Her laugh broke something inside him.
It wasn't the kind of laugh that meant amusement. It was the kind that built walls — quiet, trembling, meant to keep him from seeing how much she was actually hurting.
Eric took a step closer, but she moved back.
"Don't," she said softly. "Don't confuse me more than you already have."
He stopped. The space between them felt thick, charged — as if even the air had forgotten how to breathe.
"I'm not trying to confuse you," he said.
"Then what are you doing, Eric?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "You kiss me like you mean it, then tell me it was wrong. You say I don't bother you, but you treat me like I'm a mistake you can't delete."
His chest rose, fell. "You are a mistake I can't delete."
That silenced her.
He looked away, his jaw tightening as he poured himself another drink, though his hand trembled slightly. "From the moment you stepped into my life, everything stopped making sense. I was supposed to control you. Keep you close so you wouldn't talk. But instead—"
He stopped, as if the next words weighed too much.
Kiki's heartbeat quickened. "Instead what?"
He turned then, his eyes darker now, softer but burning all the same. "Instead, I lost control."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was heavy, full of all the things neither dared to admit aloud.
Then she sighed and whispered, "You think you're the only one confused?"
His head snapped up.
Kiki crossed her arms, though her fingers trembled. "You scare me, Eric. But when you're not being cold, when you're actually human… I forget why I'm supposed to hate you."
That single sentence hit him harder than a gunshot.
He moved toward her, slow and deliberate. "What are you saying, Kiki?"
"I don't know," she murmured, shaking her head. "I don't know anything anymore."
He stopped just inches from her, close enough to feel her breath brush against his collarbone.
"I do," he said quietly.
Before she could ask what he meant, he reached out — not to grab her this time, but to touch her cheek gently, his thumb brushing away a tear she didn't know she had shed.
"Whatever this is," he whispered, "I don't want it to end."
Her lips parted, but before she could respond, the sound of her phone buzzing broke the moment.
She looked down. Ryan.
Eric's expression darkened immediately. He didn't say a word, but the flicker of jealousy in his eyes said everything.
Kiki hesitated, then answered. "Hey," she said, her voice soft. "Yeah, I'm home. No, I'm fine. Really, you don't have to worry about me—"
Eric turned away, jaw clenching so tightly it hurt.
She finished the call quickly, guilt twisting in her stomach. When she turned back, he was already heading for the door.
"Eric—"
He paused.
She swallowed hard. "You don't have to be jealous."
He gave a low, humorless laugh without looking back. "I'm not jealous."
But the tremor in his voice said otherwise.
He left, the door closing behind him with a sound too soft to match the storm brewing inside him.
Later that night, when the house fell silent, Kiki lay awake staring at the ceiling.
Every word, every look, every heartbeat between them played over in her mind like a forbidden song.
Why does he make me feel like this?
Down the hall, Eric sat in his darkened study, the same question haunting him.
He poured himself another drink, but it didn't help. Nothing could drown the image of her — the warmth in her eyes, the way she said his name, the fact that she'd let another man worry about her.
It wasn't supposed to matter.
But it did.
It mattered too much.
Kiki's laugh trembled as it fell into silence.
Eric stood just a few feet away, the space between them charged — thick with the things neither of them dared to say.
Her fingers tightened on the railing, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"It didn't mean anything," she said, her voice barely steady.
But Eric stepped closer, his expression unreadable.
"Then why can't I stop thinking about it?"
Kiki froze.
For the first time, his tone wasn't cold or defensive — it was raw. Honest. Almost vulnerable.
She looked up at him, searching his eyes for a trace of mockery. There was none.
"Eric…" she whispered, shaking her head. "You don't even believe in love."
"I didn't," he admitted, voice low. "Until you."
Her breath caught.
He took another step forward, his gaze softening. "You walk into my house, into my life, and everything I thought I controlled started slipping through my hands. I hate it… but I can't stop it."
Her chest ached — not from fear, but from something warm and terrifying blooming inside her.
"Eric, this isn't supposed to be real," she said, tears pricking her eyes. "It's a contract. You said so yourself."
He smiled bitterly. "Then maybe I should tear the damn contract apart."
She blinked, stunned. "What?"
"I don't want a deal anymore, Kiki," he said, stepping closer until she could feel his breath against her skin. "I want you."
Before she could speak, his hand brushed her cheek — gentle, hesitant.
Kiki's heart betrayed her, leaning into the touch she swore she didn't want.
"Eric…" she breathed, but the sound barely made it past her lips.
He kissed her again — slower this time, tender but desperate, as if afraid she'd disappear if he let go.
And she didn't pull away.
This time, she kissed him back.
Her fingers slipped around his neck, his hand resting at her waist, drawing her closer until the world melted away. The tension, the fights, the walls — all gone. Just them, tangled in something they could no longer deny.
When they finally broke apart, her eyes were glassy, her lips trembling.
"That's not fair," she whispered.
He frowned softly. "What isn't?"
"Making me fall for someone I'm not supposed to."
His breath hitched, and a slow smile curved on his lips. "Then we're both guilty."
She laughed through her tears, shaking her head. "You're impossible."
He chuckled, resting his forehead against hers. "And you're trouble."
They stood like that for a long time — no words, just the quiet thump of two hearts learning to beat together.