20. Alex
Chapter 20
Alex
I tap the edge of my pen against the book, trying to keep my focus on the pages in front of me.
Sylvester’s voice has faded into the background, like the hum of a distant engine.
I was stuck on the same line of my textbook for what felt like the tenth time, but the words weren’t making sense.
And then the book slams shut.
I snap my head up, startled.
Sylvester looks at me, his brow furrowed slightly, his expression calm but focused.
“Session’s over,” he says.
I stared, half-dazed.
“What?”
“You’ve been zoning out for the last twenty minutes.” He ran a hand through his hair.
“You look out of it.”
A rush of excitement flooded my chest. The session was over already?
I checked the clock, and we hadn’t even been here thirty minutes yet.
It was Wednesday night, not Thursday, when we usually had our study sessions.
But with the carnival this weekend, Sylvester would be busy helping the swim team set up, so we shifted it to tonight.
I’d been reluctant to come at first—honestly, I’d rather endure listening to Sylvester’s never-ending rants about his swim team than deal with the construction chaos shaking my dorm to its foundation.
So here I was.
I still wasn’t sure what to make of it—that Bishop had something to do with the renovations.
My grandparents didn’t even seem to know the dorm had been falling apart until he told them.
Why would he do that?
What did he gain from getting involved?
It wasn’t like we were friends.
Not really. So why had he gone out of his way to say something?
Was it guilt? Remorse, maybe—for everything that he’d done to me?
Or was I just fooling myself into seeing something that wasn’t there?
It was easy, wasn’t it?
To get caught in the quiet hope that maybe someone was better than you thought—like a captive who mistakes the sound of the lock turning for freedom.
The thought sat with me, heavier than I wanted to admit.
I hadn’t even begun to process it fully—but the question kept tugging at the edges of my focus, quiet but persistent, like the low whine of the drill outside my building’s hallway: relentless, tired, and impossible to ignore.
“I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep,” I admitted.
With all the construction going on in my building, the whole Bishop situation, learning about my grandparents, and everything else that’s happening with Altair, my mind feels like an overgrown garden—tangled and wild, with too many different vines choking out everything else.
Sylvester quirked a brow, clearly expecting more of an explanation.
Instead, I let out a breath and lean back in my chair, the frustration in my chest bubbling up.
“You know what I really miss?” I said, shaking my head with a sigh.
“My old school. I used to have access to microscopes—real ones, the kind you could really dive into, examine every detail of a plant up close.” The other day, when I was in the greenhouse, it hit me just how much I took that access for granted.
Here? The labs are locked up after hours, and you need special permission just to get in.
I didn’t kid myself about my status at Altair.
I wasn’t exactly the most popular student, and I wasn’t about to pretend otherwise.
Students avoided me, and staff…
well, let’s just say I wasn’t on most of their favorite lists either.
Things had improved a bit since I’d first arrived—I hadn’t heard the nickname “mudslide” thrown my way in a while, but that didn’t mean I was blending in.
I knew where I stood, and I wasn’t bothered by it.
Sylvester seemed to consider my words for a moment, his expression shifting into something thoughtful.
Then, without another word, he stood up, his face a little less guarded than before.
“I think I know where you can find something that’ll help.”
“You do?” I asked, rightfully skeptical.
“Why should I believe you?”
“Well, for starters, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, babe.” Sylvester’s grin was almost too smooth for my liking.
“If this ends with you dragging me into another one-on-one with Professor O'Donnelly, I’m walking the other way. Permanently.”
His mouth quirked to one side, clearly amused.
“I mean it,” I added. “Last time, she thought I was you and... I’m still recovering.”
His grin only widened. “In my defense, she has excellent taste.”
I clucked my tongue. “In delusion, maybe.”
He laughed, but there was a flicker of apology in his eyes—quick, subtle, but enough.
Still, that didn’t make it okay. He might’ve found the whole thing normal, but I hadn’t. Being mistaken for him and then hit on by a professor wasn’t just awkward—it was deeply uncomfortable. And the fact that he could joke about it so easily? Yeah, that rubbed me the wrong way.
