I shouldn't be leaning toward him.
That's the first thing my mind screams.
But my body—
My body doesn't seem interested in logic tonight.
He steps back to give me space.
And I follow.
Not consciously.
Just… a shift forward.
Barely noticeable.
But not to him.
His eyes darken slightly.
"You're doing it again," he murmurs.
"Doing what?"
"Choosing something dangerous."
The air feels thin.
Charged.
My pulse beats loudly in my ears.
"This isn't dangerous," I whisper.
"We're married."
The reminder lands differently now.
Not suffocating.
Not binding.
Just true.
My gaze drops to his mouth.
I don't mean for it to.
It just… happens.
His breath changes.
Only slightly.
But I notice.
"You're thinking about it," he says quietly.
"I'm not."
"You are."
"That's arrogant."
"It's observant."
Heat creeps up my neck.
"I don't even know if I like the way you kiss."
The second the words leave my mouth, his expression shifts.
Not offended.
Interested.
"You loved it."
My stomach flips.
"That's unfair."
"You asked."
"That doesn't mean you have to answer like that."
"You don't like vague answers."
I swallow.
"That's not what I meant."
"What did you mean?"
I hesitate.
Because I don't know.
Am I testing him?
Myself?
Us?
"I meant…" My voice softens. "I don't remember how it feels."
Silence.
Thick.
Intimate.
He takes one step closer.
Not enough to touch.
Enough to make my breathing uneven.
"You don't need memory for that," he says quietly.
"That sounds manipulative."
"It's not."
"Then what is it?"
"It's fact."
The space between us is inches now.
I can feel the heat of him.
The steadiness.
The control.
Always the control.
"You said you're disciplined," I whisper.
"I am."
"Then be disciplined."
His jaw tightens slightly.
"You don't want me to."
The certainty in his voice makes my pulse jump.
"You don't know that."
"I do."
"Why?"
"Because you're not moving away."
I freeze.
He's right.
My feet are planted.
My body angled toward him.
Waiting.
"I don't remember loving you," I whisper again.
His voice lowers.
"You don't have to."
The way he says it—
Not desperate.
Not pleading.
Certain.
My chest tightens.
"I don't want to hurt you," I say.
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
"How?"
His eyes hold mine.
"Because you're already trying not to."
The words sink into me.
Careful.
Precise.
Infuriatingly gentle.
And that's when it happens.
The smallest shift.
My hand lifts.
I don't plan it.
I don't think.
I just—
Touch him.
My fingers brush his jaw.
Light.
Tentative.
Testing.
His breath stops.
Completely.
The reaction is immediate.
Not dramatic.
Not aggressive.
Still.
Like the world paused.
I should pull back.
I don't.
His skin is warm.
Familiar in a way that makes my chest ache.
"I used to do this," I whisper.
"Yes."
"When?"
"When you were thinking."
My thumb brushes slightly.
Instinct again.
"About what?"
"Whether you were about to kiss me."
My heart stumbles.
"That's very specific."
"You were very deliberate."
"And now?"
His voice lowers.
"Now you're hesitating."
"I don't want to make a mistake."
His gaze softens slightly.
"You won't."
"You can't promise that."
"No," he admits quietly. "I can't."
The honesty makes my stomach twist.
"I don't remember the way you taste," I whisper.
His control cracks.
Just a fraction.
His hand lifts—
Then stops midair.
He's fighting himself.
For me.
"You don't have to rush," he says tightly.
"I'm not rushing."
"Yes, you are."
"Why?"
"Because you're afraid if you don't do it now, you'll lose the nerve."
The accuracy stings.
He sees too much.
"You always did that," he continues quietly.
"Did what?"
"Jump before you could overthink."
I swallow.
"And you?"
"I catch you."
The words land deep.
Soft.
Terrifying.
My fingers tighten slightly against his jaw.
His hand finally moves.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He places it at my waist.
Not pulling.
Just there.
Waiting.
"As soon as you tell me to stop," he says quietly, "I will."
My breath turns shallow.
The respect.
The restraint.
The choice.
It's all mine.
And somehow that makes it harder.
"I don't know what I'm doing," I whisper.
"You're choosing."
The air feels electric.
His face inches closer.
Not forcing.
Giving me time to retreat.
I don't.
Our foreheads almost touch.
My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure he can feel it.
"You're shaking," he murmurs.
"I know."
"Do you want me to stop?"
No.
The answer rises instantly.
But I hesitate.
Because this changes things.
This makes it real.
This isn't memory.
This is now.
His breath brushes my lips.
Warm.
Steady.
Familiar in a way that makes my stomach drop.
"If I kiss you," I whisper, "and it feels wrong—"
"I'll step back."
"And if it feels right?"
His voice drops to something deeper.
"Then we start from there."
My chest tightens.
This is the edge.
The exact edge.
And I lean in.
Slow.
Uncertain.
My lips brush his.
Barely.
A whisper of contact.
Soft.
Testing.
The world narrows to that single point.
Warmth.
Pressure.
Recognition.
His breath breaks first.
Not pulling away.
Just—
Reacting.
His hand tightens slightly at my waist.
Not claiming.
Anchoring.
The kiss deepens by accident.
A fraction more pressure.
A fraction more heat.
And suddenly—
My body remembers.
Not clearly.
Not in images.
But in sensation.
The way his mouth moves with mine.
The way he waits half a second longer.
The way he tilts his head.
My fingers curl into his shirt again.
Instinct.
And this time—
He doesn't say anything.
He just responds.
Careful.
Controlled.
But no longer distant.
The warmth spreads through me.
Slow.
Dangerous.
Real.
And then—
A sharp knock at the door
We break apart instantly.
Like the moment burned us.
My breathing is uneven.
His chest rises and falls faster than before.
The spell shatters.
"Sir?" a voice calls from outside the study. "It's urgent."
Reality crashes back in.
Adrian steps away first.
Composure sliding back into place.
"Come in," he says, voice steady again.
The door opens.
His assistant stands there.
Pale.
Holding a tablet.
"Mr. Reyes… it's online."
My stomach tightens.
"Online?" Adrian asks calmly.
The assistant hesitates.
"It's about Mrs. Reyes."
My blood runs cold.
"What about me?"
He turns the screen toward us.
And I see it.
A headline.
Bold.
Cruel.
Unforgiving.
Billionaire Power Couple's Tragic Loss — Was It More Than a Miscarriage?
My heart stops.
The nursery.
The hospital.
Our baby.
Public.
Exposed.
Weaponized.
I look at Adrian.
And for the first time—
I see something dangerous in his eyes.
Not restraint.
Not patience.
But fury.
⸻
Because someone just turned our grief into a headline.
And Adrian Reyes does not forgive easily.