Five Past Five

POV SIENNA

At four‑fifty‑five in the afternoon, The Black Lens café, located just half a block from the faculty building, hummed with the soft clink of ceramic cups, rising steam from warm milk, and the rapid tapping of fingers on screens. The place was full, warm and alive with students scattered across tables, talking quietly or focused on their own work.

Liam and I had claimed a small table right beside the large front window overlooking the main street. On the worn wooden surface sat two black coffees, my laptop open to the outline of our short film’s opening scenes, and a notebook where Liam, writing eagerly, sketched camera angles and continuous shots with a pen that was running out of ink.

"So the lead discovers the contract was actually a trap laid by his own family, right at the eight‑minute mark," Liam leaned slightly forward, his eyes bright with excitement. "It is brutal, Sienna. If we hold the shot on his face the exact moment he realizes the betrayal and let rain sound play softly in the background, Donovan will have to give us top honours."

A genuine smile found its way to my lips. I was so absorbed in the story, in that pure joy of building something from scratch alongside someone who truly understood, that for the first time in days I had forgotten the mountains, the Thorne family estate, and the bond that burned beneath my skin.

"Yes, exactly. And then she walks into his office, not to demand answers, but to..."

The air in the café shifted all at once. It felt as though someone had opened a door into somewhere cold and heavy; the pressure dropped so sharply my ears popped. My inner she‑wolf, calm and curled quietly for hours, lifted her ears instantly and whimpered, pressing herself deep against my ribs.

The unmistakable scent of burnt cedar, bergamot and charged ozone cut straight through the smell of roasted coffee and fresh pastries like a blade parting everything in its path. I looked toward the glass door, my heart hammering hard in my throat. It was exactly five‑oh‑three.

The bell above the entrance chimed, yet no one paid it any mind; every eye in the room fixed itself on the man stepping across the threshold. It was Killian. His suit jacket hung over one shoulder, held loosely by a single finger, and his charcoal grey shirt, made of fabric so fine it fitted his broad back like a second skin, had its top two buttons undone and its silk tie knotted slack around his neck. His hair, slightly tousled by the afternoon wind, and sleeves pushed up to his elbows gave him the look of someone powerful, someone who had just closed multi‑million‑dollar deals and saw no reason to hide who he was.

He walked between tables with a long, slow, heavy stride, the kind that made people step back purely on instinct. Two girls at the counter froze with cups halfway to their lips, staring openly. Killian did not see them at all. His grey eyes, dark as storm clouds, swept the room until they found me. Then they shifted to Liam, still leaning in toward my space, his elbow nearly brushing mine.

I saw the exact moment his jaw locked tight. His nostrils flared as he breathed in, picking up the soft scent of the boy beside me, that faint mix of cherry tobacco and rain that had nothing to do with his own. Let the ground swallow me whole, I thought, feeling hot shame rise from my chest to my cheeks.

"Sienna..." Liam frowned, noticing how pale I had gone. "Are you okay? You look as white as..."

Killian’s shadow fell over our table, blocking the afternoon sunlight. Conversations nearby died away completely, as if someone had flipped a switch. He did not look at Liam; he did not even acknowledge his existence. He stepped beside my chair, dropped his jacket over the backrest with a dull thud, and rested both palms flat on the table, leaning in until his face was only inches from mine.

"It is five‑oh‑four, Hayes," he said. His voice was low, rough, and terrifyingly calm, yet every syllable vibrated with tension so thick it felt ready to shatter glass. "I told you on the sidewalk, five o’clock sharp."

I froze for a heartbeat, but indignation at being watched by everyone in the place gave me strength. I set my jaw, refusing to shrink away.

"I am in the middle of a work meeting, Killian," I kept my voice low, hoping he would show even a scrap of sense. "Wait for me in the car, please. I will be ten minutes."

Killian let out a dry, humourless laugh.

"I did not ask for permission to wait," he straightened slowly, adjusting his platinum watch with maddening composure. "And I will not stand here while you play director alongside… this."

His gaze settled on Liam at last, carrying such cold, absolute disdain that the other boy, relaxed as he usually was, stiffened in his seat. Instinct made his shoulders hunch slightly before he could help it.

"Look, man," Liam raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "We are just finishing the project outline for Donovan’s class. I am her partner and..."

"I did not ask who you are," Killian cut in, his tone sharp and icy. "And we are not friends. Gather your things and leave, before I decide this table is in my way."

"Killian, stop this right now!" I slammed my palms against the table and stood up so fast my chair scraped loudly across the floor. "Stop acting like you own everything in front of everyone! You are embarrassing me!"

He looked me over from head to toe, his pupils dilating until they swallowed the grey in his irises, leaving only dark, hungry pools.

"Close your laptop, Sienna," he ordered, not shouting but commanding obedience all the same. "Now."

"I will not..."

Before I could finish, he moved with a speed I could barely follow. He snapped the lid shut with one firm motion, disconnected the charger with a flick of his thumb, and tucked the machine beneath his arm as if it belonged to him. With his other hand, he curled his fingers around my right wrist, his grip firm but not bruising. His skin burned against mine, an electric, searing, impossible‑to‑ignore shock that coursed through us both. He drew me a step closer.

"Liam, I will send you everything by email tonight, I am so sorry," I managed to say, my face burning, as I hurried to keep my feet.

Liam watched us, looking from Killian’s hand on my wrist to the way my body leaned toward him despite myself.

"Yeah… sure," he stammered. "Just… message me whenever you can."

Killian wasted no more time. He guided me toward the door, his pace brooking no delay.

"Walk," he murmured, his breath brushing my hair. "Do not stop."

We stepped out beneath the heavy silence of the entire room. I felt every gaze boring into my back. The Porsche sat illegally parked right in front, straddling the yellow line, hazard lights flashing. Killian wrenched the passenger door open, set my things on the floor, and released my wrist so I could climb in.

"Get in," he said, his voice gravelly. "Before I lose control right here on the sidewalk."

I scrambled inside, not out of fear so much as a desperate need to stop being stared at. The moment he slid behind the wheel, I turned on him, trembling with anger.

"You are the most arrogant, controlling, cruel person I have ever met," I said, my voice shaking but clear. "You cannot treat me like property and scare off people I work with. He is just a classmate!"

Killian slammed his door, engaged the locks, and revved the engine loudly, yet he did not drive away. He turned toward me, invading my space, his eyes glowing with that wild golden light that showed the beast beneath.

"He was too close to you, Hayes," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper that seared my skin. "He was breathing your air. And you smiled at him as if he had any right to make you laugh."

"It is work, Killian!"

"I do not care what it is," he answered, his hand coming up to cup the back of my neck, holding me steady. "Next time you keep me waiting to be alone with another, I will not just ask you to come away. I will carry you out in front of everyone so no one ever doubts who you belong to."