Chapter 5:The Point Of No Return.
The city blurred around them as Julian's car slipped through the streets. Aria leaned back against the seat, the cool leather grounding her while her thoughts spun.
She should've pushed him away. Should've insisted she was fine.
But his touch had quieted the war in her chest, just long enough to let her guard slip—and now, she was in his world again.
Wrapped in his scent, his silence, and the storm they kept pretending they weren't in the middle of.
All she could feel was Julian — beside her, close, still and dangerous like a loaded gun.
As they pulled into the private garage, she stirred—tried to sit up straighter—but her body swayed.
"Easy," Julian murmured, his hand steadying her.
When the elevator doors opened, she made a soft sound, like a protest or maybe surrender. But her legs gave a subtle buckle as she tried to step out.
Without a word, Julian slipped an arm under her knees and lifted her into his arms.
She rested her head against his shoulder, the scent of him dizzying and familiar. His heartbeat echoed beneath her cheek — steady, firm — while everything inside her unraveled.
His penthouse was dimly lit, all sharp edges and cold elegance, yet the moment he stepped inside with her in his arms, the air between them thickened — heavy with something unspoken, something primal.
Julian carried her down the hall in silence, his jaw tight with restraint.
When he reached the bedroom, he paused—just for a second—and then gently set her down on the edge of the bed.
She swayed, catching herself on the sheets.
"You're drunk," he said softly, crouching in front of her.
"So are you," her fingers brushing his cheek.
Still, he didn't touch her. Not yet. His control was maddening.
But hers was gone.
She reached for his collar, pulling him down, crushing her mouth to his like she'd been waiting all her life to make another mistake.
The kiss wasn't gentle. It was hungry, angry, aching — all the things they couldn't say out loud.
Clothes hit the floor in a trail of decisions they'd regret coming morning.
She pushed his suit jacket from his shoulders, fingers fumbling with buttons as their bodies pressed closer. His hands slid down her spine, slow and deliberate, like he was mapping a road he already knew too well. When he lifted her, she gasped — not from surprise, but from the ease with which he carried her, like gravity was irrelevant when it came to her.
She wrapped her legs around him, burying her face in his neck, inhaling that scent — sharp, expensive, intoxicating.
He laid her down like she was something fragile, even as his hands said otherwise — calloused palms skimming silk, tugging at zippers, exposing secrets. She arched beneath him, matching his intensity with her own. There were no words now. Just gasps. Groans. Whispers against skin that shouldn't have felt that familiar.
The way her fingers curled against his back, the way she whispered his name like it was both a plea and a curse.
There was no rush.
No apology.
Only need.
And surrender.
Time slipped, indistinct. All she knew was the heat, the ache, the way he touched her like he wanted to undo every lie she'd ever told herself about control.
And when they both shattered, it wasn't loud.
It was quiet.
Breathless.
Like the moment the tide pulls back before the storm hits again.
She should've felt regret.
Instead, all she felt was... seen.
Later, tangled in sheets and breathless silence, Aria lay on her side, eyes wide open in the dark. Julian's arm draped loosely over her waist, his breathing steady.
But her mind was anything but.
She had broken every rule. Again.
Only this time, it felt less like a lapse... and more like surrender.