The air felt heavier.
Thicker.
Like the very walls of his office had conspired to trap me here, suffocating me beneath the weight of something unspoken, something dangerous.
Something inevitable.
Luca hadn't moved. Neither had I. But the space between us was shrinking, suffocating, charged with a tension so thick it felt like it had wrapped itself around my throat. My pulse pounded against my skin, erratic and unsteady, every nerve in my body screaming at me to do something, anything—except stand here and let him pull me deeper into his gravity.
But I couldn't move.
I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't think past the way he was looking at me—like he already knew the answer to a question I hadn't even asked myself yet.
The dim lighting cast jagged shadows across his face, making him look even more untouchable, more lethal. The loosened tie, the undone top buttons of his crisp white shirt, the way his sleeves were pushed up just enough to reveal strong, veined forearms—it was too much. He was too much.
And he knew it.
Luca tilted his head, eyes dark, unreadable. "You look like you've seen a ghost, Bella."
I swallowed, forcing air into my lungs. "Maybe I have."
Because what else could you call someone who haunted your every waking thought?
His lips curved, the barest hint of amusement dancing at the corners. "Is that what I am to you?" His voice was soft, dark, silk wrapped in steel. "Something haunting you?"
More like consuming me.
But I couldn't say that.
I wouldn't.
Instead, I forced myself to straighten my spine, to gather the pieces of my resolve before he shattered them completely. "You called me here," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "Why?"
His gaze dropped, dragging over me with the slow deliberation of a man who didn't do anything by accident. It was an assessment. A challenge. A **warning.**
And I felt it everywhere.
"Why do you think?"
I hated the way my stomach clenched at the rasp in his voice, at the way my skin tingled with the phantom memory of his touch. I hated the way my body reacted to him, like it didn't belong to me anymore, like it was something he could command with nothing more than a look, a word, a whisper.
And most of all, I hated the way he knew it.
I wet my lips, willing myself to **breathe,** to remember who the hell I was. "I don't have time for games, Luca."
"Who said I'm playing?"
My pulse jumped. He took a step closer, the space between us evaporating, the air shifting. The scent of him wrapped around me—dark, rich, something dangerously intoxicating.
"I told you to go home, Bella," he murmured, his voice dropping lower. "And yet… you're still here."
I forced myself to meet his gaze, even though it felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing I was seconds away from falling. "Because you told me to come here."
His lips twitched, the smallest smirk ghosting over his mouth. "Did I?"
I blinked, thrown. What?
"Yes. You literally called me and said—"
"Did I?" he repeated, voice softer now, like he was toying with me. Like he was testing how much I'd let him get away with.
Like he already knew the answer.
I clenched my jaw. "I—"
My breath hitched when he reached for me.
Slow. Deliberate. Giving me time to pull away.
I didn't.
His fingers brushed my wrist, light as a whisper, a tease of a touch that shouldn't have affected me as much as it did.
But it did.
I sucked in a sharp breath, my stomach clenching as heat licked up my spine, spreading through my veins like fire.
"Tell me to stop."
His voice was quiet, but it wasn't a request.
It was a dare.
I should say it. I should.
But the words wouldn't come.
His thumb stroked over the inside of my wrist, slow, hypnotic, feeling my pulse race beneath his touch. My body betrayed me, leaning into him when I should have stepped back, letting him pull me deeper into this twisted, dangerous thing we were playing at.
And I knew then—I was already lost.
Luca's fingers curled, tightening just enough to hold me there. Not enough to force. Not enough to trap.
Just enough to let me know…
That I wasn't leaving.
That I didn't want to leave.
His lips tilted, something dark flickering behind his gaze. "You're still here, Bella."
I hated how true it was.
I hated how much I wanted to be.
The sound of a door creaking open somewhere down the hall jolted me back to reality. I ripped my wrist from his grasp, taking three hurried steps back as if I could physically escape the pull of him.
His expression didn't change, but I saw it. The brief flicker of something in his eyes, something sharp, unreadable.
Something that looked a lot like **triumph.**
I swallowed hard. "I should go."
He didn't stop me.
He didn't say another word as I turned on my heel and walked out of his office, my breath still unsteady, my skin still burning.
But just as I reached the hallway, his voice found me, low and dark and laced with something that made my knees go weak.
"You can run, Bella," he murmured. "But we both know… you'll be back."
I didn't look back.
I couldn't.
Because if I did, I wasn't sure I'd have the strength to walk away at all.