Layla's POV
His eyes didn't leave mine. Not for a second.
If he recognized me, he didn't show it.
If he remembered my voice, my face, the ghost of that night,he hid it too well.
But something in the way he looked at me… shifted.
Deepened.
Like he was matching the pieces of a puzzle he'd been trying to solve for years.
He leaned in just slightly,close enough that his breath brushed the side of my cheek, warm, steady, unbothered by the chaos inside me.
"You keep flinching," he murmured. "Like you're waiting for something to jump out and destroy you."
I swallowed hard. "Maybe I am."
"Then you should know," he said softly, dangerously, "I'm not the thing you should be afraid of."
The room seemed to pulse around us, the music dull and distant. His knee pressed a little more firmly against mine. His presence felt like a hand around my pulse; steady, claiming, impossible to ignore.
I forced myself to breathe.
"I didn't ask for company," I said.
"But you didn't ask me to leave," he countered.
That made my chest tighten.
Because he was right.
He reached for his bourbon, fingers brushing mine again deliberate. Testing my reaction. Watching me break, one heartbeat at a time.
"You're trembling," he said.
"I'm not," I whispered.
"You are."
His tone dipped lower. "And you're trying very hard to hide it."
He was too close now.
Too aware.
Too perceptive.
It made my skin prickle.
It made my resolve shake.
I stood abruptly from the bar stool, but my legs weren't steady, and my hand brushed his shoulder solid, warm, a wall of control I wasn't ready to crash into.
"Easy," he said quietly, catching my elbow before I could pull away. His touch was gentle, but there was something dangerous beneath it. "You shouldn't be drinking alone in your state."
"My state?" I scoffed.
"Yes."
His eyes tracked my face like he was memorizing every twitch.
"Sad. Angry. Desperate. And pretending you're not."
My breath stilled.
I hated how right he was.
I hated how easily he saw through me.
But more than anything…
I hated how much I wanted to lean into him. Just for one night. Just to forget everything Anna,Denzel, the FBI, the trace, the world collapsing under my feet.
He stepped closer.
His voice lowered to a whisper that felt like a fingertip down my spine.
"Let me take you somewhere quiet."
I blinked. "I don't know you."
"You know enough."
His thumb brushed my arm once …slow and intentional.
"And I know when a woman needs an escape."
My throat tightened.
He wasn't seducing me.
He wasn't trying.
He didn't need to.
His presence alone was enough to unravel the parts of me I'd been holding together with a thread.
I pulled my arm free, even though every nerve in my body screamed at me not to.
"I'm not going anywhere with you," I said.
He exhaled through his nose, a slow, amused sound that told me he already knew I would.
"That's fine."
He slid a hand into his pocket, eyes never leaving mine.
"I can wait."
Wait for what?
My weakness?
My collapse?
My surrender?
Because something in his gaze told me this wasn't his first time hunting,quietly, patiently,until his prey came to him willingly.
I opened my mouth to tell him he was wrong, that I wasn't that girl, that I wasn't broken enough to fall into the orbit of a man like him.
But he leaned in close enough that I felt the warmth of his lips near my ear.
"You're going to leave with me," he said softly.
"Not because I want you to… but because you do."
A shiver crawled down my spine so violently I nearly stepped back.
But his hand was already there steadying me before I could stumble.
"One more drink," he murmured, eyes locked on mine. "And your walls will finish breaking."
He wasn't wrong.
And that terrified me more than anything tonight.
Something inside me snapped;not in a loud, dramatic way, but in a quiet, tired one. The kind that comes after days… months… years of holding yourself together with nothing but willpower and fear.And the sudden feel of everything crumbling and crushing just in one night.
I sank back onto the barstool.
Micheal sat too, like he never doubted it for a second.
The bartender dropped off another tequila shot without me asking, then glanced at him and her face softened with an expression I'd never seen her give anyone.
He pushed the drink back to her and she took it back almost immediately.
Respect.
Or fear.
He ignored her completely. His eyes were only on me.
"You shouldn't be alone tonight," he said, voice steady and low. "You know that."
"You don't know anything about me," I whispered.
His gaze dipped, tracing my face slowly, lingering like he was reading a language no one else could see.
"I know enough," he said. "You're exhausted. Scared. Too smart for the choices you're being forced to make. And… you're running on empty."
My heart clenched.
Because I was.
Because he could see it.
Because I hated how much I wanted someone-anyone-to notice.
"And what do you want from me?" I asked softly.
His jaw tightened.
Not in anger.
In restraint.
"To take you somewhere quiet," he repeated. "Somewhere you can breathe."
A pause stretched between us, taut and electric.
"I'm not going home with you," I said.
He lowered his head just enough that his lips hovered near my temple,not touching, but close enough that my skin heated instinctively.
"Then don't call it that," he murmured.
"Call it… getting out of this noise. Letting the night be kinder to you."
His hand brushed mine again,a slow, careful touch, like he wasn't asking .
His fingers were warm.
Mine were trembling.
"I don't expect you to trust me tonight."
His thumb stroked my knuckles once.
"I only expect you to walk out that door with me."
My pulse stuttered.
The tequila blurred the room edges, the music thinned, and his presence thickened until it was all I felt.
He stood first, offering no command, no pressure,just waiting.
And God help me…
I stood too.
We didn't speak as he led us through the crowd. People parted for him without even looking up. Outside, the cold Atlanta air slapped my senses awake.
A sleek black sedan waited at the curb ,windows tinted, engine humming, driver standing at attention like he'd been expecting us.
Micheal opened the back door and turned to me.
"Last chance," he said quietly. "Walk away…"
His eyes met mine darkening, burning, certain.
"…or get in."