The morning of day three at boot camp was muted, heavy with gray clouds and the low rumble of distant thunder. Angel sat in the corner of her chalet, notebook abandoned on her lap, her thoughts tangled with King's sharp presence from yesterday. She had survived the first two days, but today, the stormy weather amplified her anxiety.
The outdoor activities were canceled. Running exercises and obstacle courses were called off due to the rising wind and rain. Students huddled under tents, debating whether to brave the elements, but Angel didn't even consider going out. Her headache throbbed at the base of her skull, her body still sore from the rugged terrain, and she retreated fully into the chalet.
Lisa and Kelly had gone to the dining area with their boyfriends, laughing despite the storm. Angel waved them off, claiming she wasn't feeling well. She curled on the couch, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, trying to ignore the tension in her chest—the one King always seemed to stir simply by existing.
A muted tapping at the door made her jump. It slid open quietly. King stepped inside.
Dark eyes swept the room, assessing her in an instant. Arms crossed, posture rigid, he looked every inch the broody, unyielding man she had come to both fear and crave.
"Angel," he said, clipped but not harsh. His voice carried authority, tempered by concern.
She forced herself to sit straighter. "King," she murmured, voice uncertain.
He stepped fully inside, closing the door. The storm rattled the windows as lightning slashed across the sky. He didn't comment, but Angel shivered instinctively, hugging the blanket tighter.
"You didn't eat," he stated flatly, moving closer.
"I… I wasn't hungry," she murmured, trying to hide the flush creeping up her neck.
He raised an eyebrow, irritation flashing in the twitch of his mouth. "You think starving yourself is a good idea? I don't care about your excuses—you will eat."
Angel opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand.
"Not up for discussion. Follow me."
Confused, she blinked. "Where?"
He didn't answer verbally. He simply turned and walked toward the door, expecting her to follow. She hesitated, but the weight of his gaze, the strictness in his tone, and the familiarity of his presence made her comply.
Outside, the storm pelted the grounds. Rain soaked her jacket and tugged at her hair, but King ignored it entirely. A few students scuttled under nearby tents, wary of the storm and of him. Angel struggled to keep pace, every step slippery in her sneakers.
When they reached the sponsors' canteen, Angel understood why he had summoned her. Without delay, he instructed one of his juniors to plate a proper meal—warm, complete. He didn't order for himself. His attention was entirely on her.
"If you think you are not going to be eating well because no one will notice, tough luck," he murmured, almost to himself. "I notice."
Angel swallowed, flustered, too stubborn to show gratitude. "I'm not—"
"You are," he cut her off sharply. "Sit. Eat. You need it. Don't argue."
She dug in, embarrassed by her need, by how even the smallest glance from him made her pulse race. Once she had finished, he said nothing further, only gesturing for her to return to her chalet. Angel wanted to protest, but she knew better than to defy him in this mood.
The storm still raged as they walked back, the air thick with tension. King's presence radiated heat, authority, and protective vigilance all at once. Back in her chalet, Angel dried herself and huddled under the blanket again, trying to regain composure.
He moved next to her.Placing a hand briefly on the back of the couch near her shoulder, he made her heart spike. "You'll stay here tonight," he stated bluntly. "Not outside. Not in a tent. Not anywhere you feel unsafe. I rented this place for your comfort."
Angel bit back a defiance. Her face betraying her,screaming it all out for him.
His expression remained broody, unreadable, though a flicker of exasperation showed in his eyes. "Yes.Don't be stubborn. Just, stay put."
Her cheeks flushed—partly at the thought that he knew her fears, partly at the intensity of his tone, partly at the realization that someone cared enough to override her stubbornness. She wanted to argue, to defend herself, but his command carried a weight she couldn't ignore.
The storm rattled the windows. Lightning illuminated the room. Angel flinched at every clap of thunder. King noticed.
"You're scared," he said flatly, though there was concern under the sternness.
"I'm not!" she blurted, her trembling hands betraying her lie.
He moved closer, brushing back damp strands of her hair. "Yes, you are. And I'm not leaving until you calm down."
Her breath hitched, emotions tangling in her chest. She wanted to argue, to run. She also wanted to lean into him, to feel the safety he radiated. The tension between them was a living thing, tangible and oppressive.
The night grew darker, the storm louder. Angel's eyes welled, the loneliness and fear pressing against her. King, sensing her need, simply stayed near her. He didn't crowd her, didn't force touch, but the unyielding authority and careful attention were a silent claim.
She couldn't think straight. Every attempt at words stumbled, lost to the heat of his gaze. He was possessive, but not cruel. Broody, but not unkind. Cold, but protective. Resisting him felt impossible.
"You're going to be fine," he murmured after a long pause, voice low, almost a growl against the storm outside. "I'm not leaving. Not tonight. Not until you sleep."
Angel could only nod, blanket twisting in her fists. Sparks of tension, unspoken desire, and frustration sizzled between them. She felt it in every glance, every subtle shift. King, broody, conflicted, and impossibly possessive, watched over her, mind a storm of its own, wondering why he cared so much about someone he shouldn't.
The rain hammered on the chalet roof. Thunder rattled the walls. Angel buried herself deeper in the blanket, heart pounding, and realized something she couldn't ignore: some storms were inevitable—and some, like him, impossible to resist.