The Night We Should’ve Walked Away
2891 Words
The storm didn’t let up.
If anything, the wind grew fiercer—thrashing against the mansion walls as if trying to tear them down. Lightning cracked violently above us, illuminating the high ceilings for a second before plunging the living room back into a warm glow of firelight.
But all I could feel was him.
Lorenzo’s body was still beneath mine, his breathing rough and uneven. His arms remained wrapped around my waist like he wasn’t ready to let me go—like he didn’t trust himself to release me.
Like he didn’t want to.
I stayed there, straddling him, heart pounding so loudly I wondered if he could feel it against his chest.
He tilted his head back slightly, eyes dragging over my face—hungry, questioning, caught between desire and restraint.
“Aria,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the inside of my knee.
A soft touch.
A dangerous one.
The fire crackled beside us, casting shadows over his jaw, over the thick lashes framing those dark eyes.
“We need to talk,” he said, voice low.
I swallowed hard. “About what?”
He huffed a quiet, humorless laugh. “You know what.”
He wasn’t wrong.
But I didn’t want to ruin the moment.
Not yet.
Not when my body still trembled from the taste of him.
Not when his hands were still on me.
Not when every breath between us was thick with the decision we already made.
Still…
“Okay,” I whispered. “Then talk.”
He shifted beneath me, and my breath hitched as his grip tightened instinctively—fingers digging into my hips as if to steady me… or himself.
“You’re Elise’s best friend,” he began.
“Meaning I should’ve never allowed this. Never allowed myself to feel—”
He stopped, jaw flexing, eyes flicking down to my lips.
I felt his pulse hammer under my palms.
“—this,” he finished quietly.
Slowly, I slid my hands from his chest to the sides of his neck, feeling the heat of him, the tension coiled under his skin.
“Then why didn’t you stop?” I whispered.
The question lingered in the air, heavy and sharp.
His eyes closed for a second.
“Because,” he said, opening them again—burning, fierce, devouring—
“I don’t want to.”
Lightning flashed behind him again, illuminating the conflict in his expression—desire battling duty, restraint clashing with raw need.
“But wanting you…”
His voice dropped even lower.
“It doesn’t make it right.”
My throat tightened.
“Do you regret it?” I whispered.
His reaction was instant.
His hands gripped my waist harder, pulling me closer. His gaze darkened—possessive, almost angry that I even asked.
“No,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Not for a damn second.”
The words punched a breath out of me.
“But I’m trying—really trying—to think clearly.”
“And failing,” I said softly.
His lips twitched.
“Spectacularly.”
A small, breathless laugh escaped me before I could stop it. The warmth of it broke the tension just a little—just enough for him to lift his hand to my cheek, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Aria,” he murmured, tracing my jaw with his thumb.
“This isn’t just attraction.”
I froze.
Heart suddenly too heavy.
“It’s more,” he said gently.
“It’s been more for longer than I’m willing to admit.”
I stared at him, pulse stumbling.
“How long?” I whispered.
His gaze flicked away, then returned to mine—slowly, reluctantly, honestly.
“Longer than I should have allowed.”
A shiver ran down my spine.
“Lorenzo…”
“I know,” he said, cutting me off softly.
“I know what it sounds like. I know what it means.”
His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, a ghost of a touch.
“But I can’t pretend anymore.”
Neither could I.
His hands slid up my thighs, slow, deliberate, leaving trails of fire under my skin. My breath hitched as he pulled me closer, until my chest pressed against his, until there was no space left.
“Every time you walked into my house,” he murmured, lips grazing my jaw,
“I felt it.”
His voice deepened—lower, darker.
“Every laugh.”
His hand moved up my spine.
“Every smile.”
His fingers curled around the back of my neck.
“Every time you avoided my eyes.”
He guided my face to his.
“Every time you didn’t.”
My breath trembled.
“And tonight…”
His forehead touched mine again.
“Tonight I broke.”
“You weren’t the only one,” I whispered.
He inhaled sharply.
“Aria…”
His voice cracked on my name.
“I don’t want this to be a mistake.”
“It isn’t.”
He exhaled.
A shaky, relieved sound.
“Then stay,” he whispered.
My heart jumped.
He cupped my cheek.
His thumb brushed my lower lip.
But then—
He froze.
His eyes flicked to the window.
Something shifted in his entire body.
“Lorenzo?” I whispered.
He gently lifted me off his lap, placing me beside him. He stood in one fluid movement—shoulders tense, jaw locked.
He crossed the room to the window, pulling the curtain back a fraction.
Snow.
Darkness.
Nothing else.
Still, his posture remained rigid.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, rising slowly.
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he grabbed his phone from the table—no signal. Not unexpected with the storm… but something in his expression told me this wasn’t about the weather.
“Lorenzo,” I said again, stepping closer.
“What is it?”
He didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t blink.
Then—
“There shouldn’t be tracks outside,” he said quietly.
