Cynthia
I was still trembling from the fall—well, "fall" was generous. I had actually plummeted toward the ground and landed in… him. His arms had been solid, unyielding, a strange mixture of warmth and authority that made my pulse hammer faster than it had all day. Now, he carried me through the dim hallway, the soft click of our steps against polished wood echoing faintly. The air smelled faintly of leather and old polish. Shadows shifted across the walls as a lone lamp flickered above.
"Put me down!" I protested, squirming lightly, though my arms had little effect against his strong hold.
"I don't think so," he murmured, calm and teasing, the small smirk on his lips making my stomach flutter in a way I hated and loved at the same time.
I groaned. "I'm perfectly fine on my own, thank you very much."
"You call falling fine?" he asked, a faint laugh vibrating through him. "Because this feels… very fine to me."
I rolled my eyes, cheeks warming. "Infuriating. And smug. Classic."
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he let me settle, guiding me gently into the parlor. The faint scent of lavender from late-night cleaning mingled with the leather from the sofa, grounding me in the moment. I sat down quickly, trying to reclaim some independence, and crossed my arms.
"Seriously, do you always do hero poses like this?" I asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Maybe," he said, a slow smirk tugging at his lips, "or maybe I just know what's necessary."
My heart stuttered. "Necessary? For your ego, you mean."
He leaned slightly closer, his hand brushing mine as he moved past. My chest tightened at the contact, and I had to resist the urge to pull back—or forward.
"Am I… supposed to faint now?" I asked lightly, forcing humor into my voice, though my pulse betrayed me.
"Not yet," he said, calm, steady, his dark eyes holding mine. "Patience. For the right reasons."
I shivered at that, not knowing whether it was fear, thrill, or something else entirely. "Right reasons… huh? Explain that one."
"I could," he said softly, almost a whisper, "but you might not like the answer."
I raised an eyebrow, teasing despite myself. "Try me."
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. His fingers lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary. My pulse spiked. "Seriously," I muttered, "you're enjoying this far too much."
"Maybe I am," he admitted, calm, teasing, magnetic.
I bit back a laugh, my hands fidgeting. "Well, congratulations. You're terrifying and… flattering. All at once."
He tilted his head, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Good. That was my goal."
The tension was thick, palpable. My mind flashed back to the alley, the masked man, the sudden rush of danger—and then him. Strong, calm, impossible to ignore.
--- Flashback ---
The rope slipped. My stomach dropped. I fell—and his arms were there, catching me, holding me steady. Solid, warm, unyielding. My breath hitched as the adrenaline surged.
--- Present ---
I shook my head slightly, trying to focus on the room. "I can't believe I let this happen. Arms around me, bleeding eyes, dangerous calm… and I don't even know who you are."
He smirked. "You know me well enough already."
"Do I?" I asked, voice skeptical. "I don't even know your name."
"Raymond," he said simply, calm and teasing.
"Raymond?" I repeated, testing it, a flicker of curiosity in my chest.
"Yes. Mr. Raymond, if you prefer," he added smoothly.
I blinked, still processing, though a small smile tugged at my lips. "Mr. Raymond, huh? Fine… I'll try to remember that."
He leaned slightly closer, his hand grazing mine again. My stomach tightened, a confusing swirl of irritation, thrill, and something deeper.
"Look," I said, squirming, "I—need some space."
"You don't get much of that tonight," he murmured, brushing a finger lightly across my wrist.
I groaned dramatically. "I feel like a caged bird."
"Caged birds survive," he said softly. "And occasionally, they learn who's worth flying with."
I rolled my eyes, but my chest fluttered. "I'm no bird. And I'm certainly not ready to trust you fully."
He simply nodded, leaning back slightly, letting the tension hum between us. "Fine. But… you'll stay safe tonight. No more solo adventures."
I huffed, trying to protest. "Fine… if you want."
"Good," he said softly, calm, teasing. "Now, if you want to eat something before your… party preparation, there's food."
I glanced at the plate, untouched, then back at him. "I'm not hungry. And anyway, I'm leaving for that party. I can't stay cooped up here."
He smirked, almost indulgent. "Okay… if you insist. But I'll be nearby. Watching."
I rolled my eyes but felt a secret thrill at his words. The night outside called to me, but his presence lingered, a silent pull I couldn't deny. I grabbed my coat and bag, finally stepping toward the door.
Outside, the city hummed quietly—horns in the distance, tires skimming the wet asphalt, faint chatter of passersby. I took a deep breath, pulse quickening, excitement and nervousness curling in a messy coil inside me.
And even as I stepped into the night, part of me wondered: Do I trust him? Or am I already too far gone to turn back?
---