Chapter 35: TANGLED IN DESIRE
The mansion had gone unnaturally quiet after dinner. Guards whispered instead of laughed, the usual hum of activity reduced to a low murmur. It was as if everyone in the house had decided to give them space, though neither she nor he had asked for it. She sat by the large window of the study, watching the shadows stretch across the garden, the glass cool against her fingertips.
When footsteps padded behind her, she didn’t need to turn to know it was him. His presence had become something she could feel in her very skin, warm, suffocating, impossible to ignore.
"You’ve been avoiding me," he said. His voice was low, a mix of irritation and something softer he was trying to hide.
"I’ve been thinking," she answered, refusing to face him. "That’s not the same as avoiding."
"Thinking usually involves talking," he countered, moving closer. She could sense the heat of him even before his hand pressed against the window frame just above her head, trapping her in place.
She finally turned, her eyes locking with his. "You want me to talk? Fine. You terrify me."
His brows furrowed. "Because of who I am?"
"Because of what you make me feel." Her voice cracked on the last word. "Every time you look at me, every time you touch me... I lose control. And I hate losing control."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then he leaned in, his mouth dangerously close to her ear. "You’re not the only one who hates it."
Her breath caught. His confession wrapped around her like smoke, impossible to escape. She pushed him back a little, not out of rejection, but because the intensity was too much. "Then why do you keep pushing?"
His jaw tightened, his eyes burning with restrained fire. "Because I can’t stop. You’re under my skin. You’ve been there since the moment you walked into my world with that defiance in your eyes."
Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. She wanted to run, yet her feet stayed planted, her body betraying her resolve. "And if I told you I don’t want this?"
He smiled faintly, but there was no humor in it. "Then you’d be lying."
Anger flared. "You think you know me so well?"
"I do," he said simply. "Better than you want to admit."
The words cut into her, not because they were cruel, but because they were true. She hated how he saw past her defenses, how he stripped her bare with just a glance. No one else had ever done that. No one else had ever made her feel both vulnerable and alive at the same time.
She shoved at his chest, but he didn’t move. Instead, he caught her wrist, his grip firm but not painful. "Say it," he whispered.
"Say what?" she asked breathlessly.
"That you want me."
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She hated that he was right, hated that every nerve in her body screamed for him. "I can’t," she said finally, the words trembling.
He brought her wrist to his mouth, brushing his lips against her skin. The simple touch sent a shiver through her. "You already did," he murmured against her pulse.
She should have pulled away, but instead she tilted her chin upward, her eyes betraying her. He lowered his head slowly, giving her time to refuse. When his lips finally met hers, it was like stepping off a ledge she had been teetering on for weeks.
The kiss was not gentle, nor was it cruel. It was a clash, a storm, his hunger colliding with her fear until neither could tell where one ended and the other began. She gripped his shirt, pulling him closer, hating herself for needing him this much, loving the way his mouth demanded hers.
When they broke apart, both were breathing hard. His forehead rested against hers, his voice rough. "This is dangerous."
She laughed bitterly. "Now you realize?"
But his eyes softened, the sharpness of the Don giving way to the man beneath. "I don’t want to hurt you."
Her throat tightened. "Then don’t."
He closed his eyes briefly, as if wrestling with himself. "You don’t understand. I’ve built walls my whole life, and you’re tearing them down. I don’t know what I’ll do when they fall completely."
Her hand, almost against her will, lifted to touch his cheek. "Maybe you don’t have to do anything. Maybe... we just let it happen."
He looked at her then, really looked, as if searching for the truth in her eyes. Whatever he found seemed to break something in him, because he kissed her again, this time slower, more deliberate.
The world outside vanished. It was only the two of them, tangled in desire they could no longer deny. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her against him, and for once she didn’t fight it. She melted into him, into the dangerous warmth she swore she would resist.
When they finally parted, her lips swollen from his, she whispered, "So what now?"
He smirked faintly, though his eyes betrayed the turmoil inside. "Now we pretend we still have control."
But both of them knew the truth. Control was gone. And whatever came next would change everything.
The rest of the night was a blur of stolen touches and whispered confessions, both of them caught in a fire neither dared extinguish. As the hours slipped away, they moved from the study to the dimly lit corridors of the mansion, their footsteps echoing softly. Every corner they turned felt like a new surrender, each touch a deeper admission of what they both feared to name.
By the time they reached the grand staircase, her hand was entwined with his, her pulse racing under his thumb as he traced slow circles on her skin. The air was thick with unspoken promises, with the weight of what they were becoming. She stopped at the foot of the stairs, her breath uneven, and looked up at him. His face was half-shadowed, but his eyes burned with a clarity that made her chest ache.
"Do you ever wonder," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "if we’re making a mistake?"
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles with a tenderness that contrasted the storm in his gaze. "Every second," he admitted. "But mistakes like this... they’re worth making."
Her laugh was soft, almost broken. "You’re impossible."
"And you’re irresistible," he shot back, his voice low and rough. He stepped closer, his free hand brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. The gesture was so gentle it nearly undid her.
They climbed the stairs together, the silence between them heavy with meaning. At the top, he paused, turning to face her fully. "This world I live in," he said, his voice quieter now, "it’s not kind. It’s not safe. If you stay with me, you’ll get hurt."
She met his gaze, unflinching. "I’m not afraid of your world. I’m afraid of what happens if I walk away."
His expression softened, and for a moment, he looked almost boyish, vulnerable in a way she hadn’t seen before. "Then don’t," he said simply.
She didn’t. They crossed the threshold of his room, the door closing softly behind them. The night stretched on, a tangle of whispers and warmth, of fears laid bare and desires set free. Every touch was a question, every kiss an answer, as they navigated the uncharted territory of their hearts.
By the time dawn broke, one fact was painfully clear: the game they had been playing was no longer about power. It was about survival, of their hearts, of their sanity, of their very souls.