Theo's pov-
She walked into the dinner like she owned the entire goddamn Louvre.
Crimson silk. Open back. Heels that could kill a man and the kind of confidence you can't teach.Every head turned.
Including his.
Assistant professor from political theory—James something.Young. Arrogant.Clearly didn't know the kind of fire he was walking into.
He reached for her hand, too slow, too casual. She laughed.That sound.My sound.
I shouldn't care.
I shouldn't look.
But I did.
Because that dress was painted on.Because her lips were the same red they were the night she kissed me and ruined my rules.
And because her eyes found mine from across the ballroom—just for a second—And she smirked.
On purpose.
Like she knew exactly what she was doing to me.
James leaned in to whisper something to her. Her hand grazed his sleeve.
And I snapped.
My fingers curled around the glass stem tighter than I meant to.I didn't speak.Didn't move.
But inside?
Everything burned.
Jealousy isn't rational.It doesn't care about morals or codes.
It just is.
And watching another man touch what you've tasted but tried to deny?
That's a kind of hell you don't recover from.
She was playing a game.
And I was losing.
Sid's pov-
I barely made it three steps out of the ballroom before I felt him behind me.
No words.No warning.
Just heat.And hands.
His grip wrapped around my wrist—not hard, but enough to stop me.To remind me exactly who he was.
"Theo," I said, turning, voice all sugar and venom. "If you're here to tell me to behave—"
"Don't," he snapped.Voice low. Rough.Like it had been clawing its way out of his chest all night.
He pulled me into the hallway—quiet, dim, shadows curling at the edges.
No one else in sight.Just us.
"What are you doing?" I said, even though I already knew.
His jaw clenched. "Do you think this is funny?"
"What?"
"That guy. The act. The dress."
I leaned in. "Which part bothered you the most?"
He stared down at me—eyes full of things he wouldn't dare say in daylight.
I smirked. "You're the one who told me to stay away. So I'm just… entertaining myself."
"That what you call it?" His voice dropped. "Entertainment?"
"You're jealous," I whispered.
"No," he breathed. "I'm wrecked."
And then—
He kissed me.
Hard.Hungry.Like he hated himself for it.
Like he'd waited through a hundred lectures and sleepless nights just to get to this.
My back hit the wall. His hand found my waist. My hair.
Everything in me said run.
But my body said closer.
Because this wasn't careful anymore.This was dangerous.
And I liked it that way.