I didn't expect him that night.
I was standing by the window, barefoot, the city lights blinking like distant stars, when I heard the door open behind me. I didn't turn immediately. In this house, his presence had become something I felt before I saw.
"You should have been informed," I said quietly.
"I dismissed them," he replied.That alone made my chest tighten.
I turned to face him. He had loosened his tie, the top button of his shirt undone, his sleeves rolled up like the day had finally worn him down. For the first time since I moved in, he didn't look untouchable.
"You've been avoiding me," he said.
I let out a small, humorless laugh. "You told me there was no 'us.' Avoiding you felt like respecting that."
His eyes darkened. "And yet here you are."
"And yet here you are," I echoed.
Silence stretched between us, thick and charged. I felt it then — the pull I had been denying, the tension living in every glance, every accidental brush, every word left unsaid.
"This arrangement," he began, stopping a few steps away from me, "was never meant to feel like this."
"What does this feel like?" I asked.
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached out — slowly, deliberately — as if giving me time to stop him. His fingers brushed my wrist, warm and steady.I didn't pull away.That was all it took.
The distance between us disappeared, not rushed, not desperate, but inevitable. His hand slid to my waist, his touch firm yet restrained, like he was holding back something far more dangerous.
"This changes things," I whispered.
"I know."
"Say it," I demanded softly. "Say you want this.His forehead rested against mine. I felt his breath, controlled but uneven.
"I want you," he said.
The words sent a shiver through me ,not because they were romantic, but because they were honest.
When he kissed me, it wasn't gentle. It was restrained fire — years of control cracking open. I kissed him back, not as a contract, not as a duty, but as a woman who had been lonely for far too long.
Time lost its meaning.
Hands, heat, shared breath — the world narrowed down to the two of us and the choice we were making together. When he finally pulled me closer, guiding me toward the bed, there was no force, no command.
Only consent.Only need.What happened next didn't feel like obligation or debt or agreement.It felt like surrender.
Later, I lay awake beside him, the room quiet again, but different now. He was turned away from me, one arm resting above his head, the distance already returning.
I understood then.This wasn't love.
It was a crack in the wall we had both built — and cracks could either let light in.
Or bring everything down.Tomorrow, everything would change.
And Chapter 6 would decide whether we survived it.