He lifts a hand, slow enough that I could stop him if I wanted to. His fingers slide into my hair, firm but gentle, anchoring me. He draws me closer, not forcing—inviting. He lowers his head inch by inch, giving me time. Space. Choice.
I don’t refuse.
His mouth meets mine, unhurried, deliberate. The kiss is soft at first, almost restrained, like he’s testing whether I’m real. Then it deepens—warmth, intent, the quiet certainty of a man who knows exactly what he wants. My breath stutters. I tilt into him, my hands finding his coat, gripping fabric like it’s the only solid thing left in the room.
I give in entirely.
The world narrows to the press of his lips, the steady strength at my waist, the faint scent of paint and cologne and something darker beneath it. There’s no rush. No demand. Just heat and gravity and the knowledge that this—whatever it is—has crossed a line I can’t uncross.
When we finally part, it’s by inches. Foreheads nearly touching. His thumb brushes my jaw, light as a promise.
I know it then, with a clarity that makes my chest ache.
This isn’t just attraction.
This is the beginning of something far more lethal.
Chapter 5 – Sebastian
“Why are you smiling like that?”
I look up from my phone. I’m sprawled on the couch in my studio, the late afternoon light slanting through the tall windows, dust motes floating lazily in the air. I’ve been texting Sienna for the past two hours—on and off since morning, really. It’s been two days since the kiss. Two days of constant conversation. Messages that start mundane and end with me laughing out loud like an idiot.
Fuck. She’s funny.
And worse—she’s never boring. Not once.
Marko stands across from me, arms folded, eyes narrowed in that familiar, unimpressed way. I lock my phone and drop it beside me.
“What?” I ask flatly.
“You’re texting Sienna again, aren’t you?”
I don’t answer.
That’s answer enough for Marko, obviously.
“She’s the only one who makes you smile when you text,” he says. “You do that thing with your mouth. Like you’re trying not to.”
I scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He walks closer, stopping right in front of me, searching my face like he’s trying to peel something off. “It means you like her.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up.” I stand abruptly. “This is all part of the plan. You were there when we made it. You saw what her review did—how close it came to ruining me. You think I forgot that?”
“I should be asking you that,” he shoots back. “You brought her here. To your studio. I didn’t discover this place until a year after you had it.”
“It was strategic.”
“Strategic?” He scoffs. “You don’t bring women into your studio, Sebastian. Ever.”
I clench my jaw. If Marko weren’t Marko—if he weren’t the one man who’s stood by me since we were reckless teenagers running underground art deals—I’d have thrown him out already. He’s the only person who sees me without the mask. The only one who knows where the bodies are buried.
Which is exactly why I want him to see that I’m not falling off. I’m just a really good actor.
“She inspired your latest collection,” he continues. “Care to explain that?”
I exhale sharply. “Every artist needs a muse. You know that. It doesn’t mean anything.”
