Sorcha trailed after Karios, her footsteps soft but determined. Just as he stepped into the guest room and began to close the door, she caught it with her hand.
He paused, the door stuck mid-swing. His eyes met hers, startled but quickly hardening. "What are you doing?" he asked, voice low and sharp.
She didn't answer. Instead, she pushed the door open with quiet force, slipped inside, and closed it behind her.
"We need to talk," she said, her voice tight.
"There's nothing to talk about," Karios replied coldly. He grabbed her wrist, trying to guide her back toward the hallway.
But Sorcha yanked her hand free.
"No, we do," she snapped, stepping in front of him. "That kiss… last night—it meant something. I know it did. So why are you ignoring me? Why send that message this morning like it was all just... nothing? Don't I deserve an explanation?"
Frustration shimmered in her voice, her hands balled into fists at her sides.
Karios's expression remained unreadable, his tone flat. "It was a mistake. I was drunk and I thought it was Elena."
The words hit like a slap.
"I regret it," he continued. "It shouldn't have happened. And I won't let it happen again. Now, please leave. My wife will be back soon—I don't want any misunderstandings."
Sorcha stared at him, eyes wide, breath shallow. Her chest rose and fell, the silence between them stretching, heavy.
"You can lie to yourself all you want," she said softly, eyes glassy. "But I know you felt it too. And no matter how hard you fight it... eventually, you'll admit that you want me."
She didn't wait for a response. Her voice cracked slightly as she turned on her heel and slipped out the door, shutting it behind her with a soft but final click.
Once inside her room, the facade crumbled. Her knees hit the edge of the bed, and she dropped onto it, burying her face into the pillows as the tears spilled freely.
---
Meanwhile, down the hall, Elena peeked around the corner. She'd waited ten minutes after Sorcha left, just to be safe. Her eyes followed Sorcha's retreating figure—catching the way she wiped her face with the back of her hand—and her brows drew together.
So… Karios made her cry.
Elena's lips pressed into a thin line. She'd long suspected something unspoken between them, though she hadn't had time to dig deeper. Right now, her focus was elsewhere—on her own slowly growing love story with Damien.
With a quiet sigh, she turned and slipped into Damien's room, shutting the door softly behind her.
Meanwhile, Karios stood frozen, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. The echo of the door closing behind Sorcha lingered like a slap to the face. He could still see the way her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the heartbreak etched across her face before she turned away.
He had wanted to stop her. To pull her into his arms and admit that everything he'd said was a lie.
He wanted her.
God, how he wanted her—with her legs wrapped around his waist, her breath against his ear, her voice whispering his name. Daddy, he imagined her calling him, and the thought alone sent fire down his spine.
But he couldn't.
She was Damien's daughter. His best friend's little girl. She deserved someone younger—someone who wouldn't destroy her future by dragging her into something she might later regret. Someone who wasn't him.
He didn't even know what this was… love? Lust? Obsession?
All he knew was that when other guys looked at her, he wanted to break them.
Karios sat heavily on the edge of the bed, dragging a hand down his face. "She's not for you," he muttered to himself. "She's not yours." The words tasted bitter on his tongue.
This coming weeks—alone with her under the same roof—would test every bit of restraint he had. And he only prayed he wouldn't break under her fire.
---
The next morning, Sorcha stood at the foot of the stairs, dressed in her favorite outfit, her hair cascading over her shoulder like she'd planned every detail of her look to perfection. She gripped her school bag but barely glanced at it. Her eyes were fixed ahead—on him.
At the door, her father and Elena stood with luggage in hand, exchanging words. Karios checked his watch again. Over and over. Avoiding her gaze, like he always did now.
"We're heading out," Damien said, glancing at Sorcha. "No need to see us off. Just focus on school and—"
"Don't cause My husband any trouble," Elena added with a pointed look.
"Behave," Damien said again. "If you run out of money, just call me. And—"
"I know, Dad," Sorcha cut in, waving a hand. "You're nagging again. I'm not a kid anymore."
Her gaze flicked to Karios just in time to catch Elena lean in and kiss him on the lips.
The air went still. Her heart dropped.
She balled her fists at her sides, forcing a smile.
"You should go now," she said quickly, turning back to her dad. "You'll miss your flight if you don't hurry."
Then, without looking at Elena, she turned to Karios. "Can you drop me off?" she asked sweetly, already moving toward the door before he could refuse.
The car ride was quiet—stiflingly so. Sorcha fiddled with the hem of her skirt, her chest heavy, her throat tight with words she couldn't say.
When they neared her university, she cleared her throat. "You can drop me off here—at the crosswalk."
Karios said nothing, slowing the car. Just as she reached for the handle, his voice stopped her.
"I'll be at your place by seven. I'll help you move your things."
She nodded once and stepped out, closing the door behind her with more force than necessary. She skipped away, pretending like she hadn't heard the hesitation in his voice.
Karios watched from the car as she waited at the crosswalk, eyes scanning traffic. He sighed, reaching for the gear shift—when his eyes caught something.
Her phone. She'd left it on the seat.
He opened the door and stepped out, calling, "Sorcha!"
But before he could reach her, his voice caught in his throat.
A masked figure appeared behind her—swift, calculated—and shoved her hard into the road.
Sorcha stumbled forward, hitting the road
with a cry.
A car was speeding straight toward her.
"No!" Karios shouted. The phone slipped from his fingers as he sprinted toward her, lungs burning, heart slamming against his ribs.