“And anyway,” he said, gesturing for me to follow, “you happen to be in the presence of someone who knows every nook and cranny Altair has to offer.”
I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. He crossed an exaggerated ‘X’ over his chest, as if that was supposed to make him more trustworthy. Something clicked in the back of my mind. When I’d found the vault under the greenhouse, Atlas had mentioned how he hadn’t seen someone down there in ages. I couldn’t help but wonder if Mister Self-Proclaimed Expert knew anything about that little secret.
“Okay, so what’s the catch?” I asked, still cautious.
“No catch. Just me, you, and some potentially interesting places.” His tone was casual, but there was a gleam in his eye, like he knew I was already caving in.
My skepticism was still on high, but the idea of getting access to something—anything—close to what I had at my old school, especially if it meant not being stuck in this auditorium, was a hard offer to ignore.
“So what do you say?” Sylvester asked, leaning in just enough to make it feel a little more personal than necessary.
I shrugged, and he immediately took it as a yes, not bothering to pack up our things. Before I could stop myself, I was following him across campus. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the smartest decision—it was dark, and he was a Legacy, for crying out loud. But I was curious, and to be honest, I really did miss getting to examine plants up close.
I couldn’t help but think how other people got abducted—lured by puppies or candy. But no, not me. My story would be about getting kidnapped for a microscope. Classic.
“So how exactly are we getting into the science building?” I asked, glancing around the dimly lit campus, still half-expecting some hidden catch to all this as we come to a stop outside the doors.
Sylvester shot me a sly grin and pulled a key from his pocket, dangling it in front of me like some sort of prize. “This should do the trick,” he said, his tone far too casual for someone who just whipped out a key to a locked building.
“How do you have a key to the science building?”
He shrugged with a smirk, clearly enjoying himself. “I’m very resourceful. A few well-placed compliments, a stolen glance here and there, and—voila!—I’ve got keys to places most students could only dream of.” He leaned in, his voice dropping a bit lower. “I mean, when you’re as charming as I am, doors tend to open…in more ways than one.”
I shot him a deadpan look.
Sylvester laughed, the sound easy and unbothered. “Alright, alright. You got me. The truth is, when we had to change locations from the auditorium to the science building that first week of class, they gave me a key, since I’m a student teacher. And they never asked for it back.”
Right. That was after I took the stage covered head to toe in mud , creating the whole “mudslide” incident. I wasn’t exactly this university’s shining star.
I blinked, not entirely sure if he was still messing with me. “Really?”
He nodded, looking oddly proud of himself. “Well, mostly. And it helps if you have a duplicate made ahead of time, just in case.”
I gawked at him. “You made a duplicate?”
“What can I say? You’d be surprised how much easier it is to sneak around when you’re not restricted by little things like rules.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed, the absurdity of it all hitting me, despite myself.
He slid the key into the lock, and we crept down the dimly lit corridor, our shadows stretching along the walls beneath the flickering emergency lights. The faint smell of chemicals and disinfectant hung in the air, mixing with the sterile silence of the building.
Sylvester pushed open a door at the end of the hall, revealing a room filled with gleaming lab equipment. The moonlight filtering through the windows cast an ethereal glow on the polished surfaces, making the space feel both clinical and strangely beautiful.
“Take your pick,” he said, gesturing to the array of tools.
I approached one of the microscopes, running my fingers along its familiar smooth surface. “This is amazing,” I breathed.
“I told you I could deliver,” he said, his voice a mix of pride and amusement.
A genuine smile spread across my face as I walked further in, running my fingers along the surface of the table.
Sylvester watched me for a moment, the lines around his mouth softening. “Didn’t take you for the lab rat,” he teased, his eyes studying the way I was lighting up.
I shook my head, still grinning. “You have no idea how much I missed this.” I paused, then glanced at him, noticing how his eyes were on me with a soft, amused look. “I’m actually impressed you knew about this place.”
