(Xavier's POV)
The drive to my place was too quiet.
Too still.
The kind of quiet that forces you to think, even when you don't want to.
One hand stayed on the steering wheel, the other curled into a fist near my mouth, thumb brushing my lower lip as if the ghost of her kiss still lingered there. Maybe it did. Her scent still hung in the car—soft, warm, impossible to forget.
Every time I exhaled, it was like breathing her in again.
Khloe.
I gripped the wheel tighter. My jaw locked.
What the hell had I done?
The city lights bled past the windshield, one after another—bright, blurred smears against the dark. My head was a noise I couldn't quiet.
I tried to think about anything else—work, meetings, numbers. But it all collapsed into static. The only thing that stayed sharp was her.
Her voice. Her eyes. That look right before I kissed her—like she already knew what was about to happen and didn't stop me.
By the time I pulled into the garage, my chest felt too tight. I shut off the engine and just sat there, both hands resting on the wheel, staring at nothing.
The silence pressed in again.
I ran a hand through my hair, let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, and finally stepped out. The sound of the car door closing echoed against the concrete walls.
Inside, the house greeted me with stillness—the same kind that used to feel like peace but now just felt empty. Everything was exactly the way I left it: clean, precise, controlled.
A reflection of the man I used to be.
I dropped my keys on the counter, shrugged off my jacket, loosened my tie. The air felt thick, heavy, filled with thoughts I couldn't drown.
I crossed to the bar in the corner and reached for the bourbon—the same bottle I always turned to when the nights got too long. I poured a glass, the amber liquid catching the faint light as it swirled.
I took a slow sip. It burned in a way that reminded me I was still human.
"Khloe," I muttered under my breath, the name slipping out before I could stop it.
The sound of it made me smirk—half amusement, half disbelief. I set the glass down, then picked it up again, swirling the bourbon until it caught the light like liquid fire.
That kiss replayed in my mind. Every detail. The way her breath caught. The way her hands trembled when she touched me back. The quiet sound she made when I finally let go.
I leaned back against the bar, exhaling slowly. "How the hell did I let that happen?"
I wasn't supposed to lose control. Not me. Not after everything I'd built my life around—discipline, precision, distance.
I'd spent years learning how to turn emotions off like a switch, to keep people where they belonged: outside the lines. But somehow, she'd walked right past every defense like she didn't even know they were there.
I finished the glass in one swallow and poured another.
Her face came back to me again. The way she looked up when I said her name. The softness in her eyes when she whispered mine.
Damn it.
I rubbed my hand over my mouth, then let it drop with a sigh. "You really got to me, didn't you?"
I walked over to the couch, sank down heavily, and rested the glass on my thigh. The silence of the house seemed louder now, filled with echoes of things I shouldn't be feeling.
For a moment, I let my head fall back against the couch and closed my eyes. The darkness behind them was no better—it was her, all over again.
And just like that, my mind went back to the first time I ever saw her.
---
— Flashback —
I can still remember the first time she walked into my office for her interview — the moment the air shifted.
She stepped in, calm and composed, but there was something about her presence that unsettled the room. About me. The sound of her heels against the marble floor echoed louder than it should have, steady, deliberate. She carried herself with quiet grace — the kind that doesn't need attention, but commands it anyway.
I told myself to focus. To read her résumé. To look at the papers instead of the woman standing across from my desk. But I couldn't.
I'd already reviewed her documents the night before — first-class honors, exceptional portfolio, strong references. Everything about her was impressive on paper. But none of it explained the way my pulse reacted when she met my eyes.
There were other vacancies. Other departments I could have placed her in. But no… I wanted her close. Close enough to study the details no file could hold — the slight quiver of her lip when she thought, the way her voice dipped lower when she was nervous, the way she said my name like she was testing it.
I remember sighing, quietly, pretending to read, just to give myself a second to breathe her out of my system.
But the truth? That wasn't the first time I'd seen her.
Months before that, at a construction engineering event I'd been invited to — one of those tedious nights filled with suits, champagne, and speeches that never ended — I'd stepped out to the balcony for air. And there she was.
Leaning against the railing. Laughing at something someone said. That laugh… not forced or formal, but real. Soft. The kind that hums under your skin long after it stops.
The light from the terrace caught her face — that golden glow tracing her cheekbones, the corners of her smile. For a second, I forgot where I was. I just watched her. The sound of her laugh, the tilt of her head, the curve of her lips — all of it did something to me I didn't want to admit.
I told myself to look away. I didn't.
She didn't see me — maybe that was mercy. Because if she had, if she'd caught the way I was staring at her like a man watching something he couldn't touch, she would've seen everything I was trying to hide.
Even then, I knew she'd be a problem I couldn't solve.
---
I opened my eyes, dragging myself back to the dim glow of my living room. The glass was still in my hand, the bourbon half gone. My reflection stared back at me from the black TV screen — tired, tense, and not the man I was supposed to be.
"Khloe…" I said again, quieter this time.
My distraction. My attraction. The one feeling I swore I'd never let back in.
But there it was, sitting heavy in my chest, in the space her kiss had left behind.
I took one last sip, set the glass down on the table, and let my head fall back.
"Nothing good ever comes out of this," I muttered to myself, half a laugh, half a confession.
Still, when I finally got up and headed for the shower, I hesitated at the door — because part of me didn't want to wash her off.
Under the running water, I closed my eyes and could almost feel her again. The warmth of her breath. The faint tremor in her voice.
When I stepped out, the house was still silent, but my thoughts weren't.
I went to bed, pulling the sheets over me, knowing damn well sleep wouldn't come.
Because the truth was simple:
Every night before this one, she'd already found her way into my head.
Tonight, she'd made it into my skin.
And there's no coming back from that.