Sebastian's POV
She was still blushing. And pretending she wasn't.
Ray Lin, walking contradiction—flustered and bold, scared and soft.
I reached over to grab a folder from the back seat, the one Kai had left behind with intel from the morning's surveillance drop.
She moved at the same time, scrambling to adjust her seatbelt and scoot away—too fast, too sudden.
Her hand smacked into mine.
Not lightly.
I froze.
So did she.
Our fingers touched. Then tangled. Then didn't move.
Soft. Her skin was soft. Cold from nerves maybe, or from the iced drink she'd barely sipped.
She blinked. Looked down. Her mouth parted like she was about to apologize.
But I didn't move.
Neither did she.
The silence went from awkward to electric in two seconds flat. A live wire strung between us.
"I—sorry," she whispered, trying to pull her hand back.
I didn't let her.
Not right away.
Not until she looked up at me with those wide, blinking eyes, like she had no idea what she'd just done to me by touching me.
Then I let go. Slowly. Carefully. Like something sacred.
"You always this clumsy?" I murmured.
She made a tiny noise of embarrassment, shaking her head like she wanted to crawl under the seat. "I didn't mean to—I just—it's your fault for reaching at the same time—"
I didn't smile.
But I wanted to.
And when she crossed her arms and looked out the window again, ears burning red—I looked at my hand.
The one she touched.
It was still warm.
---
Kai's POV
I'm Just the Driver, Bro
Look, I wasn't trying to spy.
I was trying to mind my own damn business, sitting behind the wheel like a good right-hand man. But the car has mirrors. And those mirrors don't lie.
So when she reached back for something at the same time he did?
And their hands did that whole slow-motion, rom-com "oops-we-touched" thing?
Yeah. I saw it.
I witnessed it.
I blinked. Looked away. Then looked back.
Still happening.
Is this real life?
Sebastian Blake—the walking glacier, the mafia king, the man who once stared down a cartel boss into wetting himself—was just… holding her hand. Like he forgot what hands were for. Like he was feeling things.
Bro.
She looked like she was about to combust into a cloud of pink sparkles.
And he? He looked at his hand like she'd just handed him a live heart. Or a kitten. Or a bomb he didn't know how to disarm.
It was the weirdest, most beautiful disaster I'd ever seen.
When she started rambling and blaming him for it—oh my god—I nearly honked the horn to stop myself from laughing. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I might need stitches.
Then she crossed her arms, turned to the window, clearly rethinking every life choice, and Seb just… stared at his hand.
For a solid thirty seconds.
Sir. Please. You're in public.
I pressed the button on the intercom.
"Everything okay back there, boss?"
He didn't answer.
He never does when he's confused by feelings.