Kieran couldn't sleep.
Even hours after she had left his office, her scent still lingered, as if her presence had soaked into his walls, into his skin. He'd stood by the glass window long after she left, watching the city drown in moonlight while his mind stayed trapped in the memory of Lana—soft, breathless, and completely undone beneath his hands. He had touched her like a man starved, like someone who'd found the one thing he could never afford to lose. And she had let him.
But this morning, she wasn't here.
He walked into his office expecting her like he always did, hoping to catch that nervous flicker in her eyes again, to torture her with his gaze, to watch her squirm behind professionalism. Instead, her desk was empty.
He frowned.
"Where is she?" he snapped at the assistant walking past.
"Miss Hart called in sick this morning, sir. Said she wasn't feeling well."
Kieran said nothing, but his jaw tightened. Sick? No. She was avoiding him. He could feel it in his gut. After what happened between them, after how she fell apart in his arms, there was no way she could just pretend it hadn't happened.
And yet, here she was—hiding.
He turned on his heel and left the office. He wasn't going to let this fester.
---
Lana hadn't eaten.
She sat curled on her couch, wrapped in a blanket even though the apartment was warm. Her phone was facedown on the coffee table, Derek's messages still unread, and Kieran's name sat at the top of her call log—one call. Just one.
Her lips still tingled with the memory of him, her thighs clenching when she thought about what he did to her on that desk. God, what had she done? What had she allowed?
He had ruined her resolve. She should hate him. Should walk away from everything. But she couldn't. The way he touched her, the way his voice had broken when he said, "You've already ruined me"—it echoed through her.
Derek was easy. Derek was safe. Sweet. He didn't make her feel like she was falling into fire every time he looked at her.
But Kieran... he made her feel everything. And that terrified her.
Her doorbell rang. Her heart froze.
She padded to the door and peered through the peephole. Her breath caught in her throat.
Kieran Valen.
She didn't open the door right away.
"I know you're in there, Lana," his voice came through, low and unshakable. "You think hiding from me will fix this?"
She opened the door slowly.
He was still in his suit, but his tie was loosened, and his eyes—those stormy eyes—searched her like he needed to memorize her.
"You didn't come to work."
She stepped aside, letting him in without a word.
"I needed space," she said, once the door closed.
"You don't get space, not after what happened."
"You don't get to tell me what I need, Kieran."
He stepped closer. She didn't move away. Her breath hitched.
"Tell me you regret it," he said.
Her mouth opened, but no words came.
He nodded slowly. "That's what I thought."
"You don't own me," she whispered.
"Don't I?" he murmured, brushing a knuckle down her jaw. "Then why do you look at me like that? Why are you shaking?"
She hated how her body betrayed her.
"There's someone else," she said suddenly, just to wound him, to shake him off.
He blinked.
"Who?"
She hesitated.
"Derek. We've been talking."
Kieran's jaw locked. The shift in his eyes was instant.
"Derek," he repeated, as if the name itself tasted like poison. "You've been seeing someone while letting me touch you like that?"
"I wasn't— It's not like that," she said, backing up.
He didn't follow. He just stared at her, eyes burning.
"What is it like then, Lana? You don't want me but you'll moan my name in the dark? Let me make you come on my fingers while you whisper someone else's name in your phone?"
Her face flushed.
"I didn't say his name. He called. You know that. You begged me not to answer and I—"
"And you did it anyway," he finished, his voice quiet and sharp. "You still picked him. Even while falling apart in my arms."
She looked away.
Silence stretched.
"You think I'll just let you go? That you'll run into his arms and I'll forget what your body felt like shaking around me?"
She turned back to him. "Then what do you want from me, Kieran? You're my boss. This—this is a disaster."
He moved to her again, slower this time, and cradled her face between his hands.
"I want you to stop pretending you don't want me back."
His lips hovered over hers.
"I want you to stop looking at me like I'm your ruin when I could be the only one who really sees you."
Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them away. He kissed her—slow, deliberate, worshipping. Like he needed to prove something. Like her lips were the only thing keeping him sane.
Her arms circled his neck. His hands slid beneath her shirt, and she let him touch her again—because she couldn't stop him, because she didn't want to.
But a knock on the door froze them.
She stiffened.
Kieran's breath was still on her neck.
Another knock.
She pulled away, heart hammering.
"Stay here," she whispered, smoothing her clothes and heading to the door.
She opened it just a crack.
Derek.
He smiled. "Hey. I've been trying to reach you. Just wanted to see if you were okay."
She stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind her.
"I'm okay. I just needed a day."
Derek studied her. "Is someone here?"
She hesitated. "No. Why?"
He shrugged. "You seem… distracted."
Behind her, inside the apartment, Kieran stood silent in the shadows, watching through the sliver of light beneath the door.
The tension had just begun.