His Mortal Sin

6

Kianna POV

“Get your ass down.” I frowned the moment I got pushed down by Zane.

With a clenched jaw and red face… he looked like the epitome of if dashingly handsome was a sin, he would be put behind bars.

“What the f**k—”

“Who are those people to you?” he seethed, making me scoff. “That’s not your business.”

He leaned forward, and for a moment I thought his lips were going to land on mine… and then his scent.

God, his scent.

So musky and dangerous at the same time.

“My business is for you not to die. Now answer the goddamn question.”

I tilted my head. “And if I don't?” I dared.

His gaze was enough to make me clench my thigh tighter, and it seemed like he noticed.

He dismissed it, leaning more close—so close, his mint breath fanned my face. “You are like ice, Kianna,” he began, his voice coming out rough and throaty. “And do you know how easily it is to destroy ice?”

I blinked. “You're my bodyguard,” I stated as a matter of fact. “And your job is to keep me safe, not push me down on my bed and ask me questions that could make me fire you at this point.”

“Then what's stopping you?” His words rolled out like a dare—low, dangerous, and almost taunting.

I swallowed hard, glaring up at him. “You think I won’t?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You won’t.”

The audacity. The nerve.

I should’ve shoved him off me, screamed, done something. But instead, my body betrayed me—frozen, breath uneven, heart thundering. Because the way he was looking at me… wasn’t professional. It wasn’t detached. It was personal.

Zane’s eyes flickered down to my lips, then back to my eyes. For a fleeting second, neither of us moved. The air was charged—wild, suffocating.

“Get off me,” I muttered, though it didn’t sound convincing even to my own ears.

For a moment I thought he was going to defile me, but he obeyed, walking away from my room, making me release a breath I didn't know I was holding.

That happened two weeks ago, and neither I nor Zane had conversed or seen each other.

Should I care? No, but here I am asking my father about him.

“You know, if you are so concerned, why don't you call him?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Well, if I could call him back, why would I be in your office?”

He sighed, rubbing his temple. “Princess.”

“Father.”

“You seek him, find him, and he'll be there. He’s there to protect you, and obey you.”

I glared at my father, refusing to accept that vague, fortune-cookie nonsense as an answer.

“Seek him, find him…” I scoffed under my breath. “I’m not summoning a demon.”

“Well,” my father muttered dryly, “seems like I did.”

My lips parted. “Father!”

He raised his hands in surrender. “I meant it as a compliment. He’s efficient. Fearless. Loyal to the family.”

Then, a beat later: “Too loyal, maybe.”

I froze.

That sounded… off.

Suspicious.

Like he knew something I didn’t.

Before I could ask, he waved me off dismissively. “You’ll see him when he wants to be seen.”

I stiffened. “He’s my bodyguard. He shows up when I want him to show up.”

My father smiled—that soft, pitying smile he used whenever he thought I was being naive.

“Princess,” he said gently, “you don’t control men like Zane. You survive them.”

A cold shiver crawled down my spine.

I left his office, slamming the door harder than necessary.

Fine. If Zane wanted to disappear like smoke, let him.

Let him vanish.

Let him ignore me.

Let him—

“Kianna.”

I stopped.

Everything in me stopped.

His voice.

Behind me.

Low, calm, familiar enough to hit like a punch.

Slowly, I turned.

There he was—leaning against the hallway wall as if he’d been there for hours.

Black shirt, sleeves rolled up, veins visible on his forearms.

Eyes already on me… like he’d never looked away.

My pulse spiked with irritation and relief—a toxic mix I hated.

“You’re back?” I asked, trying to sound unaffected.

“No,” he said simply. “I never left.”

I scoffed, trying my best to walk away from him… but instead I stood frozen, watching him, like a walking Greek god that deserved to be eaten.

His silver hair was now longer compared to when I saw him last, his brows and lashes that every girl wanted. His pale skin—so pale I thought he was kissed by the moon. My stomach clenched the moment my eyes landed on his lips. Thick. Plump. Kissable.

I looked back at his eyes, expecting… I don’t know.

Anger. Arrogance. That usual, cold nothingness he hides behind.

But what I saw made my breath hitch.

Hunger.

Not the gentle, flattering kind.

The dangerous kind.

The kind that made me feel like a candle melting too close to fire.

