She touched her.
I watched Luna reach across the table and wrap her fingers around Lila's wrist—gentle, like she was guiding her toward something. And she was. Guiding her straight into my line of fire.
It took everything in me not to react. Not to slam my hand down on the table and say no, that's not what I asked for. Not what I wanted.
Because it's her. It's always been her.
And she's still too blind to see it.
I sat in silence for the rest of the dinner, my hands folded neatly, my expression unreadable—at least to them. But inside, my skin burned. Rage. Want. A desperation so deeply ingrained that I didn't even know where she ended and I began anymore.
I've waited years for her to look at me.
I watched her when she didn't know anyone was watching. I memorized her movements. I let her slip past me, again and again, because timing is everything. But now? She's right in front of me—and she's offering me to another woman.
Lila. Sweet, oblivious, wrong.
I don't want her.
I want the one who won't look me in the eye when I enter a room. The one who blushes when our fingers brush. The one who keeps building walls with her mouth but tearing them down with her eyes.
Luna.
My Luna.
Back in the car, I let the silence drown me. I don't speak. I don't blink. I just think—about how I'm going to make her see. About how I'm going to pull her close and never let her go again.
She thought she could trade me away.
She doesn't understand what I am.
I'm not a man who begs.
I take.
And if she's too stubborn to see what's between us, then I'll show her. I'll make her feel it. I'll make her need me.
I step into the penthouse and the silence wraps around me like a second skin. The city blinks beneath me, loud and full of people. But none of them matter. Not like she does.
I pick up my phone.
> To Luna:
Come see me. Alone.
Tomorrow.
Then I pause. My thumb hovers.
No. Not strong enough.
> Or I'll come to you.
There.
Let her try and ignore that.
Let her pretend she isn't already mine.
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