“You’d be surprised what I know. I grew up around here, remember?”
For a moment, the silence between us was comfortable. I was too caught up in the excitement of actually being here to notice it, but then Sylvester spoke again, breaking my focus.
“You’ve got a nice smile, you know?” he said it casually, but there was a sincerity to his voice that I wasn’t used to hearing from him.
The words hit me unexpectedly, and I froze for a second, my cheeks warming. For the first time, I felt a flicker of shyness.
I quickly looked away, clearing my throat to hide the awkwardness.
“Anyway,” I muttered, brushing the hair out of my face, “How many other places like this have you found around here? Are there more secret rooms with fancy microscopes, or are you just a one-hit wonder?”
I watched him carefully, trying to read him. Did he know about the Vault of Nightfall?
Sylvester gave a slight tilt of his head, “Altair’s got a lot of hidden spaces if you know where to look.”
“So you’ve found more than just this room?”
He grinned. “Some of the best spots are tucked away in plain sight, just not where most people are looking.”
I leaned against the edge of the workbench, watching him with interest. “You don’t exactly strike me as the type who’d care about the history of this place.”
Sylvester made a dismissive motion, though there was a quiet pride in his expression. “Maybe you judged me too quickly. It’s not all about knowing the right people. It’s about finding the right places. I told you, Altair’s got a lot of layers, if you know how to peel them back.”
There was a moment of silence between us, like he was waiting for me to process what he’d said.
I’d been nudging the conversation toward the Vault of Nightfall, just to see if he’d flinch. But he didn’t. So either he knew and wasn’t sharing, or he had no idea.
Still, I knew better than to trust him completely. I’d come here alone, but that didn’t mean I’d forgotten who he was, or the kind of things he was capable of. I was setting myself up for something by being here, but I wasn’t going to let my guard down. Not yet.
Just then, a loud slam echoed from somewhere down the hall. My head snapped toward the sound, eyes wide.
Sylvester stiffened beside me. “What was that?” His voice was low, tense, a sharp contrast to the easy banter from moments before. The unmistakable sound of a door slamming shut echoed through the hallway, followed by footsteps.
I froze, my skin prickling. “Maybe it’s nothing,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt, but the unease creeping up my spine told me otherwise.
We held our breath for a moment, the footsteps growing fainter, but they were still there, a rhythmic beat of someone moving. Then the sound stopped. A long, pregnant silence hung between us, thick with uncertainty.
Sylvester peered at the crack in the door, his eyes narrowing as he watched a shadow shift beneath it. He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “Alright, I think we’re good,” he muttered, though his words were less convincing now. “Probably just groundskeeper Simmons.”
He looked at me, waiting for some kind of confirmation. But before I could respond, a buzzing sound vibrated through the air, shattering the stillness. My eyes darted around the room, searching for the source. It was faint at first, barely noticeable, like a phone vibrating against a desk.
I glanced down and caught the subtle flicker of movement—Sylvester’s watch lit up, the soft buzz clearly coming from his wrist.
Without another word, I yanked open the door and darted into the hallway. My footsteps echoed in the silence, the sound of my shoes slapping against the cold tiles as I rushed ahead.
Each step felt louder, more exposed, and I could hear the echo of another door slamming in the distance. My breath came faster now, trying to keep pace with Sylvester, who was moving quickly ahead.
“You think they went the other direction?” I asked, my voice strained as I pushed myself harder to keep up.
“Don’t wait around to find out,” he replied, his voice tight as he picked up speed. “Keep moving.”
We reached a junction in the corridor. I barely had time to register the next sound—a low, gravelly voice from around the corner. “Hey! You two! Students aren’t allowed here after hours—”
Sylvester grabbed my wrist and yanked me hard to the left, pulling me down a different hallway.
Finally, we reached the exit, and the cool night air hit me like a shockwave. We didn’t stop running until we were far down the path, outside the science building and away from the looming shadow of whatever was inside.
I collapsed against the side of a building, catching my breath, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened. Sylvester leaned against the wall next to me, his chest heaving just as much as mine.
