Chapter 7

Kate’s POV

A whole week. Seven gut-wrenching, sleep-deprived, soul-numbing days.

And still… no sign of Mr. William.

Each morning I woke hoping to hear the low hum of his car or see him stretching shirtless by the pool like nothing happened. But his room stayed locked, the house too quiet, and every hour passed with a heavier ache in my chest.

It was stupid. I knew it was stupid. He wasn't mine to miss. He was just my dad’s best friend… my temporary guardian… my dangerously handsome temptation.

And yet, every time my phone buzzed, I prayed it would be him.

Jeremy had been oddly perfect during this time—sweet, patient, not pushing me about what happened. He even took me out a couple of times, trying to cheer me up. But it was like trying to tape over a shattering glass—everything still felt cracked beneath the surface.

So when he invited me to the college party tonight, I said yes. Not because I wanted to go. But because I was spiraling. And I was tired of spiraling alone.

I hadn’t planned on drinking—but one cup turned into two, and then five, and suddenly the music blurred into a haze and my head spun with too many thoughts, most of them shaped like Mr. William.

“Who the hell does he think he is?” I slurred, leaning over the bar counter as Jeremy hovered nearby. “Disappearing like that… like I don’t even matter.”

Jeremy touched my back, but I shook him off, giggling and almost crying at the same time. “I don’t care. I don’t care. Let him stay away forever, for all I care!”

The more I said it, the more Jeremy smiled. But what he didn’t understand… what I barely understood… was that every drunken word I said was a lie.

Because I did care. Too much.

Eventually, Jeremy had to drag me out of there. “You’re too gone,” he muttered, opening the car door for me. I wanted to argue but my head spun like a carousel.

When we got to the mansion, I insisted I could walk. He didn’t fight me—just helped me to the doorstep and left after reminding me to call him. I barely mumbled a response as I pushed open the front door and staggered inside.

And that’s when I saw him.

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, wearing a dark shirt that clung to his broad chest, his eyes locked onto me like I’d just burst into his dreams.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

No way.

“Mr. William?” I slurred, laughing. “Oh wow… you look so real tonight.”

He stepped forward, cautious. “Kate…”

“No, no, no,” I shook my head, swaying unsteadily. “You’re not really here. I’ve been seeing you all week. In my dreams. In my coffee. In my stupid, lonely, horny brain.”

His brow twitched.

“I mean, come on,” I whispered, taking a bold step toward him. “If you were real, you’d have called. You’d have come back.”

He didn't say anything. He just stood there, rigid… watching.

“And if you are real,” I murmured, reaching up and brushing my fingers along his jaw, “then kiss me. Prove it.”

“Kate—”

“Kiss me, Mr. William,” I giggled, pressing a hand to his chest, feeling his heart beat fast beneath it. “Or maybe I’ll kiss you first. God knows I’ve imagined it enough.”

He caught my wrist gently but firmly.

“I’m drunk, not dead,” I teased, staring up at him with hot, glazed eyes. “And you look way too good for me not to say everything I’ve been dying to say all week.”

He cursed under his breath and tried to turn away—but I wrapped my arms around his waist and buried my face against him, whispering, “Please don’t disappear again.”

William’s POV

Kate was drunk. Not just tipsy—gone. And yet, the way she looked at me made my resolve crumble inch by inch.

Her hands were on my chest again, soft and searching, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. Her lips were red from her biting them and her cheeks flushed with wine and recklessness.

“Kiss me, Mr. William,” she said again, and this time there was a pout to her voice that sounded both like a demand and a plea. “Please...”

I swallowed hard.

She leaned up on her toes, but her balance wobbled and she stumbled into me. I caught her instantly, her body pressing flush against mine. My breath hitched. Her perfume hit me like a punch to the chest—sweet, warm, entirely her.

“Kate,” I said, my voice gruff, my hands gripping her waist to steady her. “You need to stop.”

But she didn’t.

Her fingers trailed up my shirt, lazy and deliberate. “Why?” she whispered, her eyes heavy-lidded and full of desire. “Don’t you want me? I want you, William. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

God help me.

She could barely stand, her knees buckling under her own weight. She giggled—actually giggled—as I caught her again.

“You’re impossible,” I muttered under my breath, scooping her into my arms before she could fall and hurt herself.

She nestled against my chest like it was the most natural place in the world. “Mmm... I knew you’d catch me,” she said, slurring her words just slightly. “You always do.”

“Don’t read into that,” I said tightly, carrying her toward the stairs. “You’re drunk, Kate. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

She didn’t answer—just closed her eyes and clung to me as I climbed up and pushed open her bedroom door.

I laid her gently on the bed, brushing her hair from her face, telling myself this was it—I would turn, walk out, and shut this entire disaster out of my head. But before I could move, she grabbed my shirt—firmly this time—and tugged me toward her.

Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper. “Stay with me tonight.”

“Kate—”

Her fingers dragged down my chest. “Please... just lie next to me. Or... do more than that.”

My breath caught.

Every nerve in my body screamed to say yes. To let go. To take what she was offering.

Her lips were parted. Her dress had slipped off one shoulder. Her scent, her skin, her voice—it was all too much.

She looked up at me with that fire in her eyes, that desperation, that hunger that mirrored mine.

And then she said it—low, aching, deadly:

"You want me, don't you, Mr William?"

My body tensed.

My heart was pounding.

I leaned in—just enough that I could feel the heat of her breath on my lips. Just enough to forget every damn reason I shouldn't.

Her fingers curled tighter into my shirt.

I didn’t move.

I couldn’t.

And then—

“Mr William?”

Her voice broke into a whisper again, trembling and intoxicating.

"Kiss me... or leave. But don’t stand there like you’re not dying too."

I closed my eyes—jaw clenched—hovering on the edge of a line I knew I couldn’t uncross.