My blood ran cold.
“Tracks?” I whispered.
He pointed.
Barely visible in the snow, illuminated only by the faint glow of the storm:
Boot prints.
Fresh.
Leading toward the house.
My breath caught.
“Is someone—”
“Yes,” he said, voice dropping into something lethal,
“someone’s here.”
---
The entire atmosphere shifted.
Heat dissolved.
Desire snapped like a tight wire breaking.
What filled the room now was sharp, cold tension.
Lorenzo turned to me, expression hard and unreadable—so different from the man holding me moments ago.
“Aria,” he said, stepping toward me,
“go upstairs.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why? Who would—”
“Go,” he repeated, firmer.
“Now.”
Fear pricked down my spine, but I didn’t move.
“I’m not leaving you.”
His jaw clenched.
“Aria—”
“No,” I said, voice shaking. “Tell me what’s happening.”
He closed the distance between us in two long strides, placing his hands on my shoulders—firm, steady, grounding.
“Listen to me,” he said, eyes locked on mine.
“Someone is here who shouldn’t be.”
“But who?” I whispered.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“That’s the problem.”
My heart hammered painfully.
He reached behind the bookshelf, pulling out something I never expected to see.
A gun.
Black.
Sleek.
Cold.
My breath tangled in my throat.
“You have—”
“Yes.”
“Because of your work?”
“Because of everything,” he corrected, voice dark.
He stepped closer, tilting my chin up with a gentleness that didn’t match the weapon in his hand.
“I’m not letting anything happen to you,” he murmured.
“Do you understand that?”
“Lorenzo…”
Fear and adrenaline tangled in my chest.
His thumb brushed my cheek.
“You stay upstairs. Door locked. You don’t open it until I come for you.”
“But—”
“No.”
His voice dropped to a deadly whisper.
“You’re the one thing I need to keep safe.”
My stomach twisted, heat mixing with fear.
“Please,” he added softly.
“Do this for me.”
The storm howled outside.
The fire crackled behind us.
And I nodded.
“Okay.”
His chest rose with a breath of relief.
He pressed his lips to my forehead—gentle, lingering, painfully intimate.
“Go,” he whispered against my skin.
I turned toward the stairs.
But before I took a step, he caught my wrist.
“Aria.”
I faced him.
His eyes softened in a way they never did with anyone else.
“If anything happens to me—”
“No,” I cut him off immediately.
“Don’t say that.”
He swallowed hard.
“Then remember this.”
He leaned in and kissed me.
Slow.
Deep.
A promise.
A warning.
A confession.
When he pulled back, his voice was gravel.
“This isn’t over.”
Then he let me go.
I ran up the stairs, heart in my throat, pulse shaking.
Halfway up, I turned.
He was standing where I left him—
gun in one hand,
eyes on the door,
jaw hard,
body tense,
every piece of him carved in danger.
And then—
A shadow moved outside.
He raised the gun.
The world narrowed to silence.
And everything
everything
broke.
The shadow moved again.
A flicker—fast, low, deliberate.
Lorenzo’s stance sharpened instantly. His shoulders squared, his arm extended fully, both hands steadying the gun with practiced ease. The entire atmosphere dropped into a suffocating silence.
Then—
Bang.
Not a gunshot.
A slam.
Something—or someone—hit the side of the house so hard the windows trembled.
I froze halfway up the stairs, breath trapped in my lungs.
“Lorenzo—”
He didn’t look back.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t breathe.
Every inch of him was locked onto the door like a predator tracking prey.
Another sound.
Crunching snow.
Footsteps—slow, heavy, deliberate.
Whoever was out there wasn’t running.
They were approaching.
Lorenzo’s jaw flexed as he tracked the sound, eyes narrowing to razor-sharp focus.
The lights flickered again—once, twice—before dying completely.
The mansion fell into darkness.
Complete, suffocating darkness.
Only the faint orange glow from the last embers of the fireplace illuminated his silhouette—the gun glinting, his body tense and carved from ice and danger.
“Aria,” he said quietly, without turning around.
His voice was deadly calm.
“Go. Upstairs. Now.”
My voice shook.
“Please come with me—”
“There’s no time.”
Another thud slammed against the house—closer this time. Too close.
Lorenzo stepped forward, positioning himself directly between the door and the stairs, shielding me even from across the room.
“I said go.”
His tone didn’t rise.
It didn’t need to.
I took one shaky step backward.
Then another.
But I couldn’t look away from him.
The gunsight glowed faintly in the dark, pointed at the entrance as the footsteps outside slowed… then stopped.
Right on the porch.
Snow crunched under boots.
The doorknob twitched.
I covered my mouth to keep from making a sound.
Lorenzo raised the gun higher, aiming for the exact height of someone’s chest.
The doorknob twisted.
Hard.
My heart stopped.
“Lorenzo,” I whispered.
“I’m right here,” he murmured, voice made of steel. “Nothing touches you.”
