Days passed.....
The storm outside was relentless.
Thunder rolled through the night sky, and rain lashed against the windows of ValeTech's glass tower. The world beyond was chaos — wind, water, darkness — yet inside Sebastian's office, the silence was deafening.
He sat at his desk, staring at the untouched documents spread before him. The words blurred together, meaningless. His mind was elsewhere — in that studio, in the warmth of her gaze, in the memory of her voice saying then maybe we were never meant to turn back.
Every rule he'd lived by, every line he'd drawn, felt like a cage now.
And Ava Monroe was the fire burning through its bars.
When the lightning flashed again, he made a decision he couldn't reason his way out of.
He rose, grabbed his coat, and left the office — his steps quick, purposeful, reckless.
Downstairs, the building was deserted. The storm had driven everyone home hours ago. But light still glowed beneath the door of her studio.
He hesitated for only a second before knocking.
Ava opened the door slowly, surprise flickering across her face. She was in a soft white shirt, sleeves rolled to her elbows, paint streaking her fingers. Behind her, the mural glowed — alive with color, fierce and breathtaking.
"Sebastian," she breathed. "It's nearly midnight."
"I couldn't leave things the way we did."
Her pulse quickened. "What way is that?"
"The kind where I walk away and pretend it doesn't matter."
He stepped inside before she could respond. The air shifted instantly — heavy, charged, full of something unnamed.
"Sebastian…" she began, but he was already closing the door behind him.
He moved closer, not touching her yet, but near enough that she could feel his warmth, his energy, the restrained chaos in his eyes.
"You've been in my head every minute since that night," he said quietly. "I've tried to reason it away, but nothing works. You've ruined my peace."
"Maybe you never had peace," she whispered.
His lips curved faintly. "You might be right."
A clap of thunder shook the room. She flinched slightly, and he reached for her — instinctively, gently — his hand finding hers. Their eyes met, and neither of them looked away.
Her voice trembled. "You shouldn't be here."
"I know."
"Then why are you?"
"Because I can't stop wanting to be."
That broke something in her. She stepped closer, erasing the space between them until she could feel his breath against her skin. The air thickened, trembling with everything unsaid.
"Say it," she whispered. "Say what you're afraid of."
His hand lifted, tracing the line of her jaw with a reverence that made her shiver. "That if I touch you," he said softly, "I'll never want to stop."
Ava's heart thundered. "Maybe you're not supposed to."
The storm outside raged louder, lightning flashing through the glass — illuminating them in flickering bursts of silver light.
Sebastian's control faltered. His fingers slid to the back of her neck, his touch both hesitant and desperate. She leaned into it, her eyes closing, her breath catching as if the air itself had turned electric.
"Ava…" He said her name like a plea. "You make it impossible to breathe."
"Then stop fighting it."
He exhaled shakily, his forehead resting against hers. "You have no idea what you do to me."
"I think I do."
Silence stretched between them — fragile, pulsing, alive. Every breath, every heartbeat seemed too loud.
Finally, he stepped back, his hand falling away. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his eyes searching hers for something — strength, maybe, or forgiveness.
"I can't be what you deserve," he said hoarsely. "I'm not built for softness."
She smiled faintly, tears shimmering in her eyes. "I'm not asking for soft. I'm asking for real."
He turned away, pacing to the window, his reflection fractured by raindrops on the glass. "If this goes wrong, you'll hate me for it."
"Maybe," she said. "But at least it'll mean I felt something worth hating you for."
He froze, her words slicing through the quiet. Slowly, he turned back. The stormlight caught his face, highlighting the battle in his expression — control versus surrender, fear versus want.
And then, he moved.
He closed the distance between them in two steps, his hand finding her cheek again — not rushed, not rough, but with the kind of tenderness that felt dangerous.
Their eyes locked — a final question, a final warning — and then all reason broke.
He pulled her against him, their bodies fitting together like a truth too long denied. She gasped softly, her fingers clutching his shirt, and in that heartbeat, the world outside disappeared.
No rules. No titles. No pasts.
Just two souls finally colliding.
He rested his forehead against hers again, breathing hard. "Tell me to stop."
"I won't," she whispered.
Lightning flashed, thunder cracked, and in its wake came silence — the kind of silence that holds everything: fear, desire, love, and the dangerous promise of what comes next.
When he finally pulled back, his voice was barely audible. "This changes everything."
"Good," she murmured. "It's time something did."
He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded slowly — surrender and inevitability written across his face.
Outside, the storm began to quiet, but inside, a different kind of storm had just begun — one that neither of them could control, and neither wanted to.
Ava turned back to her mural, her hand trembling as she lifted the brush again. She could still feel the heat of his touch lingering on her skin.
When she added the next stroke of color — deep, raw, alive — she realized it wasn't just paint anymore. It was him.
And for the first time, she understood that some art isn't meant to be finished.
It's meant to consume you.
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