Chapter 39

DORIAN’S POV****

I couldn’t stay in that apartment any longer.

The music, the laughter, the stupid questions, the dares, it all felt like a challenge I couldn’t answer.

And Amara—

Her lips pressed close to Jack, hips moving in that ridiculous, deliberate rhythm. She wasn’t even nervous. She looked… confident. And I hated it. Hated her. Loved it. Both.

I took my drink and left without a word. The night air hit me the moment I stepped outside. I needed space, needed control, needed to remind myself that she wasn’t mine—not yet. Not ever, if she continued testing me like this.

I ended up by the pool. Leaning against the stone edge, arms crossed, jaw tight. The apartment's lights reflected on the water. My heartbeat hadn’t slowed, not even a little. Her words, her moves, her entire existence, they were a storm I couldn’t quiet.

“You’re impossible,” I muttered to the water. Mu reflection didn't answer. Of course it didn't.

Hours passed. I drank, watched the shadows, and reminded myself that leaving the party wasn’t cowardice.

A sudden movement caught my eye.

Amara.

She walked toward the pool like the world belonged to her. Her hair was damp at the edges, a loose strand falling across her face, and her bikini clung in all the right places. She tied her hair into a ponytail.

She dove in without hesitation. The splash was sharp, breaking the quiet around me. She swam with slow, deliberate strokes, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

She floated at the far side, paused, then swam toward the edge. I saw her sit, legs dangling in the water, hands gripping the tiles. She looked like she belonged in another world, a world I wasn’t allowed into.

And yet… my entire body was screaming that I belonged there too.

Anger. Desire. Frustration. It was all tangled up in me, a knot I couldn’t unravel. She didn’t even know I was here.

I poured a drink and leaned against the railing, letting the cold glasses press into my palm while my mind replayed her every move during the dance.

She loved teasing me, provoking me, and I hated and loved it all at once. That was the problem with her. Every step she took in her life, in her clothes, in her smile—it was like she knew exactly how to reach me. 

The night air carried the faint scent of chlorine and her perfume—just a trace, but enough to make my head spin.

I wanted to step into the water. Wanted to confront her. Wanted to tell her exactly what she did to me tonight. But I didn’t. Not yet. Not like this. She needed to see me. Feel me. And I needed to make her feel it too.

I waited. Counting the seconds.

She stretched her arms behind her, arching her back slightly. Breasts threatening to spring out her bikini.

I clenched my fists. Every movement, every quiet breath she took—it was a provocation. She didn’t know it, but she was challenging me. And I was more than ready to respond.

A wave of possessiveness hit me. Mine. Not in the pathetic way a man claims what isn’t his, but in the way that makes you want to burn the world around her just to keep her safe. From herself. From me. From anyone.

Her head tilted, eyes scanning the night sky. I could see her jaw tightening slightly, a small frown formed on her face like she was thinking.

I decided to approach her. I was done moving in circles. I downed the last drink and moved forward.

Her eyes flicked in my direction, widened slightly, then narrowed, scanning the pool area. Recognition hit, and for a brief second, her expression shifted. Surprise, curiosity… caution.

“Dorian,” she said softly, almost a whisper.

Her chest rose and fell faster. The water rippled around her hands. Her lips parted slightly. I could read her like an open page, her surprise, her restraint, the small flicker of nervousness beneath her calm.

I stepped fully into the light. 

Her eyes met mine fully, and the air thickened between us. 

She swallowed. I moved another step closer. Not into the pool yet. Not into her space. But close enough that the tension was almost unbearable.

And then I made the choice I’d been holding back all night.

I would show her. Show her that I wasn’t just angry. Show her that I wasn’t calm. Show her that I cared too much to pretend.

The night was ours—or at least, I intended it to be.

For the first time since the party, I felt like I might take control.

And I was done waiting.