Then Will steps closer—a bit too close. He steals the space between us and places his hands on my hips. His fingers are unyielding, pulling me in until our bodies touch, and my stomach lurches. His gaze drops, settling low on my chest like gravity pulled it there. Then, his eyes trace the curve of my body with the quiet entitlement of someone who thinks he's owed something. When his eyes finally lift back to my face, they carry something slick and knowing; a twisted kind of confidence that makes my skin crawl.
“Why don’t we forget all that for a second,” he says casually, “… How about you stop making me wait?”
I stiffen. My thoughts trip over each other. Wait … what?
“I …” I blink up at him, confusion tightening my chest. “What?”
He’s still smiling, but it’s off now. It’s crooked and something a little too familiar.
“Come on, Stormy,” he says, squeezing my sides like it’s a joke. “You don’t have to play shy, not with me.”
I try to step back, but his grip holds.
I squirm, pushing at his arms.
“Will, let go of me.”
His face darkens, and he laughs, sharp and loud. It cuts through the room like broken glass, and I flinch at the sound.
Then he pushes me, hard and sudden, and I stumble as he turns and strides across the room to one of the shelves.
Before I can react, he yanks it forwards and wood splinters onto the ground.
I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth and tears prickling behind my eyes.
“All this I’ve done for you,” he snarls. “Helping to build all this, listening to your plans, flirting with me left, right and centre …” He spins back towards me, storming close, and my heart kicks hard against my ribs. He’s coming at me, and I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Something instinctive screams at me to run, but my feet stay rooted. I see the shift in his eyes before he’s even reached me. The way his jaw sets. That rage behind his stare.
His hand grabs my arm, too hard.
“Come on, Stormy,” he hisses, venom wrapped around every word.
His other hand slides into the hairline at the back of my neck, and his fingers brush my skin. It doesn’t feel tender, it feels callous and cruel.
He leans in, and his breath hits my neck, hot and unwelcome. “I saw you with Ford at book club. All cosy. Laughing.” His grip tightens, and I whimper. “What about me, huh? Why not be cosy with me?”
My mouth moves helplessly.
I can't breathe. It feels like someone’s reached inside me and stolen the breath straight from my lungs. “I … I …” I whisper, unable to form the words.
My pulse thunders in my ears, louder than thought.
Then, just as the panic begins to peak, the door slams open.
Ford stands in the doorway with his chest rising as though he’s barely containing the urge to tear through the room. His eyes find mine, and they’re wild, sharp, and full of heat.
“Get your hands off her,” he growls, each word dragging. His voice is low and dangerous.
Will stiffens but doesn’t let go.
“Now,” Ford barks, taking a step forwards.
Something in Will falters, and a flicker of uncertainty cuts through his anger. His fingers unhook from my arm and around my neck with a sharpness that makes me flinch.
Ford closes the space fast, stepping between us. I stumble back, breath ragged, tears streaking down my face before I even register that they’ve fallen. My hands shake at my sides, adrenaline turning my legs to water.
“Are you okay?” Ford asks, voice gentler now, barely above a whisper, but the tension still live in his body like static. There’s urgency in the way his eyes roam across my neck, my arms, and my face.
I nod, but it’s a lie.
