Diane's eyes stayed on him.
She didn't even try to look away. His face — unfairly handsome, held her attention without effort. And those eyes… sharp, magnetic, almost seductive without meaning to be. They pulled her in like gravity.
He looked back at her just as steadily. No flinch. No hesitation.
As if looking at her was something he owned.
Her thoughts tangled.
First he'd teased her about her relationship status.
Then he threw her off balance.
Now he said he liked spending time with her.
What was wrong with him?
Or what was wrong with her — that she felt like she was being drawn to him and couldn't stop it?
' Does he like me?' she thought.
But the thought was immediately smothered by another:
No. He's a player. A heart-wrecker. A beautiful mistake.
She should hate him. She knew that.
And yet her heart skipped. For him.
For the worst possible him.
Llewellyn's lips lifted to a slow, knowing smirk.
Her mind blanked. Completely.
He leaned close not touching just stealing the air between them.
She froze, caught somewhere between fear, awe, and something she didn't want to name.
They were close. Too close.
He could feel the warmth of her breath, the faint tremor in it. Diane stood stiffly, like someone plunged into cold water, wide-eyed, unsure, her balance stolen the moment his hand brushed her jaw.
Llewellyn had kissed girls before. Many.
He knew the steps, the patterns, the reactions.
It was always the same, shallow, practiced, boring.
But Diane…
She wasn't reacting like the others.
She was vulnerable.
Her lashes fluttered, her lips parted, her hands frozen at her sides as though she didn't trust herself to move. And something in that—something transparent—made a strange, unwelcome feeling coil in his chest.
He hated it.
He hated how unfamiliar it was.
His eyes lowered to her lips, then back to her eyes. She was lost completely absorbed in him and he couldn't look away. His voice was low, quiet, almost too gentle for a man like him.
"...I don't understand you," he said quietly.
His jaw tightened, frustration simmering beneath the surface.
"Every other girl is the same. But you…"
His voice dropped.
"You're different. And I hate that."
Diane's breath trembled.
But she didn't look away this time.
"That's..." she whispered. "Because I'm not other girls."
The air shifted.
Llewellyn blinked slowly, his gaze tracing her face before settling on her eyes again — like they were the very thing ruining him.
"That's exactly why," he murmured.
She wanted to apologize like Clara told her to — to defuse the storm, but instead, her heart spoke first:
"Are you going to hurt me?" she asked, voice small.
"Because I slapped you?"
His expression stilled.
"And… are you the Bulldog?"
He understood instantly.
She had seen him fight.
Seen what he was capable of.
He didn't deny it.
"No," he said. "I won't hurt you."
A beat.
"But I am the Bulldog."
She froze.
Anyone would. The leader of a gang. Dangerous. Untouchable.
He didn't blame her fear.
This time, he felt it with her.
"Believe me, Diane," Llewellyn said, and there was something raw in his voice, something unguarded.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
She swallowed, her voice barely there.
"What about my family?"
He exhaled, leaning a bit closer.
"I'll consider that," he said. "Only if you stay with me."
Her eyes widened.
"What?"
"I'm hosting a party," he said simply.
"And I want you to be my date."
Her cheeks flushed deeply and he noticed.
Of course he noticed.
"…Are you blushing?" he asked, amusement curling into his voice.
"No."
Too fast.
Too defensive.
Llewellyn's smirk deepened, slow, merciless.
"Really."
"It's just...hot in here," she muttered, crossing her arms.
"The room is cold, Diane."
His voice dropped.
"You're the only thing burning."
Her heart stumbled — embarrassing and traitorous.
"Even if I am," she managed, chin lifting, "that doesn't mean I want to be your date."
Llewellyn tilted his head, eyes dark and intent — not angry.
Interested.
"Then don't want it."
His voice lowered, smooth and inescapable.
"Just do it."
She blinked.
"You can't just command me."
"I can," he said simply. Not threatening, just truth.
Like the world bent around him.
He leaned forward again, gaze locking into hers, and she felt the pull in her bones.
"And you know what's worse?" he murmured.
She didn't breathe.
"You want to."
Her stomach dropped.
Because for one split second, she did.
She tore her gaze away before she drowned in his.
Llewellyn cleared his throat, breaking the silence that still hung thick in the lab.
"We should get to why we're here."
His voice was steady again, sharp, controlled, as if the moment from before had never happened.
