That Friday night, she stayed late at the office. She had no choice — reports were due, and she wasn't about to slack just because her boss was... emotionally unstable.
The rest of the floor was empty. The city lights outside glowed in the glass walls like diamonds.
She didn't hear him come in.
She turned — startled — and there he was, leaning against the doorframe of her cubicle, jacket off, sleeves rolled, the top button of his shirt undone. His jaw was clenched. His eyes weren't cold anymore — they were burning.
"I told myself I'd stay away," he said. "But I can't."
Zara stood, unsure what to do, her heart pounding.
Aidan stalked toward her like a lion with no more patience.
He stopped inches from her. His voice was ragged. "I've never touched a woman like I want to touch you."
Zara swallowed. "Then don't."
Wrong answer.
His hand moved — slow, steady — wrapping around her waist and pulling her tight against him. She gasped, hands flat on his chest.
"I don't want to just take you," he whispered, brushing his lips along her jaw. "I want to feel you."
She shivered.
And then — finally — He kissed her like a man surrendering — like every wall he'd built was crashing down under the softness of her lips.
It wasn't rough. It wasn't fast.
It was deep... real.
His hand cradled the back of her head, the other firmly around her waist, anchoring her to him like he didn't want to let go. Like he couldn't.
He pulled away just enough to look into her eyes. Their breaths mingled, heavy and uneven.
And in that moment, for the first time in his life, something hit him.
This isn't how I treat women.
He didn't crave to dominate her. He wanted to hold her, feel her.
He didn't want to use her body to satisfy his
pride.
He wanted her — all of her — like a man who knew this was more than lust.
And in his mind, the truth whispered loud:
"I don't fck you, Zara... I make love to you. And that terrifies me."*
But he didn't say it. He couldn't.
Because saying it out loud would make it real.
And real… meant dangerous.
So he just looked at her, touched her cheek gently, and whispered something safer.
"Go home, Zara."
His voice was hoarse, full of conflict. "Now. Before I do something I won't be able to stop."
And this time, she didn't argue.
Because she felt it too — something deeper than either of them was ready for.