28. You smell like vanilla.
I climbed the stairs two at a time, but my breath didn't even out with the distance. Not when my skin was still on fire. Not when his voice still echoed in my ears. Not when my body still remembered the way he'd pinned me to that wall like he owned it.
I should have kept walking.
I should have told him to go to hell.
But instead... I stood there. I let him touch me. I let him whisper things that made my knees tremble and my mind blur.
God, I hated him.
And worse... I wanted him.
His voice was a low-frequency echo in my ears, vibrating against my eardrums like a threat.
I could still feel the solid, unforgiving weight of the wall behind me and the even more unforgiving press of Zayden's frame against mine.
He'd pinned me there like he owned the very air I was trying to breathe.
I hated his arrogance, his calculated silence, and the way he moved through the world like everything in it was his for the taking.
I slammed the door to my room shut behind me, more for my own sanity than his. Because if I stayed in that hallway one second longer, I would've either kissed him or shoved him again... and I didn't trust myself to know which.
I kicked off my heels, watching them skitter across the hardwood, and tossed my clutch onto the armchair.
My reflection in the mirror caught me mid-step—hair tousled, cheeks flushed, lips slightly parted. I looked ruined, and the knowledge that Zayden Ashford was the architect of that ruin made me want to scream.
"Get it together, Aurelia." I hissed at the empty room.
I dropped onto the edge of my bed, running a hand over my face. What the hell was I doing?
I wasn't supposed to want him like that. He should've been the one pining, burning in the flames of this heat that had now engulfed me as well. My emotions were meant to stay controlled. I couldn't give in to his charms. I couldn't desire him like that. It was meant to be the other way around.
He was impossible. Cold. Frustrating. Arrogant. Like a glacier—monumental, frigid.
And yet... when he looked at me like that—when he touched me like he did downstairs—it didn't matter. Every reason not to fall for him crumbled under the heat of his stare.
I lay back, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers I needed. I'd seen the crack in the ice. I'd seen him unravel, just a fraction. I'd seen the dangerous man beneath his collected and immaculate persona.
I hoped that if lines were meant to blur, he would be the one crossing them, making the first move. Not me.
———
I hadn't slept the entire night. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt his hands. By the time the sun started bleeding through the curtains, I was a frustrated mess with tired eyes and a heartbeat that refused to slow down.
I stayed in the shower until the steam made my head light, trying to wash the scent of his perfume off my psyche. I dressed in a silk robe, tying the belt with a vicious tug, and headed downstairs. I needed coffee.
I descended the stairs slower than usual, trying to shake off the tension in my shoulders. I didn't even know if Zayden was still home.
But the moment I stepped into the kitchen, I saw him.
Shirtless.
God, why did he have to be shirtless?
My breath caught, heat coiling low in my stomach.
The morning light was pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows, hitting the bronze skin of his back.
I watched, paralyzed, as the muscles shifted and coiled beneath his skin while he reached for a mug in the upper cabinet.
His V-taper was a masterpiece of biological aggression, and his grey sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips—low enough to show the sharp lines of his obliques.
I forgot how to inhale.
He turned, and our eyes met.
Neither of us said a word.
The air felt like static—thick, hot, unspoken.
I forced my legs to move, walking toward the fridge with a feigned indifference that deserved an Oscar.
I could feel his eyes on me. Not just looking, but tracing the line of my neck, the curve of my waist under the silk.
I grabbed a bottle of water, my fingers trembling slightly, and twisted the cap with enough force to nearly snap the plastic.
I took a sip, the cold water doing nothing to quench the fire in my throat. He still hadn't moved. He just leaned against the counter, mug in hand, watching me like I was a puzzle he'd already solved.
Still, he didn't speak.
And neither did I.
We were both too damn stubborn.
I turned and left the kitchen without a single glance back, heart pounding in my ears like a warning bell.
Later that evening, I padded downstairs, going to grab a snack from the kitchen when I heard a sound filtering through the living room.
A woman laughing.
I froze, gaze drifting towards the living room until curiosity got the best of me.
Heading towards the living room, I stiffened at the sight.
Zayden was on the sofa, and sitting far too close to him was Layla—a woman who existed solely to be an annoyance in my peripheral vision.
She was beautiful in that predictable, high-maintenance way: platinum blonde, perfectly contoured, and wearing a dress that was definitely too short for a casual visit.
I knew her. She was the only daughter of one of Mr. Ashford's close friends. When we'd go on vacation, she would often tag along, and I hated every second of it.
Because she wanted what I did.
Zayden.
Her hand was resting on the back of the couch, inches from Zayden's shoulder. Zayden looked relaxed. He had that slight, infuriating smirk on his face, the one that meant he was being charming.
A hot, sharp needle of jealousy stabbed me right in the gut. It was visceral.
I walked in fully.
"Hi there. Am I interrupting something?" I asked, voice coated with a fake sweetness.
Zayden turned. His smile vanished so fast, it was almost comical.
Layla turned too, blinking before giving me a polite smile. "Oh! Hey. I didn't realize Zayden had... company."
"Company? That's a funny way to put it. I live here." I replied with a little more sass than intended.
I watched her face drop, and then the extra sass didn't seem that bad.
"Interesting. Nice to see you, Aurelia. I was just catching up with Zayden," she said, recovering quickly and tossing her hair over her shoulder. "It's been years, hasn't it, Zay?"
Zay?
