His hand is still wet from the pool when he grabs her wrist. Moonlight slicks Sarelle’s bare skin, beading where she perches on the glass edge, shoulders thrown back in open defiance. Kian’s stare lingers on the shirt clinging to her—his own, oversized and damp, half-slipped from one shoulder. “Lose something?” she teases, hair streaming water down her spine, eyes glinting with bravado and exhaustion.

He doesn’t blink. His jaw is tight, knuckles whitening on the towel slung over one arm. “You left your mess all over the kitchen. Maybe you could try living like someone else exists.” The words are sharp, but his gaze keeps darting, drawn to the slow curve of her hip, the flash of her mouth. Sarelle breathes out, somewhere between a challenge and a laugh, and doesn’t move away when he towers over her, every muscle telegraphing impatience and something hungrier.

“Funny,” she murmurs, shifting her knees apart just enough to test him. “I thought this place was supposed to be about freedom. Or do you just hate not being in control?” Her lips curl, deliberate and aching to be bitten. She tastes of salt and something wild.

The night is quiet except for the city’s hush below and the dangerous closeness crackling between them. Kian’s fingers, cold from the rooftop air, trail from her wrist up her arm. She shivers and refuses to show it. He leans in, so close his breath prickles against her ear. “Don’t mistake chaos for freedom,” he whispers. His voice is low, nearly a threat. Neither of them breathes.

He waits for her to flinch. She doesn’t. Sarelle turns, catching his chin with slippery fingers, daring him. “You gonna throw me out?” she taunts, her tone softening into something almost raw. He kisses her because he can’t stop, because the want is almost painful—mouths colliding, teeth scraping, the tangle of legs and wet hair and heat. She pulls him down, nails at his back, devouring him like she’s been waiting all her life for this exact recklessness.

Kian surrenders, then takes control—hands at her waist, lifting, half-pinning her to the tile before he realizes he’s shaking. Her laugh vibrates against his lips. Sarelle arches, pressing closer, hungry for every inch of contact. Their bodies slide, skin to skin, friction and longing bottled up all day, breaking loose under neon sky. When she gasps, low and honest, he lets out a sound he’s never made before—something between a groan and a plea.

Time slows; for a moment, nothing else matters, not the city below or the questions above. Just the taste of her, the rhythm of her hips, her mouth on his throat, his fingers twisted in her hair. Sarelle bites down, then soothes the ache with a kiss, lips tracing heat along his jaw, whispering, “You’re afraid of me.” The admission is almost gentle.

He pretends not to feel it, but she knows—she knows, and she doesn’t let go.

Minutes later, breathless and barely dressed, they break apart, laughter jagged and nervous, the shared secret hanging between them. Sarelle straightens, shivering in the chill, and tosses his shirt at his chest. “Don’t get attached,” she warns, masking longing with bravado.

Kian smirks, hiding how her words land. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” But his eyes linger, betraying him. She gathers her scattered clothes, winks, and slips back into the stairwell—barefoot, wild, untouchable, leaving puddles and a mark he swears no one else will see.

Later, alone in his apartment, Kian presses trembling fingers to his lips, replaying her laugh, the dare in her eyes. The room feels smaller, colder. He locks the door, slides to the floor, and tries—fails—to steady his breath. In his palm: her faded scarf, left behind. He clutches it, pulse pounding, and knows he’s lost a game he never meant to play.

But when he lifts his head, Sarelle’s silhouette glows in the window across the courtyard, eyes lingering, hand pressed to the glass—watching him just as intently as he watches her. He wonders if she’s just as shaken.

Then his phone vibrates on the tile, a single message flashing up from a number he hasn’t seen in years. He reads it, expression shattering, panic rising beneath his skin.

To be continued...