The air inside Kennedy's car felt colder than outside.
The hum of the engine filled the silence, but it was his presence that made the air tight, sharp, commanding, unignorable.
I kept my eyes forward, pretending to admire the passing lights through the tinted window.
My reflection stared back at me, calm, collected, or at least that's what I wanted him to think.
He hadn't said a word since I entered.
He just sat there, his face turned slightly toward the window, his jawline tight under the dim interior light.
Even the driver seemed to sense the tension, keeping his gaze fixed ahead like he'd been trained to vanish into the background.
"Thank you for the ride," I said finally, my voice sounding too small. "You didn't have to..."
Kennedy cut me off without turning his head. "You shouldn't have been in that room."
My heart skipped. So this was about that. "I told you," I began carefully, "I was reviewing some old numbers..."
He turned his head then, just enough for his eyes to catch mine. "You're not part of finance, you are just an intern, Elena."
His voice was smooth but firm, the kind that didn't invite excuses.
"I wanted to understand the figures," I said, forcing my tone steady. "Some of them didn't make sense. I thought I could..."
"Find something that wasn't meant for you?" he finished, one brow lifting.
My stomach tightened. "I didn't mean it like that."
He leaned slightly forward, his elbows on his knees, his gaze never leaving me.
"You don't belong there. You don't belong anywhere without my permission. Is that clear?"
The word permission struck me like a challenge. I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I didn't realize curiosity needed clearance."
His lips curved, just barely.
"Curiosity," he repeated quietly, "is a dangerous habit. Especially when you don't know who's watching."
I felt the chill run down my spine, but I didn't look away. "Then maybe you should stop watching."
The corner of his mouth twitched, not a smile, not really. "You think I watch you?"
I didn't answer. The silence between us stretched thin, heavy with something that wasn't just anger.
I could feel his eyes on me, assessing, dissecting. The car's soft lighting traced the lines of his face, the hard set of his mouth, the way his fingers tapped once against his knee before going still again.
Everything about him screamed control.
And yet, under it, I could sense the restraint. The struggle.
He finally spoke again, low and deliberate. "You remind me of someone."
My chest tightened. "Who?"
He looked at me then, fully this time. His eyes were dark, unreadable. "Someone who thought she could outsmart everyone."
"What happened to her?" I asked.
"She learned," he said simply. "Eventually."
The way he said it made my skin prickle.
I turned back to the window, but I could still feel his gaze, brushing against my skin like static.
I wasn't supposed to be here. Not in his car. Not near him. And yet, part of me didn't want to leave.
It was ridiculous, dangerous, but there was something magnetic about the way he held himself, like every word, every glance was calculated to keep the world off balance.
"You think I'm trying to outsmart you?" I asked softly.
"I think you're trying to find something," he said, voice deepening. "And you'll pretend it's about numbers, but it's not."
My pulse quickened. "Then what is it about?"
He didn't answer. Just looked away again, his jaw tightening like he'd said too much.
The car slowed at a red light, and the glow of the traffic reflected across his face, sharp angles and shadows, the faintest glint in his eyes.
I could feel his energy shift, the kind of tension that pulled you in even when you knew better.
"I don't need you to save me," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
His head turned slightly. "Who said I was trying to?"
"Then why are you doing this? Why bring me here, why..."
"To remind you of boundaries," he said flatly.
I almost laughed. "Boundaries?"
"Yes," he said, leaning back in his seat, voice lower now. "The kind people cross when they forget who's in control."
For a moment, our eyes locked, and something sparked between us, raw and real.
I hated it. I hated that I couldn't look away, that I could feel my heart betray me with its uneven rhythm.
The car slowed again. We were nearing my street, not my house, not yet. I couldn't risk that.
I didn't want him to see where I lived, not when I didn't know what he truly knew about me.
"You can drop me here," I said quickly.
The driver looked to Kennedy for instruction.
Kennedy didn't speak for a full five seconds, long enough to make my heart pound. Then he gave a small nod, and the car eased to a stop.
I reached for the handle, but his voice came again, quiet and cutting.
"You stay out of places you don't belong..."
I paused, fingers frozen on the door.
He leaned forward, his voice low enough that only I could hear it. "Or you'll find out what happens when I lose patience."
Something in his tone sent a shiver through me, not fear, exactly. Something sharper, something that made it hard to breathe.
I opened the door and stepped out, refusing to look back.
The door shut softly behind me, and the car pulled away. I stood there for a moment under the streetlight, letting out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
The moment I stepped into the house, I knew it was going to be a long night.
"Well, look who decided to come home," my stepmother's voice rang from the living room.
She was seated beside my father, her arms crossed, her smile too sharp to be friendly.
"I was working late," I said, dropping my bag on the nearest chair.
"Oh, I'm sure you were," she said, her voice dripping with mockery. "Late night at the office, getting dropped off by the almighty Kennedy Peters himself. Should I start preparing for your promotion or your downfall?"
I stiffened. "Don't start, please."
"I'll start when I want to," she snapped, standing. "You think I don't see what you're doing? You're chasing ghosts, Elena. Your mother's company is gone. Stop pretending you can bring it back."
My throat tightened, but I forced my voice steady. "I'm not pretending. I'm fighting for what's mine."
She laughed, a cold, bitter sound. "yours? You think you can find anything about the Peters? Wake up, child. You'll only end up exactly where he wants you."
"Enough," I said sharply. "What I do is my business."
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Give up child. Not everyone is born to rule."
The slap of her words hit harder than I expected. I turned away, shaking my head. "You don't know anything."
Her laughter followed me down the hallway, slicing through the quiet.
I didn't look back. I couldn't.
In my room, I sat on the bed, staring at the blank wall.
My hands were still trembling, though I didn't know if it was from anger or something else entirely.
Then my phone buzzed.
One message.
Kennedy Peters: Are you home safely?
I stared at the words, my pulse thundering.
He shouldn't care.
He shouldn't even ask.
And yet… I couldn't stop the way my lips parted, or the strange warmth that crawled up my chest.
I typed Yes... but didn't send it.
Instead, I set the phone down and stared into the dark, feeling the storm quietly build inside me.
Whatever this was, it wasn't over.
It was just beginning.