“Don’t talk to her,” Cleopatra whispered.
Her voice was rough, breathless, a fragile plea that barely crossed the narrow space between them.
The air thickened.
Electric. Suspended. Time seemed to hold its breath.
His hand stretched out slowly, deliberate and seized her waist. His fingers tightened, pulling her against him in one smooth motion.
The world tilted.
And in his darkened gaze, she felt it not just desire, but a quiet intensity she wasn’t ready to understand.
Not painfully.
But enough.
His stare grew sharper, heavier, unyielding.
“Alright,” he murmured, voice low and measured, carrying a dangerous calm. “I won’t give her my number. Ever.”
Silence followed.
For a heartbeat, it felt as if the world had forgotten how to move.
Then—
A child’s ball rolled across the floor