The door rattled violently.
Not a gentle test.
Not an accident.
Someone was trying to force it.
Lorenzo stepped closer, gun level, breathing steady—but I saw the flick of tension in his throat. The reflexive fear he did his best to hide.
For me.
For us.
Then—
Silence.
It was almost worse.
I held my breath, nails digging into the wooden railing.
Lorenzo’s finger hovered near the trigger, muscles coiled.
A long, brutal second passed.
Then another.
Then—
Bang.
The sound crackled through the house like a whip.
But this time, it wasn’t the door.
It was the window.
Glass splintered across the floor near the foyer, scattering like ice as a gloved hand reached inside and unlatched the windowpane from within.
I gasped sharply.
Lorenzo moved faster than I’d ever seen anyone move.
Two strides.
Silent, lethal.
He pivoted, aimed—
And grabbed something from the console table with his free hand.
A small remote.
Black.
Simple.
He pressed it.
Instantly—
Steel shutters slammed down over every window.
The house shook with the force.
Whoever was mid-break-in jerked their hand out just in time before the steel locked into place with a hard, final click.
Metal shielding the windows.
Reinforced door.
Complete lockdown.
The intruder was shut out.
For now.
My knees nearly buckled with relief.
Lorenzo inhaled slowly, lowering the gun just a fraction as he scanned the perimeter again.
“Are they gone?” I whispered.
He didn’t answer for a moment.
Then:
“No,” he said quietly.
“They’re still out there.”
His gaze flicked to the window near the staircase—its metal shutter sealed tight.
“They didn’t run,” he added. “They pulled back.”
“Why?” I asked.
His expression hardened.
“Because they’re regrouping.”
A sharp bolt of fear shot down my spine.
“Lorenzo—who are they? Why would anyone come here?”
His gaze lifted to mine.
Cold.
Unyielding.
Protective in a way that felt like a vow.
“This house is remote, Aria. No one gets this far by mistake.”
I swallowed. “You think they came for you?”
“No,” he said softly.
“I think they came for anyone inside."
I froze.
A chill crept up my spine.
“What does that mean?”
He stepped toward me, slowly, gun still in hand. The faint firelight cast dangerous shadows across his face.
“It means this wasn’t random.”
His voice was low.
Controlled.
Deadly.
“They knew someone was here.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Someone who?” I whispered.
He lifted a hand to my jaw, thumb brushing gently along my cheek in a contrast to the danger around us.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
“But I’m not letting them get near you.”
The warmth of his palm on my skin steadied my breath… but only barely.
“Lorenzo…” I whispered, voice trembling.
His fingers curled around the back of my neck as he pulled me in close, foreheads almost touching.
“You trust me?” he murmured.
“Yes,” I breathed.
“Good.”
He pressed a soft, grounding kiss to my forehead.
“Because I need you to listen carefully.”
“Tell me,” I whispered.
His thumb traced my jawline before he stepped back just enough to look directly into my eyes.
“Upstairs. Third door on the right. My room.”
His tone allowed no argument.
“There’s a safe room behind the wardrobe. You lock yourself inside.”
“I’m not leaving you down here alone—”
“It’s not optional,” he cut sharply—but his voice softened when he added:
“I can’t protect you and watch you at the same time. Please, Aria. Go.”
My eyes burned.
“I don’t want something to happen to you.”
He reached out and cupped my face again—this time with both hands.
“Nothing will,” he promised.
“I’m not dying tonight.”
A pause.
“Not when you’re finally mine.”
My breath stilled.
His.
Mine.
Even now—especially now—he said it like a truth he would kill for.
Then—
A sharp metallic clang echoed from the back of the house.
Lorenzo instantly pivoted toward the sound, raising the gun again.
“They’re trying the back entrance,” he muttered.
My pulse skyrocketed.
“Go,” he whispered, eyes still locked toward the dark corridor.
“Now, Aria.”
“Lorenzo—”
He looked at me then—really looked—and the fear, the danger, the desire all tightened into something fierce and unshakeable.
“If you love me at all, go.”
My heart stopped.
He didn’t realize what he said.
Not fully.
But I did.
And it broke me in the best and worst way possible.
I turned and ran.
Not because I was weak.
Not because I was scared.
But because Lorenzo told me to.
Because Lorenzo needed me safe so he could fight.
I sprinted up the stairs, every thunderous step echoing through the dark mansion. My hands shook as I grabbed the banister. My breath came in sharp, uneven gasps.
Halfway down the hall, the power flickered again—cold blue emergency lights humming to life.
And far below me—
Another crash.
A grunt.
A heavy thud.
A muffled curse from Lorenzo.
“Lorenzo!” I shouted—
Then froze when another voice—low, unfamiliar, dangerous—answered him from below.
“Well, well, Devereaux.
Your security’s gotten sloppy.”
My blood turned to ice.
Someone was inside.
And Lorenzo was facing them alone.
- Writer