His gaze dragged over my face with a slowness that felt intentional—punishing, almost.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said.

I blinked. “Avoiding you? You’re the one who vanished.”

“I didn’t vanish,” he corrected calmly. “You just couldn’t see me.”

“Are you even hearing the things you say?” I snapped, tossing my hands in the air. “Do you hear yourself? You sound like—”

“Someone doing his job,” he cut in.

“Your job?” A dry laugh escaped me. “Your job was to not throw me on my bed and interrogate me like a criminal.”

He stepped closer.

Way too close.

My back found the wall behind me, and my stupid heart betrayed me again—beating fast enough for him to hear.

“I didn’t throw you,” he murmured. “I stopped you from being stupid.”

My jaw dropped. “Stupid?! Because I spoke to people?”

“No.” His eyes darkened. “Because you didn’t know who they were.”

“And you do?” I challenged.

He didn’t answer immediately.

His silence was louder than shouting.

I swallowed. “Zane. Move.”

“Can’t.”

“Move.”

“I said I can’t.”

“Why?”

His eyes lowered to my lips for the second time today.

My breath caught.

And in a voice that sounded like it had been dragged through gravel, he whispered—

“Because you’re shaking.”

My lungs stopped working.

“I—I’m not—”

“You are,” he murmured, leaning closer. “And if I move, you’ll fall.”

“I’m not fragile,” I whispered back, even though my voice trembled.

His fingers brushed my jaw—barely there, like he was testing how quickly I’d break.

“You think ice isn’t fragile?” he said softly. “All it takes is the wrong heat…”

His thumb grazed my lower lip.

My knees buckled.

“…and it melts.”

I hated him.

I hated him for being right.

I hated him for knowing it.

I hated him for standing here like this—calm, steady, while I felt like someone had rewired my entire nervous system.

I slapped his hand away gently—too gently—and straightened myself.

“You’re ridiculous,” I managed to say.

“And you’re reckless.”

“Stop talking to me like you own me.”

He paused.

His jaw clenched.

And when he spoke again, it wasn’t loud…

It wasn’t aggressive…

It was worse.

“Princess,” he said quietly, “you were assigned to me. That means your life is mine to protect. Even from yourself.”

My breath stilled.

“And that blue-eyed boy?” he continued, voice turning colder. “Keep your distance.”

I scoffed. “You don’t get to tell me—”

“Yes, I do.” He stepped forward again, voice low, dangerous. “Because he’s not who you think he is.”

The hallway buzzed with silence.

My heart kicked painfully.

“Then who is he?”

Zane’s expression didn’t change. But something flickered—something dark, something deadly.

“That,” he said slowly, “is a conversation we’re not having here.”

Then he leaned in, so close I felt every breath.

“But when we do…”

his lips brushed the shell of my ear,

“…you’re going to wish you never met him.”

“Kianna.” Elliot's voice sounded behind me, making me push Zane unknowingly.

I cleared my throat. “Um… Elliot, what are you… um, doing here?”

Elliot stared at Zane before looking down at me. “I'm here to see your father.”

My brows knotted. “For what reason?”

“You don't need to know… yet.”

“Oh… ok—”

“You don't have an appointment,” Zane interrupted. I turned to face him.

“How do you know that?”

Zane didn’t even look at me when he answered.

His eyes were locked on Elliot.

Cold. Measuring. Predatory.

“Because,” Zane said, voice low and clipped, “I handle her father’s schedule. And your name isn’t on it.”

Elliot’s jaw tightened, just slightly—but enough for Zane to notice.

Enough for me to notice.

“I don’t need an appointment,” Elliot replied calmly. “He sent for me.”

“No,” Zane said smoothly, “he didn’t.”

The tension snapped like a wire pulling taut.

Elliot’s blue eyes flicked to mine—silently asking me if I believed him.

I didn’t know what to believe.

Zane stepped in front of me, blocking Elliot’s view.

Not aggressively.

But possessively.

Annoyingly possessively.

“Kianna,” Elliot said, trying to look around Zane’s shoulder. “Can we talk—just for a moment?”

Before I could answer, Zane’s hand wrapped around my wrist, pulling me subtly behind him.

“No,” Zane said. “She’s leaving. And so are you.” In a swift motion, he ushered more security guards toward Elliot.