Page 24 of Twisted Pact

He steps closer, voice low and dangerous. “I think you’re so obsessed with your independence that you can’t see the danger you’re in.”

“And I think you’re so obsessed with control,” I fire back, “that you can’t see how suffocating you are.”

He doesn’t move at first. Just stares at me, flexing his jaw like he’s deciding whether to argue or drag me back into my chair.

Then he takes a step forward.

And another.

The air between us turns heavy. My back hits the edge of the table before I realize I’ve been retreating.

“Is that what you think?” His voice drops, dark and quiet. “That I’m suffocating you?”

I should say yes. I should tell him to get the hell away from me.

But my heart’s racing too fast, and all I can manage is a shaky breath.

“You can’t control everything,” I whisper.

His hand braces on the table beside my hip, close enough that his body heat skims mine. “I don’t want to control everything,” he says. “Just you.”

My stomach flips. “That’s not any better.”

His mouth curves, slow and lethal. “Tell yourself that, Zaika.Maybe one day you’ll believe it.”

We’re both breathing hard now. The space between us crackles, half with fury, and half with hunger.

My body’s betraying me, staging a full coup. I should walk away. Cool off before this explodes.

Instead, I move closer.

“You want to know what I think?” My voice comes out low and unsteady.

“Enlighten me.”

“I think you’re using this whole situation as an excuse to keep me here. You want me locked away where no one else can touch me.”

His eyes darken. “Careful, Zaika.”

“Or what?” I lift my chin. “You’ll prove me right?”

One stride, and he’s on me. My back hits the wall, and his hands are braced on either side of my head.

Air leaves my lungs. Not from fear, but from him.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he growls.

“Don’t I?” I gesture between us with my pulse hammering. “Because this doesn’t feel like protection. It feels like possession.”

His gaze drops to my mouth. “Maybe because it is.”

The admission hangs between us for a heartbeat, and then his mouth crashes against mine.

The kiss is hard and punishing. All the anger and frustration of three days of pent-up want breaking loose.

I should stop him. I should stop myself.

Instead, I fist his shirt and drag him closer, answering the kiss with everything I’ve tried to bury.