As the first rays of morning filtered through the curtains, painting faint lines of gold across the room, Miguel still hadn't moved. His body ached from the night's intensity, but it was his chest that felt the heaviest. He wasn't just tired, he felt devastated.
And that realization hit him harder than he expected.
Last night was never supposed to mean anything. It had been a mistake. A lapse in control. A weakness. He was supposed to protect her, not crave her. until he won her heart but the way she had looked at him, the way she had touched him it had felt real.
He turned his head slowly, eyes falling on the place beside him in the bed. It was empty.
The sheets were cool, the imprint of her body already fading. She'd left before dawn without a word, without even a glance back.
By the time he pulled himself together and made it into the kitchen, the sunlight had already filled the penthouse with its warm, indifferent glow.
Kira stood at the counter in a short silk robe that clung to her curves like it was made for seduction. Her legs were bare, skin glowing, hair slightly tousled in that effortless, maddening way. She was sipping orange juice with one hand and scrolling through her phone with the other as if nothing had happened between them.
As if she hadn't been underneath him last night, trembling and gasping and begging for more.
Miguel cleared his throat. His voice was rough, hoarse from a night of no sleep and too many unspoken words.
"Morning," he said, his gaze fixed on her.
She didn't even bother to look up.
"You want breakfast, Miguel?" she asked casually, her eyes still glued to her screen.
"You're on duty today, remember?"
Her words landed like a slap. On duty.
Just like that, she had reduced him back to the role he was hired for. No acknowledgment of what had happened. No warmth. He was back to being the bodyguard. Nothing more.
He was no different from the chef, the driver, or the stylist.
His jaw tightened. His chest burned with everything he didn't know how to say.
"About last night," he said finally, forcing the words past his throat.
She lifted her head then, eyes locking onto his with a glint of amusement.
"What about it?" she asked, voice light and cool as glass. Her lips curved ever so slightly. "You're good at sex. Better than I expected. Don't let it go to your head."
Miguel stared at her, frozen. For a brief second, he couldn't even remember how to breathe.
She wasn't just brushing it off, she was dismissing him.
She walked past him without another word, the faint scent of her perfume trailing behind her the same scent that still lingered on his skin and clung to the sheets he hadn't been able to leave.
And just like that, she was gone.
The day didn't get easier.
Miguel spent the afternoon trailing her like he always did, shadowing her steps at a private rooftop event that overlooked the city skyline.
The venue was designed to impress. A sprawling terrace with champagne towers, jazz music playing softly in the background, and a sea of suits belonging to some of the richest men in the world.
And Kira? She was in her element.
She moved through the crowd as if she owned it, laughing effortlessly at conversations with silver-haired billionaires, whispering something into the ear of a German investor that made the man blush like an inexperienced boy.
Her every move was graceful, calculated, and magnetic.
Miguel stayed close, his eyes following her every movement, his body taut with tension. He saw every touch, every laugh, every flirty tilt of her head twisted inside him like a knife.
He heard one of the men chuckle behind him, his voice low and smug.
Is she always this bold?
"Seductive, dangerous," another replied. Yes "Worth every cent."
Miguel's entire body stiffened. Every cent.
His hands clenched at his sides. The idea of another man touching her, buying a piece of her, believing he had any kind of right to her was unbearable. A sickness pooled in his stomach, slow and sharp.
He took a step forward, his eyes burning holes into her back. His voice came out in a low, furious growl, barely audible over the music.
"You let them pay you?"
Kira turned instantly, eyes meeting his without a shred of surprise.
"You look tense, bodyguard," she said, her voice silky and teasing, just loud enough for only him to hear.
Miguel didn't back down. Doing my job.
She replied sweetly. Maybe you need another night to unwind.
And with a wink, she turned her attention back to the man beside her, as if nothing had happened.
Miguel stood there, heart pounding, fists trembling, unable to look away.
Later that evening, the penthouse was quiet again, but the air was anything but peaceful.
Kira moved through the living room in nothing but a towel, her skin still glistening from the bath.
Miguel leaned against the kitchen counter, watching her in silence. His eyes followed the trail of water running down her thigh, every nerve in his body screaming at him to leave or to grab her.
She poured herself a glass of wine and took a sip without looking at him.
"Jealousy doesn't suit you," she said coolly.
"I'm not jealous," he replied, his voice flat. I don't care who you flirt with.
She turned slowly, one brow raised, an amused smirk on her lips.
"That's cute. Lying doesn't suit you either."
He pushed off the counter and crossed the room, each step heavy with emotion.
"Kira," Miguel called her name, his voice low, almost hesitant. "Can I ask you something?"
She didn't answer right away. For a moment, she just stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then, with a sly smile and a flick of her tongue over her lower lip, she replied, "For the sake of needing your dick again sometime? Sure. Ask."
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself. "What exactly do you do for a living?"
Her smile didn't falter, but something in her eyes shifted just slightly. "What do you think I do?"
"I don't know," Miguel said, gaze fixed on her. That's why I'm asking.
She chuckled under her breath, amused, maybe even mocking. Then you must be either blind, stupid, or pretending not to know.
He didn't want to say it. Didn't want to label it. But the question was already clawing its way out of him.
"Why?" he asked, quieter now. "Why are you doing it?"
Her eyes narrowed, the flirtation sharpening into something darker. "Money, Miguel," she said simply. "Why else?"
She stood, slowly deliberately. Her towel clung to her body, but just barely. As she stepped closer, her fingers slid along the edge of the fabric, letting it fall slightly off her shoulder, teasing him with glimpses of bare skin.
Her voice lowered to a whisper, her breath brushing his lips. Is that all you wanted to know?
Before he could answer, she turned and walked away. Her hips moved with that same maddening rhythm, calculated and devastating. Then the door to her room shut with a soft click, leaving him standing alone in the dim silence.
Miguel didn't move.
His pulse was racing. His fists were clenched. His thoughts a storm of confusion, desire, and something dangerously close to pain.
Kira was poison.
But not the kind that kills you quickly.
No. Some poisons take their time. They stay in your blood and burn slowly, and by the time you realize the damage, it's already too late.