Isabella sat stiffly on the edge of the cold metal cot, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The warehouse had been converted into a temporary safehouse: bare walls, a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling, and a faint smell of disinfectant and concrete.
Alek leaned against the wall across the room, arms folded, his dark eyes scanning her like she was both a threat and a puzzle. "Eat," he commanded, pointing to the small tray of food on the table.
"I'm not hungry," Isabella shot back, glaring. Her pride wouldn't allow her to give in, not even now.
Alek's lips curved slightly. "You will eat. You need strength if you want to survive this night—and the nights after."
She snorted, but her stomach betrayed her. Hunger gnawed at her, reminding her that even defiance had limits. Reluctantly, she sat down and picked at the food, careful to show no gratitude.
"You don't talk much," Alek said, his voice low, almost casual, yet carrying an edge that made her flinch.
"I have nothing to say to you," she replied, keeping her gaze fixed on her plate.
"Good," he said. "Most people talk too much and get themselves killed."
The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable. She could feel his presence like a weight in the room, and despite herself, her eyes kept flicking toward him. There was something… magnetic about him. Dangerous, yes, but undeniably magnetic.
Hours passed. Alek moved around the warehouse silently, checking locks, surveying the area. Every now and then, his eyes would flick toward her, sharp and assessing. She caught him once brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, and for a split second, she imagined he was not the enemy she thought he was.
She shook the thought from her head. No. He was Alek Moretti—dangerous, untouchable, and entirely out of her world. She had to hate him. She had to.
Later, when a sudden noise from outside startled her, Alek's reaction was instantaneous. He was by her side in a heartbeat, pulling her down behind a stack of crates. His hand brushed hers as he steadied her, and her heart skipped a beat.
"Stay still," he whispered, eyes scanning the shadows. The warmth of his hand lingered longer than necessary.
She hated that warmth. She hated the way it made her pulse faster. But most of all, she hated that she was beginning to feel… safe with him.
The night stretched on, filled with silence, tension, and the occasional glance that lingered too long. When sleep finally claimed her, she found herself staring at the ceiling, Alek's presence heavy in her mind.
For the first time since that night of chaos, she realized something terrifying: the man she had sworn to destroy might already have a hold on her heart.
And she couldn't decide if she wanted to fight it—or give in.