"You sent people after me?" Killian asked, raising an eyebrow, curiosity laced in his tone.
"You think I’d send two nineteen-year-olds after you? There’s been a miscommunication," I said, crossing my legs.
He set the gun down on the glass table and stood, making his way around it toward me. As he closed the distance, I uncrossed my legs and straightened my back, refusing to look away.
He stopped right in front of me, leaning down so close that his presence became suffocating. I had nowhere else to look but at him.
Killian had a way of pulling people into his gaze—not by force, but by sheer intensity.
His fingers brushed my chin, his thumb stroking it gently. The small motion sent a shockwave beneath my skin, heat spreading in its wake.
"M… Mila," he murmured. "One would think it woul
