Morning arrived cruelly—bright, unrelenting, offering no shadows to hide in.
Anna woke with the lingering warmth on her lips refusing to fade. Not from the touch itself, but from what it confessed: she hadn't pulled away. She'd chosen to linger in the most perilous proximity.
She dressed as always. Polished. Composed. As if last night had never happened. As if her bedroom door had never been knocked by a man who had no business being there.
In the kitchen, Evelyn sat with her coffee, hair pinned in a simple updo. "Morning," she said brightly. "I've got an early meeting. Want to head out with me this afternoon?"
Anna shook her head. "I've got my own errands."
"Fair enough." Evelyn smiled, then glanced at Alaric as he entered. "Don't come home too late."
Alaric nodded. "I'll try."
Their eyes met—brief, formal. Then Alaric flicked a glance at Anna. A fraction of a second. Enough to tell her: she wasn't forgotten. Not denied.
In the car, silence reigned. The driver stared ahead. Avernon City blurred past, cold and indifferent to anyone's secrets. Alaric sat up front. Anna in the back. A deliberate divide.
"Go straight home," Alaric said without turning.
"Why?" Anna asked.
"Because I don't want you alone for too long," he replied flatly.
Not a command. Not a plea. A decision.
Anna stared at his back. "Sounds like a new habit."
"It's prevention," he said curtly.
At Devano Corporation's office, Anna killed time in the executive lounge—a glass-walled perch overlooking the city. She brought a book but didn't read.
Her mind looped back to one truth: how easily control had slipped last night, and how fragile she felt now.
Afternoon waned when the door opened. Alaric stood in the threshold of his office, jacket slung over one arm, tie discarded.
"Come in." Anna obeyed.
The room felt different this time—smaller, more intimate. Alaric shut the door. Didn't lock it. But the sound marked territory clearly enough.
"We need rules," he said.
Anna leaned against the desk. "What kind?"
"Rules so we don't destroy everyone," he replied. His gaze was steady, but the tension beneath it was undisguised. "No touching at home. No ambiguous talk in front of Evelyn. And—" He paused. "—no midnight surprises."
Anna nodded slowly. "And outside the house?"
Alaric held her eyes. "Outside, you're still under my protection."
"Protection or possession?" she murmured.
His jaw tightened. "I don't own you."
"But you act like it."
He stepped closer—one step. "I'm acting like the world won't be gentle with you."
Anna met his gaze. "And you?"
Alaric's eyes dropped to her lips, then rose again. "I'm not gentle when it comes to what I want to keep."
Silence fell. Not empty—charged. Anna felt the pull again, not just physical, but a quiet-growing need.
"What if the rules fail?" Anna asked.
Alaric exhaled. "Then we face consequences that can't wait."
~~~
That night, Evelyn came home late. The house was still. Lights dimmed low. Anna stood on the balcony, gazing at the city. The glass door slid open softly.
Alaric lingered a few steps behind. He didn't approach. Didn't leave.
"You're breaking the rules," Anna said without turning.
"I haven't touched you," he replied.
"Not yet."
He gave a rare, dangerous half-smile. "That's why I stop here."
Night wind stirred. The space between them was thin—close enough to feel the heat, far enough to remind of the line.
"I thought about you today," Alaric said at last. "Too much."
Anna closed her eyes briefly. "That's not safe to admit."
"No," he agreed. "But it's honest."
He edged half a step closer—no more. His hand lifted, hovering near her hair. Not touching. But its presence was real.
"If I touched you now," he said low, "I wouldn't stop at one kiss."
Anna swallowed. "And if you don't?"
"Tomorrow will be harder."
They stood like that—two adults fully aware of their choices, weighing them too long. Finally, Alaric lowered his hand.
"We stop here," he said.
Anna nodded. "For tonight."
He turned and walked away. Steps measured. Back straight. But Anna knew—he wasn't leaving in peace.
As the door clicked shut, one realization quickened her pulse:
They weren't just holding back anymore. They were learning how to fall—slowly, deliberately, without illusions of safety. And in Avernon City, a slow fall was often the deadliest.
~~~
Night didn't announce itself. It simply arrived—silent, precise, lethal.
I sensed Alaric in the mansion before I heard his steps. The air shifted subtly whenever he was near, like a cord pulled too tight, waiting to snap.
I stood by my bedroom window, lights off, city glow filtering in. The door was unlocked. I wasn't sure who decided that—me, or the version of myself too honest with her desires.
The knock came. Softer than the first night.I opened it without a word. Alaric stood there. Dark gray shirt, sleeves rolled up, jaw set. No smile. No preamble. His gaze hit me—then held, as if reminding himself of rules he'd already broken.
"We shouldn't be doing this," he said.
"I know," I replied.
He stepped inside anyway.The door closed. No decisive click this time. Just a soft push—enough to mark the boundary we pretended still existed.
"You should've stayed away after that night," he continued.
I took one step toward him. "So should you."
He exhaled softly. A thin, bitter smile. "I tried."
Silence built—heavier than before. Not awkward. Not hesitant. The silence of two people who knew exactly what they were doing, and stepped into it anyway.
I felt his touch first this time. Not lips. Not waist. His fingers grazed my wrist—light, almost polite. But the way he held it told me: last thread of control.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured low.
I didn't answer. Alaric drew me closer. Our bodies met—not hard, not rushed. Warmth seeped in slow, like a fire banked small to stay hidden... but hot enough to burn from within.
This kiss was different. Deeper. Bolder. No hesitation, but still leashed. His lips pressed with clear intent—not mere hunger, but confession.
His hands slid to my back. Holding. As if ensuring I wouldn't fall—or ensuring I wouldn't flee.I responded on instinct. My fingers threaded into his hair, feeling the tension. Alaric let out a heavy breath, our foreheads touching again.
"This... is wrong," he whispered.
"Yes," I said honestly. "But you won't stop."
"Because you won't ask me to."
Those words twisted something in my chest. Not for their meaning—but because they were true.We moved slow, near-silent. Alaric guided me to the bed's edge, sitting on it without toppling me. He stood before me, eyes level—not dominant, not submissive. Equal. Perilous.
His hand trailed my arm, up to my shoulder, then halted. Always halting just shy of too far."We won't cross certain lines," he said. More to himself.
I held his gaze. "Which ones?"
He flashed a brief smile. "The ones that make pretending possible come morning."
I laughed dryly. "We can't pretend anymore."
Alaric went still. Then leaned in. Forehead to forehead. Noses brushing. Breaths colliding.
The next kiss unfolded slower. More intimate. No rush. No conquest. Just two people relearning each other—with full knowledge of the stakes.
His hands settled at my waist. Thumb pressing lightly, a reminder he could... but chose not to.
And that made it burn hotter."
I thought about you again today," he said suddenly, lips near my ear. "In meetings. The elevator. Lunch."
I swallowed. "And you still sat beside your wife."
"Yes." His voice dropped, weighted. "And it nearly broke my control."
I shut my eyes briefly. Not pride in his words. Confession.
That night, we didn't shed what should stay covered. No true leaps. But the touches, kisses, held breaths—they felt like deliberate transgressions.
When Alaric finally pulled back, the distance ached.
"We stop now," he said.
"Yes," I agreed.
He nodded. One step back. Two. His eyes lingered—not with guilt, but something darker.
"It won't get easier," he said.
"I don't expect it to."Alaric opened the door. Before leaving, he paused.
"From tonight," he said without turning, "this isn't chance anymore. It's a choice."
The door shut.
I stood there long after his steps faded. Realizing what made my stomach twist: we hadn't touched the deepest line.
And that's why... the obsession was taking root. Slow, certain, inevitable.