For a moment, we stood there in silence, both of us catching our breath, the buzzing from Sylvester’s watch finally quieting as he flicked a switch on the side.
“Wow,” I muttered, looking around as though expecting someone to jump out of the shadows. “That was insane. Your watch scared the hell out of me back there.”
Sylvester just shook his head. “That? That was my sister and her impeccable sense of timing,” he grumbled, waving his arm where an expensive gold watch sat around his wrist.
I couldn’t help it, I laughed, my body shaking with the release of tension. “Of course.” Because that for whatever reason makes perfect sense.
“Yeah.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She’ll literally keep buzzing it until I meet up with her. I don’t mean to leave you hanging, but if I don’t meet her soon, she’ll start getting creative with the vibrations—like some weird twin Morse code.”
As if on cue, the watch buzzed again, more insistent this time, vibrating against his wrist. Sylvester grimaced, glaring at it as though it had personally wronged him. “See? Told you.”
I didn’t bother trying to suppress a grin. “Looks like you’re a popular guy.”
“More like a tormented guy,” he muttered, shaking his wrist as if that might make it stop. He glanced at me, his face showing both annoyance and a hint of amusement. “Anyway, I need to go. Otherwise, she’ll start tapping it like a drum.”
I laughed again, then, on impulse, decided to tease him. “Hey, Sylvester…”
He looked over at me, brow raised. “Yeah?”
I hesitated, suddenly feeling a shift in the air between us. I was still trying to process everything—how much had happened, how much he’d shown me, how much I didn’t expect him to be this genuine. “Thanks,” I said quietly, then corrected myself. “I mean, for showing me that room. Just, thanks.”
Sylvester’s expression shifted, the usual teasing edge replaced with something more thoughtful. He gave a small shrug, but his eyes held mine for a moment longer than usual. “No problem. You seemed like you needed a break.”
He started to walk away, and I was just about to turn and head in the opposite direction when he stopped. He hesitated, as if making a decision in that split second, then turned back to face me.
“You can just call me Sly, if you want,” he said, his tone lighter now, as though the offer itself was casual.
“Sly?” I echoed.
He gave me a small, almost sheepish grin. “Yeah, you know…if you want to skip the formalities.”
I stood there for a moment, surprised again. “Appreciate it, but I’ll stick with Sylvester for now. I’m not sure we’re on nickname terms just yet,” I said with a wry smile, a flicker of humor in my voice. “Wouldn’t want to rush into things.”
Sylvester chuckled, the tension between us easing further. “Fair enough.”
As he turned to leave again, I watched him go, a feeling of unexpected gratitude lingering in the air. I hadn’t expected much from him tonight, but somehow, he’d managed to surprise me more than once. And for once, I didn’t mind being surprised by a Legacy.
But before I could go much further, I heard the faint muttering of a voice ahead of me. The words were too low to catch, but the irritation in the tone was unmistakable. I looked up to see Atlas standing at the edge of the path, his brow furrowed and his lips moving in frustration. His usual composed demeanor seemed frayed, and the sight caught me off guard. It reminded me—just for a second—of that night in the vault. A sharp edge beneath the calm. Something I wasn’t meant to see.
I paused, a little unsure of whether to acknowledge him. But before I could decide, our eyes met. There was a flicker of recognition in his gaze, but no immediate change in his posture.
I took a step forward, my curiosity piqued. “Atlas,” I greeted, my voice a little tentative but polite.
He blinked, his expression shifting. The furrow in his brow softened, but only just. “Alex,” he replied, his voice smooth, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—something that didn’t quite match the calm demeanor he usually wore.
I stood there, unsure if I should say anything else, or if it was better to just let the moment pass. I half-expected him to turn away, but he didn’t. Instead, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, still looking at me with that half-bemused expression. The irritation that had been lingering just beneath the surface seemed to dissipate, though it wasn’t entirely gone.
After a beat, Atlas lowered his voice slightly, as though making sure no one else could overhear. “Have you been back to the vault since that night?”
