The morning arrived with a quiet that felt heavy, almost suffocating.
She didn't sleep well. Not that sleep had ever truly come easily these days. Thoughts of him, the gala, the flashes of jealousy, the controlled touches, the sparks—they all raced through her mind in fragments she couldn't catch.
By the time her phone vibrated, she had long since resigned to the truth: he had already invaded her world completely.
Him: Meet me in the library. Private. Ten minutes.
She groaned softly. Ten minutes was all the warning she needed to feel panic curl through her stomach. She forced herself up, splashed cold water on her face, and tried to pretend this was business. That this was merely another contractual interaction.
But deep down, she knew better.
The library was a vast space, walls lined with books from floor to ceiling. Soft golden lamps illuminated rows of polished wood tables. It smelled of aged paper and faint sandalwood—a scent that should have been comforting but wasn't.
He was already there, standing near the fireplace, hands in pockets, posture loose yet controlled. The room seemed to shrink around him.
"You're late," he said lightly, though his eyes were sharp.
"I wasn't late," she shot back, though her voice lacked its usual edge.
"You were," he said softly. "But I'm not here to argue about minutes. I'm here to talk."
Her pulse spiked. "About what?"
"About you," he said. Simple. Calm. A statement heavy with implication.
He gestured for her to sit. She hesitated, then lowered herself into the chair across from him.
"You're… restless," he said, almost like an observation, not a judgment.
"I'm not," she replied quickly, but her fingers twisted in her lap.
"You are," he repeated. "And that's fine. But you should understand why."
Her brow furrowed. "Explain."
"You've realized," he said, voice low, measured, "that this arrangement isn't just paperwork. That the rules, the boundaries, the contracts—they aren't what binds us. It's something else. Something deeper. Something neither of us can control fully."
Her stomach tightened painfully. "You mean… attraction?"
"Yes," he said softly, leaning back slightly. "But not just attraction. Dependence. Frustration. Curiosity. And a little fear."
She stared at him, breath shallow.
"You think you're in control," he continued, "because you signed a contract. But the truth is… control is an illusion when it comes to people. Especially when the person across from you has already touched parts of your mind you don't dare admit exist."
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
"I see it," he said. "Every glance you steal, every tension in your voice, every tiny flinch when someone else draws near me. You're not just observing—you're reacting. You've never admitted it, but it's happening."
Her pulse raced, and a flush crept up her neck.
"I… I'm not—" she began.
"You are," he cut in gently. "And that's fine. I want you to admit it. To yourself. Because until you do, you'll keep pretending you're indifferent. But you're not. Not even close."
Her hands clenched. Her teeth pressed together. "I'm not yours," she whispered, voice trembling despite herself.
"You are," he said, eyes locking on hers. "Not in the way the contract says. Not in law or paper. But in every way that matters. Emotionally. Mentally. In every glance, every hesitation, every breath you take when I'm near."
She looked away, ashamed and furious.
"You're angry," he observed softly.
"I'm… I'm not—" she began again, but her voice broke.
"Yes, you are," he said gently, leaning forward, just enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him. "And that anger… it's born of something far more dangerous. Something that can't be ignored."
Her chest tightened painfully.
"Do you know what it's like," he whispered, voice low, almost intimate, "to watch someone try to deny what's obvious? To act like control and defiance mean anything when every part of you is screaming that the rules don't matter?"
She swallowed hard, shaking slightly.
"You're struggling," he said, voice softer now, almost tender. "Because you're already… invested. Emotionally, physically, mentally. And you hate that. You hate the pull, the tension, the way your chest beats faster, the way your thoughts drift to me when they shouldn't. You hate it because it's inconvenient, and because… it terrifies you."
Tears pricked her eyes, though she blinked them back.
"I…" she whispered.
"Yes?" he prompted, leaning closer, the air between them charged and heavy.
"I can't…" she said, voice cracking. "I can't… I'm not supposed to—feel anything."
"And yet you do," he said softly, almost a whisper, his presence pressing against her like gravity.
She tried to retreat, but the chair beneath her prevented any sudden motion. She felt pinned—not by force, but by the sheer intensity of him.
"You think this is simple," he said, calm, certain. "You think this is a contract, a marriage, a set of rules. But it's not. It's chaos. And you're caught in it. And you will continue to be caught in it, whether you like it or not."
Her chest heaved. "I… I don't want to—"
"You do," he interrupted, voice low, hypnotic. "You already do. And you're terrified because you know it's inevitable."
Her head dropped slightly, heat flooding her face. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't argue. Every word, every glance, every inch of his proximity was rewriting her thoughts, her desires, her control.
"You're mine," he said softly, almost tenderly. "Not in ownership. Not in law. But in every glance, every hesitation, every heartbeat that's already tuned to me. You'll try to fight it. You'll try to resist. But eventually, you'll surrender. Because the sparks… the tension… the chaos… it's already here."
She swallowed, body trembling with a mixture of fear, frustration, and something far more dangerous—longing.
"You'll learn," he said softly, voice low, almost a whisper, "that this isn't a game. That nothing about this is simple. That desire, attraction, and chaos… are inevitable. And when you finally accept it…"
He leaned forward, so close that her hair brushed against his arm, the heat between them undeniable, suffocating, magnetic.
"…you'll realize that every rule, every boundary, every fight, every contract… is meaningless. Not because the rules don't exist, but because they can't contain what we've started."
Her breath caught. Her chest tightened.
She didn't know whether to run, scream, or collapse entirely.
And in that charged, electric silence, she realized the terrifying, intoxicating truth:
She was already lost.