Chapter 13 (Part 02)

The words came out rough, strained, like they’d been dragged from somewhere deep inside him. There was something almost vulnerable in the way he said it, as if the image of another man’s hands on me had affected him more than he wanted to admit.

“And?” I looked up, anger catching fire behind my ribs. The unfairness of it, the presumption, made my blood boil. “Why does it matter to you?”

He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. I could see the war playing out across his features—control battling with something wilder, more primal. His chest rose and fell with measured breaths, like he was trying to calm himself.

“This is not the answer to my question,” he said, voice cold.

“As far as I know,” I said slowly, trying to regain some control, “is that I don’t belong to anyone so, I can allow whoever I want to touch me.”

The silence after that was deafening.

Killian didn’t blink.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t even seem to breathe.

His gaze dropped—to my lips—and stayed there.

And something cracked.

The air between us became electric, charged with possibility and danger. I could feel the moment stretching, becoming something neither of us could take back. The careful boundaries we’d maintained for months were crumbling, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to stop them.

“Why do you care?” I asked, my voice lower now, almost breathless. “Why does it matter who I dance with?”

His nostrils flared, and I watched his chest rise and fall with controlled breaths. When he spoke, his voice was rough, strained, like he was fighting some internal battle.

“You want to know why I care?”

I nodded, mesmerized by the way his lips moved, by the way the shadows played across his face.

He shifted, pressing a little closer—his chest brushing mine. The contact sent electricity shooting through my veins, and I had to bite back a gasp. Through the thin fabric of my dress, I could feel the warmth of his body, could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

I held my breath, afraid that any movement might break whatever spell we were under.

“You really don’t see it,” he said, voice barely audible.

“See what?”

“You walk into every room like you’re invisible,” he whispered, and his words ghosted across my skin. “You don’t realize the kind of attention you draw. The kind of temptation you are.”

My heart stuttered. “That’s not your concern.”

“But it is,” he said, and there was something almost desperate in his voice. “Because watching other men look at you, want you, is killing me. Because I can’t concentrate on anything when you’re around. Because I’ve been trying to convince myself that what I feel for you is wrong, inappropriate, impossible—and failing miserably.”

And his hand moved.

Just slightly.

Fingers grazing the wall beside my waist.

Not on me. Not yet.

But every nerve in my body lit up like it had. The proximity was torture—so close I could feel his warmth, could count his eyelashes, could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.

I turned my face slightly, and his breath touched my cheek. The intimacy of it made my knees weak, made me want to sink into him and forget about all the reasons this was a terrible idea.

My heart thundered in my throat.

He wasn’t my boss here. In this dim hallway, away from the corporate world that defined our relationship, the rules felt different. Suspended. We were just two people, drawn together by something neither of us fully understood.

He wasn’t Mr. Vale.

He was just a man—furious and unraveled and closer than he should be.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, barely more than a whisper.

His eyes darkened, pupils dilating until they were nearly black. I could see my reflection in them, could see how undone I looked—lips parted, cheeks flushed, eyes wide with want and fear and confusion.

He didn’t respond, he didn’t have to.

The answer was written in the tension of his body, in the way his breathing had become ragged, in the barely leashed control that kept his hands from reaching for me.

My breath hitched.

And he leaned in.

His lips almost brushed mine—so close I could feel the warmth of them, could taste the whiskey on his breath. The world narrowed to this moment, this space between us, this choice we were both on the verge of making.

My eyes fluttered shut, every rational thought abandoning me. This was wrong. This was dangerous. This was—

“Hey!”

The word cut through the air like a blade, shattering the moment into a thousand pieces.

Killian’s head turned sharply toward the voice, and I saw his features harden, the mask of control sliding back into place with practiced ease.

And just like that, the spell broke.

I opened my eyes in time to see Zayn storming down the hallway, jaw clenched, one hand already reaching for Killian’s shoulder. His face was dark with fury, his usual easy-going demeanor replaced by something protective and fierce. Behind him, I could see curious faces peering around the corner—people who had probably come looking for me when I’d disappeared.

He didn’t hesitate.

He grabbed Killian and yanked him back with force, the movement so sudden and violent that I gasped. Killian stumbled slightly but didn’t resist, didn’t fight back. He just let himself be pulled away, his eyes never leaving mine.

The movement broke the tension, air rushing into my lungs like I’d been drowning. Reality crashed back over me—the music from the club, the distant laughter, the fact that I was pressed against a wall looking thoroughly compromised.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Zayn said, voice tight with fury. His accent was thicker now, shaped by anger and protective instinct.

Killian didn’t react to the rough handling. He straightened his jacket with calm precision, smoothed back his hair, and suddenly he was Mr. Vale again—composed, untouchable, dangerous in a completely different way.

“Back off,” Zayn said, his voice carrying a warning that made the hairs on my arms stand up. “Now.”

Killian’s gaze slowly drifted to him—just once. The look was cold, controlled, calculating. I saw him assess Zayn, size him up, dismiss him as a threat. Then his eyes returned to me, and suddenly the careful mask slipped again.

“This isn’t over,” he said quietly, the words meant for me alone.

The promise in his voice made my stomach flip, made my heart race all over again. It wasn’t a threat—it was something much more dangerous. It was a vow.

And then he was gone, disappearing down the hallway with the same silent grace he’d appeared with, leaving behind only the scent of his cologne and the memory of what had almost happened.

I slumped against the wall, suddenly exhausted, my legs shaking with the aftershocks of adrenaline. The plaster felt even colder now, shocking against my overheated skin.

“Are you okay?” Zayn asked, turning to face me, his hands gentle on my shoulders.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. But I wasn’t okay. I was changed, somehow, by what had just happened. By the way Killian had looked at me, the way he’d made me feel. By the realization that everything I’d been trying to deny was true—I wanted him. Despite every rational thought, every professional boundary, every reason it was impossible, I wanted him.

“What was that about?” Zayn continued, his voice softer now, concerned.

I shook my head, still processing. “I don’t know.”

But that was a lie. I knew exactly what that had been about. The question was what I was going to do about it.

Because one thing was certain—Killian Vale wasn’t done with me.

And despite everything, despite the danger and the impossibility of it all, I wasn’t sure I wanted him to be.