I blinked at the question, caught off guard by how directly he asked it. “No,” I said quickly—too quickly.
He studied me for a moment, his gaze not unkind but searching, like he was measuring the edges of my answer. “Did you take anything?”
My breath caught just slightly. I had. A photo, small and half-faded, sitting there on the desk. But for some reason, I shook my head.
“No.”
I wasn’t sure why I lied. Maybe because I didn’t want to give him a reason to look at me the way he was now—like he wasn’t sure if I could be trusted. His expression didn’t change much, still that easy, laid-back calm, but I saw it in his eyes: a flicker of doubt, quickly buried beneath that soft, almost-too-gentle smile.
He shifted the stack of books in his arms. “Well,” he said, tone lighter now, “can’t say I blame you. That place’s got a way of sticking with you. Not always in the best ways.”
I glanced down at the titles he carried—mostly obscure theory texts and a few worn volumes labeled things like Altair Yearbook Archives and Legacy Student Directories . My brow lifted slightly. “So… what are you doing down there anyway? Research?”
He hesitated—not long enough to seem suspicious, just enough for me to notice. “Something like that,” he said finally. “Just helping someone... tie up a few loose ends.” He gave a hollow kind of smile. “You know how it is at Altair—favors.”
He said it with that same open ease, but I had the strange feeling he was being careful with his words. Measured.
“You need help?” I asked before I could stop myself.
Atlas chuckled, shaking his head as the first drops of rain began to fall around us. “Appreciate it, but I’ve got it covered. Not the kind of thing you bring a second pair of eyes into—too many cooks and all that.”
Before I could process his advice, a cold breeze swept through campus, followed by the sudden patter of rain. The first drops landed on the cobblestones with sharp, steady taps. Atlas glanced up at the sky, his expression hardening.
“Shoot,” he muttered, taking a step back and gathering up the books in his arms with hurried movements. “I can’t let these get wet.”
I watched as he quickly adjusted his grip, a sense of urgency overtaking his usually composed demeanor. “I’ve got to go,” he said, his voice clipped.
Before I could respond, he was already heading toward the nearest door, moving with surprising speed for someone weighed down by books. The rain began to fall harder, and I cursed under my breath, sprinting toward the direction of my dorm, trying to avoid the worst of the downpour.
By the time I reached the entrance, I was drenched, my shoes squelching with each step. The hallway greeted me with the musty scent of damp wood and decaying stone, the faint, almost melancholic odor of wet coats mingling with the air. The flickering light from tarnished sconces barely illuminated the worn, shadowed corners, giving the place an unsettling, almost otherworldly feel. I sighed, relieved to be out of the relentless storm, though the gloom inside seemed to embrace me just as thoroughly as the downpour outside.
But the moment I walked in, the noise hit me like a wall. It was a constant hum of drills, the harsh clang of metal, and muffled voices, all blending together into an oppressive cacophony that echoed through the hall. It was well past midnight, and yet the construction was still in full swing—no one seemed to care that the hour was late. I couldn’t help but think how ridiculous it was that they hadn’t called it quits yet.
I winced as a particularly loud bang echoed from somewhere above me. My head throbbed in time with the noise.
I grumbled to myself, frowning as I made my way toward the stairs. “Nothing like a late-night symphony of construction. As if I need sleep or anything important like that.”
I barely had time to react when my foot caught on something—an exposed piece of piping sticking out from the wall, no doubt part of the ongoing renovation. I stumbled, arms flailing, before barely managing to catch myself against the railing.
“Seriously?” I grumbled under my breath, straightening up. I shot a quick glance at the exposed construction work, the half-finished drywall, the tools scattered along the floor. The place was a mess, and every step I took felt like I was risking life and limb just to get to my room.
I let out a sigh, adjusting my wet hair before I continued to pick my way through the chaos, hoping my feet would find their footing without another mishap, wishing more than ever for the silence that felt so impossible to come by these days.
