Chapter 5 - Dangerous sparks

The morning after, I told myself I was going to ignore him. Ignore the headlines, ignore the pictures, ignore the fact that the whole internet had suddenly turned into detectives trying to figure out if we were “back together” or “enemies-to-lovers in real life.”

I laughed when I saw that last one. Enemies-to-lovers. If only they knew.

But the laugh didn’t last. Because once again, the pictures were everywhere. Him stepping out of that car. Him leaning too close. Me looking like I’d been caught between a punch and a kiss.

And the captions? Don’t even get me started.

“Chemistry you can’t fake.”

“The comeback of the century?”

“When hate looks a little too much like love.”

Yeah. Try drinking coffee with that shoved in your face every two seconds.

I tossed my phone across the couch and muttered to myself, “God, I need a new life.”

But the universe? The universe has a sick sense of humor. Because just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, the intercom buzzed.

“Miss, there’s someone here to see you,” the doorman’s voice came through.

I froze, my stomach already sinking. “Who?”

There was a pause, then: “He says you’ll know.”

And I did. Of course I did.

I could’ve said no. Could’ve pretended I wasn’t home. Could’ve told the doorman to throw him out. But what did I do instead? I pressed the button.

Five minutes later, he was standing in my apartment. My apartment. Looking completely at home in a plain black shirt and jeans like he didn’t just crash into my world uninvited.

“You’re unbelievable,” I said, arms crossed, doing my best not to throw the nearest mug at him.

He smirked, leaning against my kitchen counter. “You let me in. That says more than you think.”

I groaned. “Do you practice these lines in the mirror, or do they just come naturally?”

He laughed softly, and damn it, the sound still did something to me.

But then he looked at me properly. And I mean properly, like he was stripping away the fake smile, the makeup, the walls I’d built. His voice dropped lower. “You look tired.”

I blinked, caught off guard. That… wasn’t what I expected.

“Maybe because certain people don’t know how to leave me alone,” I said quickly, trying to shake off the crack in my chest.

He tilted his head, eyes softer now. “Or maybe because you’re still carrying too much on your own.”

And there it was. The part of him that scared me the most. Not the arrogance. Not the power. But the way he could still sound like he cared. Like he saw me. Like underneath everything, I still mattered.

I whispered, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he asked gently.

“Don’t look at me like that. Like I’m still yours.”

He stepped closer, the warmth of him brushing over me. “But you are.”

My chest tightened. My mind screamed at me to push him away, to remind him of every scar he left behind. But my body? My body betrayed me.

His hand reached up slowly, hesitantly, and brushed a strand of hair away from my face. The touch was light, almost nothing at all, but it sent a shiver racing down my spine.

I should’ve moved. I should’ve slapped his hand away. But I didn’t.

Instead, I stood there, frozen in a storm of memories I didn’t ask for. His lips close, his eyes locked on mine, the silence between us thick enough to drown in.

“Stop,” I breathed.

But he didn’t. His hand slid to my jaw, his thumb brushing over my skin like he had every right. And then, before I could talk myself out of it, before I could remind myself why I hated him.....his mouth was on mine.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t rushed either. It was everything I remembered about him..... hot, demanding, frustratingly perfect.

And worst of all? I kissed him back.

For one split second, I forgot the betrayal, the pain, the years of silence. For one split second, it was just us again, tangled in a fire we’d never really put out.

But then reality slammed back into me.

I pushed him away, chest heaving, lips tingling, anger and desire crashing together until I didn’t know what I felt anymore.

“You don’t get to do that,” I snapped, though my voice shook. “You don’t get to walk in here, kiss me, and pretend like nothing happened.”

He didn’t flinch. His lips curved into that dangerous smile. “Pretend? Cariño, I’ve never been more real.”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to kiss him again.

Instead, I whispered, “Get out.”

He studied me for a long second, like he was memorizing the way I looked with fire in my eyes and his kiss still on my lips. Then he leaned in close, his breath brushing against my ear.

“I’ll go,” he said softly. “But this isn’t over. It never was.”

And with that, he walked out, leaving me standing in the middle of my living room with shaking hands, a racing heart, and lips that still burned.

I hated him.

But God help me… I wanted more.

I sank onto the couch, burying my face in my hands, as if I could scrub the memory of his mouth on mine out of existence. But the taste lingered, stubborn, sweet, and maddening. My chest ached with the weight of everything I hadn’t said, everything I swore I’d never feel again.

The worst part? My reflection in the black screen of the TV didn’t look like a woman who had won. It looked like someone caught in a war she wasn’t ready for.

And deep down, I knew the truth.....this wasn’t the end of him. This was only the beginning.