Chapter 26

Zara’s POV

I didn't want to believe I had just caught him slightly in my arms, seeing him this wasted for the first time.

We stayed frozen like that longer than it made sense. His weight leaned into me, one arm braced against the counter behind me, the other hanging loose at his side.

I could smell the alcohol on his breath, strong, and fresh but underneath it was something else—his familiar expensive cologne.

I stared up at Matteo for the first time without anger blurring my vision, sensing that there was something wrong indeed.

And I hated that my first thought was that he wasn’t… horrible.

He was taller than I remembered him being when I wasn’t looking at him with my guard raised. Broad shoulders filled the space between us, stretching the fabric of his shirt slightly, like it had been tailored to contain power rather than just style. His jaw was sharp, shadowed faintly with stubble, the kind that made him look perpetually on the edge of a bad decision.

And his eyes? I swallowed.

They were brown. Not flat or dull, but alluring, like melted chocolate, dark, steamy, and dangerously inviting. The kind of eyes that didn’t ask permission to hold you there. The kind that made people step back without even realizing why they had done that.

‘Snap out of it Zara!’ I grumbled to myself, as I realized I was still holding him.

My hands were pressed against his arms, fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeves as if letting go might send him crashing to the floor. His chest rose and fell slowly, unevenly, breathing warm against my face.

“Matteo,” I whispered, but he didn’t respond.

His eyes were half-lidded and unfocused, the weight of the alcohol clearly pulling him under, and that snapped me back into reality.

“Okay,” I muttered to myself. “You’re drunk. You’re very drunk.”

I tried to shift him, bracing my feet against the floor and pushing gently at his shoulder. “You need to sit down.”

He didn’t move.

“Of course you don’t,” I sighed.

I tried again, wrapping one arm around his waist, immediately regretting the decision. He was heavier than he looked, had strong muscles beneath the fabric alongside stubbornness.

“Don’t you dare fall on me,” I warned under my breath as I managed to guide him a few steps forward before my arms started shaking.

“Nope. Upstairs is not happening,” I decided quickly.

I turned instead, dragging him toward the living room. Every step felt like a negotiation. He leaned into me more than helped, his head dipping slightly until his forehead brushed my temple.

My heart stuttered.

“Stay awake,” I told him. “Just stay awake.”

The couch came into view like a miracle and I shoved him down unceremoniously.

He flopped back against the cushions with a soft grunt, arms falling open, eyes closing completely.

I exhaled in relief. “Finally.”

I turned to step away but I tripped. My foot caught on the edge of the rug, and suddenly I was falling forward, hands scrambling uselessly for balance.

And then, I landed right on top of him. My palms pressed against his chest, my knees sinking into the couch on either side of his thighs. His body jolted slightly beneath me, warmth radiating up through my skin.

We froze. Again. Slowly, his eyes opened and they locked onto mine instantly. The room without permission felt too quiet and too small. My breath hitched as the memory I had been shoving down for days surfaced without warning.

That night.

The dim lights in that room we were both in. The way he had looked at me like I was something he’d already decided he wanted. The way his voice had sounded low and dangerous when he’d dug into me for the first time.

The way I hadn’t said no still.

His hand lifted, hesitated for a fraction of a second just enough to give me time to pull away. But I didn’t and in seconds his fingers brushed my jaw instead, gentle in a way that didn’t fit the man everyone else seemed to see.

“Zara,” he murmured.

My name sounded different on his lips that before I could form a thought, he leaned forward and kissed me.

It wasn’t rough, it wasn’t rushed. It was slow, warm, and devastating.

A shiver ran straight down my spine, with heat blooming in my chest and spreading everywhere all at once. My hands curled into his shirt without permission, my pulse roaring in my ears as I felt his warm lips on mine. Tasting the alcohol, getting tied up in that one web I have always avoided.

I should’ve stopped him. I knew that. I told myself that.

But memory flooded in, his mouth, his hands, the way he’d made me feel seen and wanted in a world where I’d felt invisible for too long.

And I kissed him back with my eyes closed.

The world narrowed to something else and the quiet sound he made against my lips. He shifted beneath me, hands sliding to my waist, lifting me effortlessly and turning so I was suddenly sitting astride his lap, the couch creaking softly beneath us.

I gasped, the kiss breaking for a split second before he pulled me back in.

Time stretched and then—he stopped. Pulled back abruptly, eyes dark with something different.

For a moment, I thought I’d imagined it and then a smirk curved his lips.

“So much for a smart mouth, huh?” he said lightly.

The words hit like cold water that I came back to my senses immediately. My blood went from boiling to ice in seconds.

I shoved my hands against his chest hard enough to make him lean back. “Asshole!”

I scrambled off him, heart pounding in my chest from pure humiliating anger.

I stood there shaking, staring down at him as he leaned back against the couch, still wearing that infuriatingly smug expression.

“You’re unbelievable,” I snapped.

He only chuckled softly, eyes following me like he hadn’t just crossed a line. I turned away before he could say anything else, fists clenched, pulse racing for all the wrong reasons.

And I hated myself for the part of me that still felt the echo of his lips.