There is no out.
There’s just this.
Him.
Us.
This moment, stretching, pressing, suffocating.
I gasp, suddenly, sharply aware of how close he is—of the way his gaze drops to my lips, lingers.
And then—
He kisses me.
Hard.
No warning. No hesitation.
His mouth is all dominance, all mine, forcing my lips apart, stealing the air from my lungs.
I gasp, but it only gives him room to deepen the kiss, his fingers tangling in my hair, angling my head exactly where he wants it.
He tastes like fire and control. Like a promise and a threat all at once.
Something snaps inside me.
The shock. The fear. The fury. It all crystalizes into a single, perfect moment of clarity.
I’m not his. Not yet.
My hand moves before my brain can stop it.
CRACK!
The sound of my palm connecting with his cheek echoes through the restaurant like a gunshot.
Complete silence falls.
Wine glasses freeze midair. Conversations die mid-sentence. The entire restaurant holds its breath.
Konstantin doesn’t move. Not a twitch.
But his eyes—God, his eyes. They shift from smoke-blue to something darker, colder.
The color of a storm about to break.
The color of violence barely contained.
My hand stings. My heart hammers so hard I’msure everyone can hear it.
I just slapped the Supreme Lord of Murder and Mood Swings in public. With witnesses. And pastries.
I’m so completely, utterlyfucked.
For one terrifying moment, I think he might kill me right here, right now, white table cloths be damned.
Instead, a muscle jumps in his jaw. His gaze holds mine, burning with something that makes my knees weak.
