
Whatever he was, whatever darkness clung to him, he wouldn't hide behind anonymous messages.
Right?
Another message flashed.
Go back inside. He's following you.
I froze.
Another buzz.
Run. Now.
Footsteps behind me.
I turned.
"Damion—?"
Except it wasn't him.
A tall figure stepped out from behind a parked car.
I didn't recognize him.
He didn't move closer.
He didn't speak.
He just… watched.
A shape in the dark, too still, too focused, too wrong.
DAMION
Something was off.
I felt it before I saw it—Mira's absence left a metallic taste in my mouth. Too sudden. Too tense. Too unlike her.
I stepped outside.
And there she was.
Frozen.
Backing up against a lamppost.
Looking small in a way I had never seen her look.
Her phone in a death grip.
And a man I didn't know standing too close.
Not touching her.
Not approaching.
Just watching her like he was rewiring something dark inside his mind.
The sight of it—the very image—split something open in me.
I didn't shout.
I didn't run.
I walked toward them with a quiet, lethal certainty.
Mira saw me first.
Her lips parted.
Her eyes widened.
Relief and panic collided in her face.
The man didn't turn around until I was close enough to break his spine with one movement.
When he finally faced me, he looked calm.
Wrong move.
Very wrong move.
"Leave," I said.
Just one word.
But he understood the tone.
He stepped back once. Then again. Then vanished into the rows of cars like a stray shadow dissolving into night.
Mira sagged against the lamppost the second he was gone.
I reached her in two strides.
Her breath was shaking.
Her pulse was racing.
Her eyes were glossy with fear and something else—something that twisted deep in my gut.
"Don't," she whispered when I touched her arm.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
Her laugh was broken glass. "I—I know. That's… that's not the problem."
I stepped closer, lowering my voice.
"What did he say to you?"
She hesitated.
Her phone trembled in her hand.
She turned the screen toward me.
I read the messages.
And everything inside me went still.
Then colder.
Sharper.
More dangerous.
"Mira," I murmured, lifting her chin so she looked directly into my eyes, "listen carefully."
She swallowed hard.
"You are not leaving my sight tonight."
Her lips parted. "Damion—"
"I said," my voice dropped, "you're not leaving my sight."
A beat of silence.
Then another.
Then—
Her voice, barely there: "Okay."
And I swear—
I swear the word went straight through me.
Not because she obeyed.
Because she trusted me.
And trust was the one thing I shouldn't have.
Not from her.
Not yet.
Not like this.
But I took it anyway.
Because I wanted her safe.
Because I wanted her close.
Because I wanted her.
And God help me—
I wasn't done wanting.