I felt a muscle in my jaw twitch.
Zayden's eyes flickered to me, a spark of amusement dancing in the dark depths as if he could tell how bothered by her presence I already was. "Layla was just dropping by to discuss some old times."
"How nostalgic." I remarked, walking further into the room. I didn't sit in the armchair across from them. I walked straight to the sofa and sat down right next to Zayden. I made sure my thigh pressed firmly against his, the heat of his skin searing through my robe.
I felt him stiffen, satisfaction seeping in deep in my chest.
"You look... comfortable, Layla," I said, scanning her outfit. "Is that the new collection? It's very... brave for someone your age.... And a bit too bold to revel in nostalgic memories, no?"
Layla's smile faltered, and Zayden's brow lifted. "Well, we go way back, Zayden and I. We used to spend every summer together. Remember that trip to Capri, Zay? The private villa? The midnight swims?"
She was marking territory. It was pathetic.
"I remember." Zayden said, his voice low. He wasn't looking at her, though. He was looking at me, watching my reaction.
"Just so you know," I interrupted, letting out a sharp, mocking laugh. "I was there too, Layla. Don't act like it was a romantic duet. I distinctly remember Zayden getting seasick and throwing up over the boat."
Zayden's jaw tightened. "That was one time. And the waves were ten feet."
I snickered.
Layla blinked. "Wait... you were there?" She turned to Zayden for the answer.
Great. So I wasn't only invisible to Zayden.
"We've known each other since we were five," I answered for him. "Zayden and I were pretty close."
Zayden's brow arched up again. The corner of his lip lifted ever so slightly.
"I suppose it makes sense why you don't remember me, Layla. You were always too busy trying to get Zayden to notice your new bikini while he was too busy ignoring both of us." I said smugly.
The colour drained from her face, and she was visibly upset.
Zayden rolled his bottom lip into his mouth for a moment, but surprisingly, didn't say a word.
"You're insinuating you both have fond memories together?" She arched a brow almost challengingly.
I wish.
"Yes. For example, how Zayden threw a fit when I beat him at chess." I answered smugly.
Zayden scoffed. "You didn't beat me, Aurelia. You cheated. You moved your knight when I went to get a drink."
I giggled softly, flipping my hair. "It's called strategy, Zayden. You still hate losing, don't you?"
His eyes met mine, gaze intense and unwavering. "I don't lose anymore."
Yeah, right.
Layla sighed loudly. "Anyways, before you interrupted our conversation, I was telling Zayden about my new project in New York. It's this high-profile design collaboration. Very selective."
"How exciting," I chirped, smiling sweetly. "It's nice when people peak early. Gives you plenty of time to figure out what to do with the rest of your life."
Zayden actually choked on the air he was inhaling, a muffled cough escaping him.
Layla's eyes narrowed into slits. "And you're still... what is it you do again, Aurelia? Besides lounging?"
Before I could snap back, Zayden's hand moved. He didn't touch me, but he rested his arm on the back of the sofa behind me, effectively boxing me in.
"She's working on something far more interesting than you'd understand, Layla." Zayden said, his voice cold enough to induce frostbite.
I stilled for a moment, astonished at him defending me.
I turned to him, arching a brow. "Oh? Defending me now, Ashford?"
His eyes dropped to my mouth. "Just stating facts. You're a lot of things, but uninteresting isn't one of them, Sinclair."
My eyebrow raised higher.
The tension in the room snapped. Layla stood up so fast her purse nearly fell off her shoulder. "Right... well, I should probably head out. I have a dinner to get to."
"Don't let us keep you." I said brightly, relieved that she was finally leaving.
She stood, smoothing her dress down, then turned to Zayden. "I'll text you later?"
He nodded. "Sure."
"Bye." She mumbled, walking away so fast as if she couldn't bear breathing the same air as me any longer.
That makes two of us.
Silence followed for a couple of minutes.
I stood, stretching slowly, intentionally letting the robe part just enough for his eyes to flick down.
"Friend of the family, huh?" I asked lightly.
Zayden's gaze snapped back to mine. "You're jealous."
I snorted. "Please. I just don't like fake people with overprocessed hair."
He stood slowly, walking toward me until we were mere inches away. "You sat on me like a possessive little brat, Sinclair. You practically marked your territory with a highlighter."
"You didn't stop me." I challenged, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"I didn't want to."
We stared at each other, heat simmering like always, tension stretching taut and ready to snap.
I raised my chin. "Maybe next time give her a little more room to breathe. You looked... cozy."
Zayden stepped into my space, his chest brushing against mine. His voice dropped to a dangerous, dark register. "You looked hot. Furious, half-naked, and absolutely lethal."
My heart skipped. Stupid, traitorous organ.
"I agree with the hot part." My voice came out as a whisper.
He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers grazing my jaw. "You smell like vanilla."
I smirked. "You smell like jealousy. It's a bit pungent, Zayden."
He chuckled. "You're confusing which one of us was jealous."
"You're forgetting which one of us dragged me out of that bar like a cavemen." I shot back.
He rolled his eyes. "That wasn't jealousy. It was rationality."
It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Whatever floats your boat, Zayden."
I turned to leave, but he caught me by my wrist and pulled me to his chest.
I gasped at the impact.
His eyes stared into mine. "If you ever try to mark your territory over me like that again, I might just have to reciprocate."
I tilted my head to the side, lips curling up into a challenging smirk. "I'd like to see you try."