Karma's POV
The bass thumped beneath my skin, a heavy heartbeat I couldn't escape. Kristian's hand had grazed my lower back, possessive, guiding, like I was some pretty accessory he owned.
But I wasn't watching him.
I was watching him.
That stranger.
Sharp jaw. Dangerous smile. Eyes that cut into me like he already knew secrets I hadn't even told myself.
He didn't sit. Didn't linger. Just let his gaze linger on us—on me—long enough to scorch something inside me before disappearing behind the closing elevator doors.
That's when I felt it.
Kristian's fists tightening on the table.
He didn't need to say a word. His silence was enough. His storm always gathered quietly before it struck.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to face forward, but the look—God, that look—kept replaying inside me like a forbidden song.
"Don't," Kristian finally muttered, voice tight.
I stiffened. "Don't what?"
His jaw ticked. "Don't look at him like that again."
I laughed, sharp and humorless. "Like what?"
"You know what." His eyes bored into me, dark and commanding. "Like you forgot I was sitting right next to you."
This guy was too self entitled. What was he trying to prove? What did he mean?
Heat flared in my chest, anger curling tight in my stomach. He thought he could control me. He thought glaring and flexing his jaw would erase what had just sparked in me—what I couldn't deny, no matter how much I wanted to.
"You don't get to dictate where my eyes go. Especially since I don't dictate who you sleep with," I snapped.
"I get to dictate everything when it comes to you," he shot back, ignoring the last sentence.
The audacity. The sheer arrogance. Something inside me cracked then, the anger bleeding out into words I couldn't hold back. "You know what? Do whatever you want to do, Kristian. I'm done playing this little control game of yours. I'm going to the washroom."
I didn't wait for his reply. My heels clicked against the marble floor, each step a declaration, a warning.
But of course, he followed.
Because that's what Kristian always did—follow.
Like—what was he??... A stalker?.
The hallway to the washrooms was dimly lit, neon seeping through the cracks of the club doors. I barely had time to breathe before his hand wrapped around my wrist, spinning me toward him.
His face was thunderous, eyes darker than the shadows we stood in.
"What the hell was that back there?" he demanded.
I yanked my hand free. "A thought. That's it. You're acting like I slept with him in the middle of the damn club."
"Don't test me, Karma." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "You think I didn't see the way you let him undress you with his eyes? You think I didn't see the way you let him—"
"Let him?" I laughed bitterly, cutting him off. "You don't own me, Kristian. You never did. You want control, you want obedience, but you've never offered me anything solid in return. No stability. No trust. Just your damn rules."
His nostrils flared, chest rising and falling fast. For a second, he almost looked wounded. But then the mask slipped back into place.
"Stay away from him," he said, steel in his tone.
"Or what?" My heart hammered. "You'll lock me up? Break me down until I'm some obedient little doll who only looks at you?" I taunted him, even though I knew nothing about the said guy, I just met him in a store-like...yesterday.
We were close—too close. His scent wrapped around me, expensive cologne and something darker, rawer. The air between us was a battlefield.
And that's when I did it.
The one thing I knew would slice him open the way he had just sliced me.
I turned. Didn't even look. Just grabbed the nearest guy leaning casually by the wall, his drink in hand. His startled eyes met mine for half a second before I pressed my mouth to his.
It was reckless.
It was cruel.
And it was exactly what Kristian deserved.
The stranger froze, then kissed me back—too eagerly, too hungry. He was drunk and I could taste alcohol mixed with the butter taste of something—cigarette in his mouth. Any other day or time, I'd be disgusted but now—I didn't care. All I cared about was the sound that ripped out of Kristian's chest.
A low, guttural growl.
I just served him a taste of his own medicine.
When I pulled away, the stranger looked dazed, confused. But I didn't look at him again. My eyes locked on Kristian.
His fists were still clenched, but now his whole body vibrated with fury. His jaw flexed, lips pressed into a hard line, nostrils flaring. His eyes—those wild, furious eyes—burned into me like he could set me ablaze without touching me.
"You really want to play that game?" His voice was quiet, too quiet.
I lifted my chin, defiant, though my knees threatened to give out. "Maybe I already did."
The stranger shifted awkwardly, clearly realizing he'd just been used as a weapon in someone else's war. He mumbled an excuse and quickly disappeared, leaving me standing in the wreckage I'd created.
Kristian stepped closer, his presence swallowing me whole.
"You think hurting me will make you free?" he asked, voice dangerously soft. "All it does is tie you tighter to me."
"Maybe I don't want to be tied to you."
The lie burned as soon as it left my tongue. Because some sick, twisted part of me did. The part of me that liked him growing up.
His hand brushed against my cheek, not tender—never tender—but a warning. "Then stop kissing boys who aren't me."
My breath caught. "And if I don't?"
His smile was slow, dark, and terrifyingly beautiful. "Then I'll remind you exactly why you only want me."
The hallway seemed to shrink around us, the air thick, my heart torn between defiance and surrender.
And when his lips finally crashed onto mine, it wasn't love.
It was war.