He spread the blueprint across the workbench. A tower design, nearly complete, only missing its final configuration.
"This is what we'll be finishing," he said, tapping the blueprint with a focused gaze.
Diane watched him as he spoke. The shift in him was almost startling—his posture straight, his tone all precision and intellect. He looked… serious.
Almost intimidating.
"I..." Diane began, her voice unsteady, "I don't really know how to build properly."
Llewellyn looked at her. Slowly.
His hand rested on his hip, eyes narrowing just slightly teasing.
Not mocking.
Just… watching how she moved.
"Then how," he asked, "did you get chosen to be here?"
She swallowed.
She wasn't going to stutter—she refused—
"I'm good with advice," she said, trying to sound confident. "Especially for almost-complete projects."
He blinked.
Then a small, surprised laugh escaped him. Not loud — just a soft exhale.
"A product developer," he murmured. "So you're useful when things are already halfway done."
"Well," he continued, turning back to the blueprint, "this is almost done. So..." he glanced at her over his shoulder, "...you're useful."
Diane's chest warmed.
It wasn't a grand compliment, but coming from him, it felt like one.
"Go crazy," he said casually, already walking toward the door.
Diane stared after him. "Wait...we haven't even started..."
The door shut behind him.
She stood there, alone. With the blueprint. And her racing heartbeat.
Diane was left alone with her thoughts, all crimson and tangled.
The way he had closed the distance.
The way his breath had brushed hers.
How her first kiss had almost happened — almost.
Heat rushed up her cheeks before she even realized.
She touched her face, flustered.
"No… no," she whispered, shaking her head.
But her mind didn't listen.
It went straight to the moment he asked her to be his date, the spark that had shot through her chest before she could stop it.
She hated how flustered she felt.
Hated how her heart reacted before her sense did.
What was he doing to her?
She tried to steady her breath.
But she was already gone, lost in something new and terrifying and warm.
***
Llewellyn turned the corner the moment he left her.
He leaned against the wall, hand pressed to his forehead.
He exhaled sharply.
"Do I…"
His voice cracked.
"Do I like her?" he whispered, the words sounding foreign even to himself. He let out a low groan.
The thought hit him like a punch.
And it terrified him.
A soft hand slipped into his, pulling his arm down gently.
"Llewellyn."
He looked up.
Ana stood before him, smiling bright, polished, perfect. The kind of perfect that felt rehearsed. Her black and white mini dress hugged her figure, her lips curved into the familiar sweet smile she always wore for the public.
"Honey," she breathed, voice like practiced silk.
He didn't answer. His silence was heavy.
She pouted a little, tilting her head. "You didn't even ask about me. I wasn't at the seminar and you didn't call. Why?" she asked, playful, but the irritation beneath it was sharp.
He sighed. "Where were you?" The question came out dry. Not curious, just obligatory.
Ana brightened instantly. "I signed the deal with my brother," she announced proudly. "He agreed to supply the institute with as many components for the tower project as you need."
Her hands slid up to his chest, fingers smoothing the fabric of his suit like she was fixing something that wasn't broken.
"You should be happy," she added.
Llewellyn only stared at her. No reaction. No excitement. No gratitude.
So she asked the next thing she came for.
"Are you taking me to the party tomorrow?" She blinked up at him, lashes fluttering.
He gently removed her hands from his chest.
Ana's smile faltered. "Llewellyn," she said, voice tightening, "why do you keep acting like this? I persuaded my brother to invest in your project. I did that for you. And you don't even show the slightest appreciation. You keep..." her voice broke, "...pushing me away."
"I never asked for your help," Llewellyn said quietly.
That hit. She stared at him, stunned.
"Then..." her voice rose, sharp and shaking, "...take me to the party."
He didn't hesitate.
"I already have a date."
He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away.
Ana stood there, her breath trembling, the smile falling off her face entirely.
"I am your fiancee, Llewellyn!" she yelled but he was already gone.
Silence.
She turned toward the building he had been leaning on, her expression shifting, soft features sharpening into something cold.
Someone else.
Someone he was choosing instead of her.
Her jaw tightened as a dark, possessive anger settled in her chest.
"…Who is she?" Ana murmured, voice low and dangerous.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Whoever she is…"
A bitter, humorless smile curved her lips.
"…she clearly wants to die."
******
I know some of you are reading quietly like ninjas👀
Come out of the shadows and say 'hi' in the comments😌