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We stare each other down like it’s a silent duel. He leans in. “You know, for someone who claims they don’t care, you’re awfully defensive.”

“And for someone who acts like he doesn’t remember absolving me,” I fire back, “you sure have a lot of opinions.”

A flicker passes through his expression. He steps closer, shadows falling over his face like a threat.

His voice drops to a rough whisper, the kind that drags cold air down my spine.

“What’s your name?”

“Why?”

“Because I like to know who I’m dealing with.”

“And here I thought you didn’t remember me,” I say, folding my arms. “But sure. Let’s pretend this is a first impression.”

“Katarina,” I say slowly. “Kat.”The way he says my name makes my pulse thump in places it shouldn’t. Like he’s filing it away for later.

And the worst part…I might not be mad if there were a later.

He nods. “Liam.”

The name slams into my chest like a fist. Liam.The same Liam Steele, Griff warned about — the reckless, unhinged storm I'm supposed to avoid.

And now that storm is standing inches from me, claiming my space.

His eyes hold a dangerous spark, like he knows exactly what chaos he’s about to bring — and maybe he’s already decided I’m a part of it.

I want to turn and run. But my feet stay rooted, caught in a silence.

Because even with every alarm screaming at me — I’m already tangled in his orbit.

He tosses a smirk. “Try not to hit any more cars today, Doc.”

Trouble?Asshole.

“Yeah, well… no promises.” He laughs. Quiet. Low. Like it caught him off guard.

And damn it, it’s a good sound.

Warm. Rough-edged. Way too easy to like. It slips past my defenses before I can shut the door, like my body didn’t get the memo… we’re not doing this.

It’s not even a full laugh—more like a crack in that permanently scowling exterior. Just enough to suggest there’s an actual person under all that grump. Which, honestly, is worse.

Because now I feel it.

“Not butterflies—don’t even start with that. Just a…shift. A twitch.”

Something low and annoying in my stomach that tightens like it’s on his side.

I cross my arms. Straighten up.

“Careful,” I say. “If you keep doing that, someone might think you’re human.”

He glances over, still smiling—barely—and I immediately regret saying anything. I just gave him the satisfaction of knowing I noticed.

He doesn’t answer. Just holds my gaze for half a second longer than necessary.

It’s quiet.