Lila Hart's heart wouldn't slow.
Alexander Knight's words—"Two years, five, forever"—still echoed through her, a death sentence disguised as desire.
The contract that bound her.
The obsession that started the night she saved him from a burning wreck two years ago.
It all pressed down until she could barely breathe.
His touch still lingered on her skin, a heat she hated and craved in equal measure. The shame of her own body's betrayal haunted her as the penthouse grew silent. Ethan Caldwell's shouts had faded hours ago. The guards had dragged him out.
Now there was only her—and the man who refused to let her go.
Morning light spilled across the marble floors, soft and golden, almost mocking in its serenity.
Lila sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers twisting the sheets, her mind a storm of debts, guilt, and the public's hatred.
Gold digger. Opportunist. Knight's pet.
The words clung to her like bruises.
The bathroom door opened.
Alexander stepped out, damp hair slicked back, a towel hanging low around his hips. His bare chest gleamed in the light, muscles flexing with casual power.
But it wasn't his body that stole her breath—it was his eyes.
The ice was gone.
In its place, something unguarded flickered. Something soft.
He crossed the room and sat beside her. The mattress dipped, the scent of sandalwood and rain wrapping around her like a memory.
"You didn't sleep," he said quietly. His voice was lower than usual, not sharp, not commanding—gentle.
The difference disarmed her.
"No," she whispered, her throat tight. "I can't." Her fingers clenched in her lap. "You've trapped me, Alexander. My family's drowning, the world hates me, and I can't breathe anymore."
Her voice broke. She hated that it did. Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them away.
Alexander exhaled, a sound halfway between guilt and frustration.
Then, slowly, he reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her face. The touch was light. Careful. Kind.
"I know it's heavy," he murmured. His thumb lingered at her jaw. "I don't want you broken, Lila."
She froze.
It was the first time he'd ever said want without ownership.
He looked at her like she was something fragile, something he didn't know how to hold. "That night, when you pulled me out of that car," he said, voice roughening, "I should've died. You gave me a reason to keep breathing. Maybe I… held on too tightly." His jaw flexed. "I can't let you go. But I don't want you to hate me either."
Her heart stuttered.
The words shouldn't have meant anything—but they did.
She wanted to throw every cruel memory in his face: Veronica's lipstick on his collar, the threats, the contract that stripped her of freedom.
But the man beside her wasn't the same one who'd pinned her to silk sheets and demanded her submission.
This one looked… human.
When his hand slid down to find hers, she didn't pull away.
His fingers intertwined with hers, his thumb tracing soft circles on her palm. The gesture was intimate, grounding.
"I'll take care of your family," he murmured. "No more deadlines. No more threats. Just… stay with me."
Her breath hitched. The sincerity in his tone pierced through her defenses, through the anger and fear.
Was it real?
Was this his way of manipulating her again—or was it something deeper?
Her heart betrayed her, leaning toward him.
The warmth of his touch seeped into her skin, and for the first time in days, she didn't feel like she was suffocating.
Alexander leaned in, slow, deliberate. His lips brushed her forehead—a featherlight kiss that made her chest ache.
"You're my fire, Lila," he whispered. His voice cracked, soft and raw. "I need you."
It wasn't a claim.
It was a confession.
Lila's heart pounded. She searched his face, the softness there frightening her more than his temper ever had.
Did he mean it?
Could he love her?
She didn't have the courage to ask.
Then—his phone buzzed. The spell broke.
He pulled away, his expression darkening as he looked at the screen. "Veronica," he muttered, standing up.
Her stomach sank. The warmth in her chest turned cold.
As he turned away to answer, she stared at his back, wondering if the man who'd just held her hand had ever truly existed—or if his gentleness was just another move in his endless game.