Semua Bab Beneath His Ice: Bab 21 - Bab 29

Emery QuinnThe bass reverberated through the floor, up my calves, and into the cage of my ribs. Each pulse traveled through my bones like a second heartbeat, synchronizing with the rhythm that commanded every body in this dimly lit sanctuary of escape. The sound wasn't just music—it was a physical force, a tangible thing that wrapped around me and pulled me deeper into the anonymity I craved.The crowd around us blurred—gold lights casting amber halos through cigarette smoke and perfume-heavy air, velvet shadows dancing across faces I'd never see again, moving bodies wrapped in designer fabrics and desperate hope. The club was a kaleidoscope of temporary connections, fleeting glances, and promises that would dissolve with the morning light. I didn't know the name of the song that pounded through the speakers. I didn't care. It was rhythmic and raw and the kind of beat that drowned out thought, drowned out the endless mental loops of spreadsheets and meeting schedules and the weight o

Emery QuinnI couldn't breathe right.Not because the club was too loud or too crowded or too hot—though it was all of those things. The bass thrummed through the floors and walls like a living heartbeat, vibrating through my ribcage and settling somewhere deep in my chest. Bodies pressed against bodies in the dim, strobing light, a sea of movement that should have been liberating, should have made me feel anonymous and free. The air hung thick with expensive perfume.But none of that was why my lungs felt constricted, why each breath came shallow and quick.It was because his gaze was still on me.Killian Vale sat in the shadows like a storm that hadn't yet struck, all sharp lines and colder silence, his stare locked on me with the kind of intensity that made my skin itch and my blood rush in ways I didn't want to examine. Even through the haze of smoke and shifting lights, I could feel the weight of his attention like a physical thing. It pressed against me, wrapped around me, claim

I pushed open the restroom door and stepped inside, grateful for the temporary sanctuary. The space was as luxurious as the rest of the club—soft lighting that flattered everyone it touched, gold-framed mirrors that reflected back perfected versions of reality, marble countertops that probably cost more than my monthly rent. Black and white photographs adorned the walls, artistic studies of light and shadow that seemed to watch from their frames. Not a soul in sight. I braced my hands on the edge of the sink and exhaled slowly, studying my reflection in the mirror. My makeup was still perfect, my hair still artfully tousled, my dress still hugging my curves in all the right places. I looked like someone who belonged in a place like this, someone confident and sophisticated and entirely at ease with expensive liquor and designer clothes and the attention of handsome men. But my eyes gave me away. They were too wide, too bright, filled with an uncertainty that no amount of concealer c

The words came out rough, strained, like they’d been dragged from somewhere deep inside him. There was something almost vulnerable in the way he said it, as if the image of another man’s hands on me had affected him more than he wanted to admit.“And?” I looked up, anger catching fire behind my ribs. The unfairness of it, the presumption, made my blood boil. “Why does it matter to you?”He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. I could see the war playing out across his features—control battling with something wilder, more primal. His chest rose and fell with measured breaths, like he was trying to calm himself.“This is not the answer to my question,” he said, voice cold.“As far as I know,” I said slowly, trying to regain some control, “is that I don’t belong to anyone so, I can allow whoever I want to touch me.”The silence after that was deafening.Killian didn’t blink.Didn’t speak.Didn’t even seem to breathe.His gaze dropped—to my lips—and stayed there.And some

I froze.The casual cruelty of it hit me like a slap. Not just the insult to Zayn, but the deliberate way he’d aimed it at me. Like my choices were somehow defective. Like I was defective. The words hung in the air like poison, seeping into my skin and burning everything they touched.Zayn stiffened.I felt his entire body go rigid against mine, muscles coiling like he was preparing for a fight. His hand on my waist tightened to the point of discomfort, and I could practically feel the rage radiating off him in waves. The temperature around us seemed to spike with barely contained violence.And something inside me snapped.It wasn’t just the insult. Or the tone. Or the arrogance.It was everything.Every passive-aggressive dig.Every backhanded comment.Every moment Killian Vale had stared at me like I was a puzzle he regretted starting—but still refused to walk away from.The way he’d criticized my work with that infuriating smirk. The way he’d made me feel small and inadequate in me