Paris, France – Killian's Penthouse
Evangeline should have walked away after signing the contract.
She should have left the villa, gone back to her hotel, and put as much distance between them as possible.
But somehow, she found herself here.
In Killian's penthouse.
The city stretched below, golden lights flickering against the rain-slicked streets. A storm had rolled in while they were in the air, trapping them in a whirlwind of past and present.
Now, they were alone.
A dangerous thing.
Killian stood by the fireplace, swirling a tumbler of whiskey between his fingers, his gaze unreadable. "You surprised me tonight."
Evangeline leaned against the bar, her own glass untouched. "Good. I'd hate to be predictable."
He smirked. "You never were."
Silence stretched between them, thick with too many unsaid things.
They should be discussing business. The merger. Their next move.
But neither of them brought it up.
Instead, Killian took a slow sip of whiskey before setting his glass down. "Why did you really agree, Evangeline?"
She tensed, swirling the stem of her wine glass between her fingers. "I already told you. Power. Control."
Killian stepped closer, slow and deliberate. "That's only half the truth."
She held his gaze, refusing to look away. "And what's the other half?"
He reached out, trailing a finger along the edge of her glass.
"That no matter how much you hate me, you never stopped wanting me."
A sharp breath hitched in her throat.
Damn him.
It was always like this between them. A fire that never fully went out. A pull that neither of them could ignore.
Her pulse pounded as Killian lifted her glass from her hands and set it aside. He didn't touch her—he didn't have to. His presence alone set her on edge.
"I told you," she said, her voice steady despite the war inside her. "This is business."
Killian's lips curled. "Liar."
Before she could stop him, he reached out, his fingers skimming her wrist—just a whisper of contact. But it was enough.
Enough to unravel her.
Evangeline should have pulled away.
Instead, she let him touch her.
And when he tilted her chin up, when his gaze dropped to her lips, her resolve cracked.
"Tell me you don't feel it," Killian murmured. "Tell me, and I'll walk away."
Her throat went dry.
Because she couldn't.
She couldn't say it.
Not when her skin burned from his touch. Not when her heart pounded loud enough to drown out logic.
Not when she knew—deep down—that Killian Thorne had always been her greatest weakness.
And then—
She did the one thing she swore she'd never do again.
She closed the distance first.
Her lips crashed into his, and just like that—
The past came roaring back.