I was almost to my room, my hand on the doorknob, when I froze. There, leaning against the wall in the hallway, was my shadow.
Great. Just what I needed after nearly breaking my neck on exposed pipes. Bishop was scowling, arms crossed, as usual, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“Your dorm’s about as peaceful as a wrecking ball,” he remarked, his voice dripping with that obnoxious, mocking tone.
I didn’t say it out loud, but the thought lodged deep in my chest anyway—maybe Bishop hadn’t told my grandparents about the state of the building to help me. Maybe he did it just to mess with me. A perfect little torment: deny me sleep, make every wall hum and rattle with chaos until I broke. The kind of thing Altair would applaud for its elegance.
I scowled, pushing past the urge to snap back at him. “What do you want?”
He pushed off from the wall, straightening up and giving me that infuriating attractive half-smile. “Can’t slam a door in my face if we’re both on the same side, now can you, Prescott?”
I pulled my jacket tighter around me, still drenched from the sudden storm. My clothes clung to me uncomfortably, and I could feel the chill creeping up my spine. I gave Bishop a pointed look, trying not to focus on how his gaze lingered on me.
“I don’t have time for you,” I said, exasperated, motioning to my soaked clothes. “I just want to go inside, get out of these wet clothes, and dry off. So unless you’ve got a towel handy, I suggest you move.”
Bishop tilted his head. “Did you have a good study session with Sylvester?” His voice was casual, but there was something cutting beneath it.
“Yeah, it was fine. We went over some notes. Nothing special.”
But that didn’t satisfy him. I could see it in his eyes—the flicker of something darker beneath the surface. He wasn’t going to let this go.
“Hmm. That’s it, huh? Nothing special at all?” His gaze flicked behind me, his eyes shifting slightly as if scanning the space—just a flicker, but enough to make me feel like something was off. It was a brief glance, almost too quick to notice, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was looking for something. Or someone.
I glanced over my shoulder instinctively, but the hallway was empty.
“What?” I asked, not bothering to hide the irritation in my voice. “Is there a point to this?”
He straightened up, that same cocky grin returning to his lips. “Nothing,” he said smoothly, his eyes locking back onto mine.
I shot him a glare, irritated. “Seriously. What do you want, Bishop? It’s late, I’m wet, and I’m freezing. The dorm’s about as peaceful as a jackhammer convention, and that’s before I nearly slipped on the walk up thanks to this round-the-clock construction project.” I threw my hands up, exasperated. “Can you just go annoy someone else? I’m really not in the mood.”
But he wasn’t backing down. “I was in Altair’s main building earlier,” he said, his voice soft but deliberate. “You weren’t there.”
I turned to face him, narrowing my eyes. “What were you doing there?” I asked, keeping my voice level. “Were you spying on me?”
The gall of this guy. I could feel my blood starting to boil as I stared at him—this arrogant, infuriating jerk who had made my life a living nightmare from day one. He’d done nothing but mess with me, poke at my every weakness, and try to make me regret even existing on this campus. And now, here he was, acting like he had the right to show up at my dorm and ask questions about my private life.
“Not that it’s any of your business, Prescott,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension, “but I had a meeting.”
“A meeting?”
“Yeah. You know, actual important things to do,” he said smoothly, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my pulse skip. “Funny, though. I didn’t see you two anywhere.”
I couldn’t help but let out a sarcastic laugh, my lips curling into a smirk. “Oh really? What’s next? Are you going to tell me you’re the one who had Sylvester show me around the science building? Because you’ve made it pretty clear that everything I do around here is your business.” My voice dripped with challenge, daring him to deny it.
“Science building? That’s where you were?” His voice was tight, barely masking the undercurrent of something possessive.
I couldn’t hold back the noise that slipped past my throat, my annoyance flaring. “Yes, Bishop. The science building . Is that a problem for you?” The question hung in the air, thick with sarcasm, daring him to keep pushing.
But instead of responding with words, something shifted—broke. I felt the air grow thicker, the space between us suddenly charged with an energy I couldn’t ignore.
