Chapter 5 - Chapter 5: The Fire Within

Lila Hart's lips still burned from Caspian Thorn's kiss as she stood in his penthouse, chest heaving, his hands gripping her hips like anchors in a storm. The air crackled, thick with the aftermath of their collision—anger, want, a reckless edge neither could deny. His forehead pressed to hers, breath ragged, and those gray eyes, dark with hunger, pinned her in place. She'd meant to push him away, to keep the line firm between them, but the second his mouth claimed hers again, softer this time, deeper, she was lost."This doesn't change anything," she'd said, but the words felt hollow now, swallowed by the heat of him, the way his fingers dug into her, pulling her closer. His response—It changes everything—echoed in her skull as he kissed her harder, a growl rumbling in his chest. She fisted his shirt, nails scraping his skin through the fabric, and he lifted her onto the bar, the cold marble a shock against her thighs as the red dress rode up."Caspian—" she started, but his mouth was on her neck, teeth grazing her pulse, and the protest died in a gasp. His hands slid up her sides, possessive, mapping her like he'd been waiting for this, and damn it, she arched into him, traitor that her body was. The tablet, the fight, the truth—it all faded, drowned by the pulse pounding in her ears, the taste of scotch on his tongue.He pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes wild, hair mussed from her hands. "Tell me to stop," he said, voice rough, a plea wrapped in a dare.She should've. Every shred of reason screamed it—he's the enemy, he's a liar, this is a trap—but her hands tightened on his shoulders, pulling him back. "Don't you dare," she whispered, and that was it. The dam broke.He kissed her like a man starved, hands roaming—under the dress, up her thighs, a slow burn that set her alight. She yanked at his shirt, buttons popping, and he shrugged it off, bare skin hot under her palms. Muscle flexed as he pressed himself between her legs, the bar digging into her back, but she didn't care. It was messy, urgent, a clash of need and defiance. Her dress hit the floor, his belt followed, and when he lifted her again, carrying her to a leather couch by the windows, the city lights blurred into streaks beyond the glass.They didn't speak—words were too fragile for this. His mouth found her collarbone, her chest, lower, and she arched, a moan slipping free as his hands and lips worked her into a frenzy. She flipped him, straddling his hips, taking control, and his groan was a victory she'd savor later. It was fast, fierce, a release of everything they'd been circling—anger, secrets, the pull neither could outrun. When they crashed over the edge together, her nails in his back, his hands bruising her hips, the world shrank to just them, panting in the dark.After, she lay against him, sweat-slick and breathless, the leather cool beneath her. His arm curled around her, heavy, possessive, and for a moment, she let it be—let the silence hold them. The city hummed outside, indifferent, and reality crept back like a thief.She sat up, pulling the dress over her head, avoiding his gaze. "This was a mistake," she said, voice hoarse, more to herself than him.Caspian propped himself on an elbow, watching her, chest still rising and falling hard. "Was it?" His tone was quiet, but there was an edge—something vulnerable she hadn't expected."Don't," she snapped, standing, smoothing the fabric with shaking hands. "Don't make this something it's not."He stood too, unashamed in his half-naked state, pants low on his hips. "And what is it, Lila? A distraction? A weapon?" He stepped closer, voice dropping. "Or the first honest thing we've done?"She laughed, sharp and unsteady, grabbing the tablet from the bar. "Honest? You don't know the meaning of the word.""Then why are you still here?" He didn't touch her, but his presence was a cage, inescapable.She didn't answer—couldn't. She hit the elevator button, the doors sliding open with a soft ding, and stepped inside. His eyes followed her, burning, until the metal closed between them. Downstairs, the lobby was a blur, the night air a slap as she stumbled into it. Her legs trembled, her mind a riot. She'd crossed a line—he'd crossed a line—and now the game was messier than ever.Back in Bushwick, she showered, scalding water washing away his scent but not the memory. Her phone buzzed—Jamie: Brooklyn contractor's a ghost company. Shell linked to Thorn. Call me. Lila ignored it, collapsing onto her bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep came in fits, dreams of gray eyes and falling towers.Morning brought a hangover of regret and resolve. She met Jamie at the Daily Pulse office, coffee in hand, and dumped the tablet on her desk. "Apex is a front," she said, voice flat. "Thorn's running the same playbook—hide the dirt, control the narrative."Jamie scrolled the files, frowning. "This is old—Victor's era. Where's the new stuff?""He's holding it back," Lila said, pacing. "Gave me just enough to keep me hooked."Jamie's eyes narrowed, sharp behind her glasses. "Hooked how?"Lila froze, then shrugged, too casual. "He's playing me. Thinks I'll back off."Jamie didn't buy it—Lila saw it in the tilt of her head—but she let it slide. "Okay. Next move?""Elena," Lila said, seizing the thread. "His sister. If she's the key, I'll find her—or what's left of her."She hit the library, digging through microfiche—old news on Elena Thorn's disappearance. Grainy photos showed a girl with Caspian's eyes, wild and defiant, last seen at a club in '98. Victor's statement: She ran away. Drugs. But a cop's off-record quote hinted at more: Family fight. Blood on the scene. No body, no case. Lila's gut twisted—grief or cover-up, it was Caspian's wound.By afternoon, she tracked a lead: a bouncer from that club, now a grizzled bar owner in the Bronx. She found him wiping down a counter, his name—Ricky—stitched on a faded jacket. "Elena Thorn," she said, sliding a twenty across. "What happened?"Ricky pocketed the cash, eyes wary. "Pretty girl, big trouble. Fought with her brother that night—screaming, crying. He dragged her out. Next day, she was gone.""Caspian?" Lila's throat tightened."Yeah. Looked like he'd kill for her—or kill her. Never saw her again."Lila left, mind spinning. Caspian, dragging Elena away. Blood. No body. She texted him, impulsive: 49th. Now. No reply, but she went anyway, keycard in hand, fury and need driving her.He was there, by the window, shirt open, glass in hand. He turned, and the air shifted—tense, electric. "You don't knock," he said, dry."Tell me about Elena," she demanded, stepping close, voice hard. "Did you hurt her?"His face changed—shock, then pain, raw and real. "No," he said, voice breaking. "I couldn't save her."She stared, caught off guard, and he closed the distance, hands framing her face. "You want the truth?" he whispered. "Stay. I'll give it to you."Her resolve wavered, heat flaring where he touched her. "All of it?""All of it," he said, and kissed her—slow, desperate, a promise she wasn't sure she could trust.