Morning came too soon.
The Reigns mansion glowed softly under the golden sunrise, but Eric's mood was anything but bright.
He hadn't slept. Not a wink.
All night, his mind kept replaying her words — "He's too cold for that."
And every time, something sharp and bitter twisted deeper in his chest.
By the time he came downstairs, his tie wasn't properly done, his hair slightly messy — something that never happened before.
Even the house staff noticed the rare crack in his perfect composure.
Then she entered the dining room.
Kiki.
In a soft cream dress, hair loosely tied, eyes sparkling from a good night's rest.
She was humming. Actually humming.
"Morning," she said, smiling, as she sat opposite him.
He didn't answer. Just stared.
The sound of his spoon against the porcelain was sharp enough to slice the silence in half.
"Didn't sleep well?" she teased.
He grunted. "Some of us have actual work to do."
She rolled her eyes. "Some of us have exams to pass."
The corner of his mouth twitched — almost a smile, but he killed it before it could escape.
He hated how easy she made it look. How she could live under the same roof, eat his food, and still make him feel like she belonged here more than he did.
After breakfast, Kiki grabbed her bag. "I'll walk today."
Eric looked up sharply. "Walk?"
"Yes," she said, breezily. "I don't want to be the center of gossip every time you drop me off in that spaceship you call a car."
"It's not gossip," he said flatly. "It's envy."
"Exactly why I don't want it."
He stood, his voice dropping lower. "You're not walking."
Her brows furrowed. "You don't own me."
He stepped closer. "Don't test that theory, Kiki."
For a heartbeat, their eyes locked — his burning, hers defiant.
She didn't back down. "Fine. Then I'll just take the bus again."
Before he could argue, she was already halfway to the door.
At school, things were no different.
Everywhere she went, whispers followed her.
Girls whispered about her clothes — the designer ones he bought.
Boys stared too long, smiling too wide.
And Ryan — always Ryan — was there again, walking her to class, carrying her books, making her laugh like nothing in the world could touch her.
That evening, when she came home, she noticed Eric's mood before she even saw him.
The mansion felt colder.
No music. No chatter. Just silence and the soft echo of his footsteps pacing the study.
When she peeked in, he was standing by the window again, tie loosened, drink in hand.
He didn't look up.
"Eric?" she said softly.
He didn't respond.
She tried again, walking in. "Are you okay? You seem—"
He turned abruptly. "Who were you talking to last night?"
The question hit her like a slap. "Excuse me?"
"On the phone." His voice was calm — too calm. "You said I'm not that bad once you get used to me. And that I'm too cold to love anyone."
Her heart froze.
He had heard her.
"Were you eavesdropping?" she asked, crossing her arms.
His gaze hardened. "I was walking past. You weren't exactly whispering."
"Wow," she said, laughing bitterly. "So now I can't talk to my friends without being interrogated?"
"Friends?" His jaw tightened. "Or another guy?"
That struck a nerve.
She stepped closer, eyes blazing. "What if it was? What difference does it make? You said I'm just your contract girlfriend, remember?"
He set the glass down with a soft clink.
"You're right," he said quietly. "You're just my contract girlfriend."
She blinked. That wasn't the answer she expected.
Something in his voice was… wrong. Too controlled. Too distant.
"Then why are you angry?" she whispered.
His lips pressed into a hard line. "I'm not."
"Yes, you are," she said, stepping closer again. "You're jealous."
He gave a dry, humorless laugh. "Jealous? Of what?"
"Of me talking to someone who doesn't terrify me."
That hit him square in the chest.
Before she could say anything else, he grabbed her wrist — not roughly, but firmly — pulling her closer until their faces were inches apart.
"You think I terrify you?" he said, voice low, his breath warm against her lips. "You have no idea what I could do if I stopped trying to be good."
Her heart skipped.
Her voice trembled. "Then stop pretending."
Something in him broke.
The restraint, the control, the wall he'd built — all of it crumbled in that instant.
He kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't planned. It was everything he'd tried to bury — raw, hungry, desperate.
Kiki gasped against his lips, but she didn't push him away.
Her fingers curled into his shirt, and the world blurred around them.
When he finally pulled back, his chest heaved. "That… wasn't supposed to happen."
She whispered, breathless, "Then why did it?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't.
Because for the first time in his life, Eric Reigns — the man who controlled everything — had lost control to a girl he once called his captive.
Us
The next morning, Kiki avoided him.
Not subtly — completely.
She woke early, dressed quickly, and left the mansion before Eric even came downstairs. The sound of the front door closing echoed through the quiet house, sharp as guilt.
Eric stood in the hallway, one hand in his pocket, the other resting on the banister. His jaw flexed.
He hadn't slept — again.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face: shocked, breathless, trembling in his arms.
He told himself it was a mistake.
That he'd let his emotions slip, that the kiss meant nothing.
But the taste of her still burned on his lips, and the memory refused to fade.
At school, Kiki was quieter than usual.
Ryan noticed it first.
"Hey," he said, leaning closer. "You okay? You look… spaced out."
She forced a smile. "I'm fine."
But she wasn't. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Eric — the way his voice dropped, the fire in his eyes, the way her heart betrayed her when he touched her.
She shouldn't have liked it.
But she did.
And that scared her more than anything.
When she returned home that evening, the mansion felt different — heavier.
She stepped into the living room and froze.
There he was.
Eric.
Sitting on the couch, sleeves rolled up, a glass of whiskey untouched beside him.
He looked up when she entered, his gaze unreadable.
"You left early," he said.
She dropped her bag by the stairs. "Yeah. I didn't want to bother you."
"You don't bother me."
His tone was quiet, but it made her heart stutter.
"Good to know," she said quickly, looking away. "I'm going upstairs."
"Wait."
She stopped halfway to the staircase.
He stood, his tall frame cutting a striking figure in the warm light. "About last night…"
She stiffened.
"It was wrong," he said, voice low. "I shouldn't have done that."
Her chest tightened. Wrong.
That word hurt more than she expected.
She nodded. "Right. It was nothing."
He studied her, as if trying to read what she wasn't saying.
Then he said softly, "Was it?"
She looked at him — at those cold gray eyes that didn't look so cold anymore — and forced a shaky laugh.