Natasha barely made it two steps toward the door before Leila's hand slammed beside her, blocking her exit. The soft thud echoed through the quiet house, the same house where they had once buried their secrets.... and crossed lines Natasha had spent years pretending never existed.
"Running away again?" Leila murmured, voice dipping into that dangerous softness she always used when she wanted control. "You always run when things get too real."
Natasha's jaw clenched. "Move, Leila."
But when she tried to step around her, Leila leaned in—close enough that Natasha could feel her breath along her jawline.
"Don't lie to me," Leila whispered, her fingers brushing Natasha's wrist. "You felt it the moment you walked in. That spark? It never went away."
Natasha jerked her hand back, but it was a weak, delayed movement. "I didn't come here for this. I came to talk about Fiona."