Without warning, he closed the distance between us in a flash. He shoved me back against the door with a force that made my breath catch. His body was impossibly close, his chest pressing against mine as his gaze locked onto me with that dangerous, smoldering intensity. For a split second, the air between us crackled, and I felt something twist in my stomach. The way his eyes darkened, the lust flickering there, made my pulse race, but I forced my mind to stay sharp.
I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe. “You keep showing up like this, I might just start charging you for the privilege.”
His grin only deepened. “Is this your way of inviting me inside your room, troublemaker?”
I fought the surge of heat that threatened to rise in my chest, desperately clinging to the part of me that knew better than to fall for his games. “I think you’ve misunderstood,” I said, trying to sound unaffected, even though his proximity made my pulse spike. “I don’t offer private tours. But you’re welcome to admire the door from the outside.”
Bishop chuckled, the sound low and rough, vibrating through my chest as his breath brushed against my skin. It was a near electric shock that sent a shiver down to my toes. He leaned in, just enough to make my breath catch, his lips grazing my ear as he whispered, “Keep lying to yourself, Prescott. It only makes me want you more.”
I swallowed hard, clenching my jaw to keep from betraying the pulse of desire that flared beneath my skin. I had to stay in control.
“Don’t kid yourself,” I said, though the words tasted weaker than I wanted them to. “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t break anything in here. You’d ruin the ambiance.”
His smirk was a dangerous thing, a silent promise of trouble, but he didn’t back away. No, he took a step closer, until his body was almost pressing into mine, radiating heat like a furnace. The air between us thickened, charged, and I could feel the weight of it in my chest.
“Ambiance, huh?” he purred, his voice a smooth, intoxicating mix of sarcasm and something darker. “Is that what we’re calling this thing between us now?”
I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut for a moment, focusing on the wooden door behind me, willing it to anchor me. I had to stop this. I couldn’t let him make me crack. I wouldn’t.
But then I felt it again—his body so close, his breath so warm, the faint trace of cigarette smoke lingering on his lips. The pull was undeniable, like gravity drawing me in, and the heat between us only grew more intense. My body betrayed me as I fought the instinct to lean into him. To let go.
Bishop’s chuckle rumbled in his chest as he pressed forward, impossibly close now. I could feel every inch of him against me—his strength, his heat, his presence consuming me.
He pulled back just enough to watch me, his eyes flicking down to where the rain-soaked fabric clung to my skin. “You’re soaked…” he murmured, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of my neck, sending a jolt of heat straight through me. The smile on his lips was wicked, and I could feel his gaze lingering, knowing he wasn’t just talking about the rain.
I fought it. I had to.
I swallowed, my heart thundering in my chest. Every part of me screamed to push him away, to fight this undeniable pull between us. But it was useless. Bishop Ashbourne wasn’t just a threat; he was temptation in its purest form, wrapped in arrogance and sharp edges. And for some stupid reason, I wanted him. Craved him.
He stood there, waiting, like he already knew what was about to happen. There was a quiet confidence in the way he held himself, a subtle arrogance that made my pulse race even harder.
The fire in his gaze was almost tangible. Something about it—a mix of command and vulnerability—set me on edge.
My fingers itched to touch him, to pull him closer, but I stayed rooted, gripping the doorframe to remind myself I was still in control.
Without warning, his lips slammed into mine—raw, urgent, desperate—as though he couldn’t hold back any longer. The kiss was ferocious, demanding, and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. His hand found the back of my neck, pulling me into him so hard I thought I might collapse under the weight of it. I could taste the bitter remnants of his cigarette on his tongue, sharp and intoxicating, and everything I knew I shouldn’t want…I couldn’t resist.
Just as I thought I couldn’t take any more, he pulled back—just enough to leave me gasping, his lips curling into that smug smile I hated, yet somehow found too irresistible, like he was about to walk away again.
But this time I wasn’t going to let him.
With a fierce tug, I yanked him back, my lips crashing into his, uncaring of the consequences.