KING
Angel didn't leave my office.
She escaped.
I watched her practically sprint down the hallway, ponytail bouncing, her breathing uneven and panicked. She didn't look back,not once and that did something sharp and unpleasant to my chest. She ran from me as if I were dangerous to her.
Maybe I was.
I dragged a hand down my face, inhaling slowly, trying to smother the magnetic pull she left behind. Her scent soft, faintly floral still clung to the room, teasing my control, fraying the last threads of restraint I'd held all these years.
I shouldn't have stepped closer.
I shouldn't have admitted I think about her.
I definitely shouldn't have let my voice drop the way it did.
But the way she had stood there… trembling, defiant, lips parted like she was seconds away from challenging me again—something inside me had snapped. A tether I'd held too tightly for too long.
She makes me lose control.
I returned to my desk, trying to focus on numbers and contracts, but the spreadsheet blurred, replaced with her wide eyes and trembling hands. My pulse thudded, my jaw clenched.
I didn't just want her at the boot camp because it would benefit her.
I wanted her there because I needed her within reach.
The realization hit me like ice water—cold, inconvenient, impossible to ignore.
I cursed under my breath.
The boot camp… maybe that's what started this spiral. The program had taken months to design—an intensive two‑week entrepreneurship accelerator hosting the top mentors, investors, and industry leaders. Young adults from across the country had already registered. Half of them would kill for the opportunity Angel was trying to run from.
I created that platform for promising youth. Discipline. Direction. Vision.
That's why I wanted her there.
That's what I kept telling myself.
But deep inside, another truth simmered:
I wanted her there because the thought of her being far from me—unguarded, unseen—made something primal twist inside my chest.
Later that evening, her laughter drifted up from the living room—soft, airy, the kind that didn't belong in my world of sharp edges and calculated movements. I found myself moving without thought, the whiskey glass in my hand forgotten.
I paused at the top of the staircase, hidden behind the railing, watching her.
Her shoulders shook gently as she laughed with Lisa. A loose strand of hair brushed her cheek, glowing under the warm lighting. She looked small. Breakable.
Mine to protect.
Mine to—
I cut the thought before it could bloom into something dangerous.
But then her eyes lifted. Met mine.
Time stopped.
A single, charged second. Awareness colliding with awareness. Heat. Tension. Something I couldn't name.
I stepped back into the shadows before I did something unforgivable—like pull her upstairs, lock the door, and confess every forbidden thought twisting inside me.
What the hell was happening to me?
ANGEL
By the time I got home, I felt feverish. My pulse wouldn't settle, my breath wouldn't steady. My mind replayed every moment in his office like a movie on loop.
The way he'd leaned close.
The heat of his breath on my cheek.
The authority in his voice when he said, Don't test me.
King Alexander.
My best friend's older brother.
A man who could tell me to sit and I'd forget how standing worked.
But today was different. Today he didn't just intimidate me—he looked at me like I was a boundary he desperately wanted to cross… and hated himself for considering it.
I flopped onto my bed and groaned into a pillow.
"Why does he affect me like this?"
Two days later, I found myself back at the Alexanders' house—supposedly to study with Lisa. But truthfully… I wanted to see him. To see if he would look at me that way again.
He did.
I felt him before I saw him—a shift in the air, a pull beneath my skin. He stood at the bar counter, sleeves rolled up, veins flexing along his arms. His eyes lifted the moment I entered.
And the world narrowed to just the two of us.
Lisa chattered beside me, oblivious.
"Angel! I need your help with this—"
"Angel," King said, voice low enough to stop my breath. "Come here a moment."
Lisa blinked. "For what?"
He didn't respond. He didn't look away. He didn't need to.
My feet obeyed.
He set the glass down, gaze steady. "You're early."
"Lisa needed help."
A lie. A weak one.
His eyebrow lifted. "Is that so?"
He angled closer, subtly enough that Lisa wouldn't notice—but my body did. Every nerve firing at once.
"Have you changed your mind about the camp?"
My throat went tight. "No."
His jaw flexed. Slow. Controlled. Dangerous.
"Angel," he murmured, and just my name held a warning that made my knees threaten to buckle.
"King, I really do have an exam—"
"I reviewed your timetable," he said simply.
My jaw dropped. "You—what?"
"Lisa sent it."
She probably had. But the way he said it felt like he had orchestrated the entire situation.
"The dates were moved to this weekend," he added. "You'll be done before the camp begins."
"But—"
"No."
Quiet. Final.
He stepped closer, close enough that the faint scent of cedar and clean skin wrapped around me.
"King…" I whispered, pleading.
His hand lifted—stopping just inches from my arm. Not touching. But the restrained want in the gesture made heat flood my stomach.
"Don't beg," he said softly. "You don't know what it does to me."
I almost collapsed.
"Why do you care so much?" I breathed. "It's just a camp."
"It's not just a camp."
His voice changed—lower, deeper.
"It's a two‑week accelerator with investors, business coaches, and top entrepreneurs. People twice your age would fight for that seat. It's stability. Opportunity. And you—"
His eyes darkened.
"—you run from it like it's a punishment."
"It is when you force it on me," I whispered.
His nostrils flared.
"You're not ready for the real reason I want you there," he said.
"Try me."
For a moment, I thought he would. The air tightened. Heat coiled low in my belly. His eyes dropped to my lips, lingering, hungry.
Instead, he leaned forward, breath grazing my ear.
"You don't want to know what I think about late at night."
My breath stuttered.
He pulled back just enough to watch my reaction—eyes tracing my face with infuriating precision.
"You'll be at that camp," he whispered. "Even if I have to come take you myself."
Something deep inside me twisted sharply—fear, desire, longing tangled into one unbearable knot.
"Good girl," he murmured under his breath, meant only for me.
I nearly melted.
"Go," he said. "Lisa's waiting."
I turned on shaky legs, but not before hearing the soft, frustrated confession he didn't mean for me to hear:
"Why the hell do you affect me like this?"