UNHALLOWED

8 A Novel Friction

CHAPTER 8

A Novel Friction

The air between them did not just hum; it throbbed with a dark, electric frequency that seemed to vibrate right through Rory’s skin. Standing in the orbit of Malphas Mordrake, a man she knew nothing of yet, was like teetering on the jagged edge of a cliff, the sheer drop-off of his power pulling at her equilibrium. Lily-Grace’s innocent babbling grew more and more muffled, drifting away into a distant, underwater static, leaving only the sound of Rory's own blood rushing in her ears.

Her heart, which had been beating with a soft, maternal rhythm for the child, suddenly bolted. It hammered a frantic, uneven staccato against her ribs—a rhythm sparked not by the girl, but by the man.

Under the unwavering weight of his obsidian gaze, Rory felt her “Global Pop Icon” armor simply disintegrate. It was not just his height or the cold authority of how he addressed her as ‘Miss Dixon’; it was the raw, predatory heat radiating from him. It was a look that felt heavy and almost tactile, like a hand trailing down her spine, making her dangerously aware of the height difference—and of just how easily she could be swallowed by his shadow.

At a mere three inches apart, the intimacy was suffocating. She could see the microscopic tremor in the muscle of his jaw as he clenched his teeth, a silent struggle for composure that felt far too carnal for a public rooftop. The scent of him—sandalwood, musk, and something sharper, like the ozone before a storm—filled her lungs, making her head light.

Her pulse spiked, a jagged line of heat racing toward her core. For a heartbeat, the world stopped, and she truly forgot to breathe. The tension was no longer just about a business meeting or a fan encounter; it was a sudden, visceral awareness of the man beneath the suit who had the coldest and darkest hue eyes.

Terrified by how much she wanted to lean into that heat, Rory blinked rapidly. She forced a jagged breath into her lungs and cleared her throat, physically wrenching herself back to break the spell before the silence could betray her completely.

She pulled away with a suddenness that bordered on frantic, averting her eyes from his heavy gaze and redirecting her focus toward the little girl. She managed a strained, professional smile. “I will see you soon, and we will be in contact, pretty Lily,” she promised, her voice sounding a pitch higher than usual as the little girl nodded with absolute excitement for their next meeting.

“The remainder of the payment has already been settled into your account, Miss Dixon,” Malphas stated. His voice had reverted to a flat, monotonous drone, devoid of the fatherly warmth he had shown moments before. It was as if a shutter had been slammed shut. “It was kind of you to make time for my daughter.”

Rory felt her throat go bone-dry. The shift in his demeanor was so abrupt it left her disoriented, her mind still reeling from the silent electricity of being in his space. “M-My pleasure,” she stammered, the words catching on her tongue.

“Certainly,” Malphas replied, his tone final and clipped, re-establishing the wall of ice between them.

The moment the heavy glass door began to swing shut behind them, Rory let out an exhale so heavy it felt like she was purging the very air he had breathed.

Her knees felt like water. Spinning around to hide her flushed face, she began fanning herself frantically with her hand, trying to drive away the lingering heat of his proximity.

She was midway through a desperate, uncoordinated sigh of relief when a voice sliced through the air like a blade. “Miss Dixon?”

Rory snapped upright, freezing in a pose that was as awkward as it was mortifying. She had not heard the door click. She had not heard him stop. Her heart performed a violent somersault in her chest as she realized he was still standing there, framed by the doorway, watching her private collapse with a terrifyingly observant stillness.

“My driver will be waiting to escort you back to your hotel,” Malphas stated, his voice a low, commanding friction that left little room for argument. It was not a suggestion; it was an executive order, issued with the effortless expectation of a man used to controlling every moving part of his environment.

Rory felt the heat from their proximity still clinging to her skin and hoe he caught her fanning herself from what just happened between the two of them—sent a fresh jolt of adrenaline through her.

She shook her head, perhaps a bit too quickly, trying to re-establish the professional boundary he had so easily dismantled. “No… No need to bother, truly. It is a very kind offer, Mr. Mordrake, but you really do nto have to do that,” she countered, her voice finally finding a semblance of its usual steady rhythm.

Malphas’s jaw tightened, the silver ring on his finger catching the light as he went still. He was not used to the word no. In his world, women—hell, everyone—said yes before he even finished a sentence. They feared him. They craved his attention, his resources, his shadow.

Most women would have tripped over themselves to stay in his presence for five minutes longer, yet here was this very tall pop superstar, standing her ground and declining his protection as if he were just another face in the crowd.

It was a novel, irritating friction that pricked at his ego. He found himself loathing the rejection even as it piqued a dark, predatory interest in him. He was not just a billionaire; he was a f*****g Mordrake, the first son of the biggest mob boss in the Triad, and for the first time in his memory, someone had had the audacity to close a door he had opened.

Rory straightened her blazer, clinging to the familiar safety of her own status. “I have my own driver and a full security detail waiting downstairs. I would not want to disrupt your day any further with your daughter.”

She tried to sound like the untouchable pop star the world knew, but as she looked up at him, the Global Pop Icon felt remarkably like a girl trying to outrun a storm.

“If it makes you feel safe.” he murmured, his voice a low, vibrating velvet. “But the world is smaller than it looks, and my reach is longer than you realize. Travel well, Miss Dixon.”

“Thank you.” Rory answered with a new found confidence.

Before she could even catch her breath or give herself another fan using her hand, his voice cut through the air, sharp and arresting. “One more thing, Miss Dixon.”

Rory paused, turning back with a soft, questioning, “Hmm?”

“Whoever you met here today—not a soul is to know about it. No one is to know about her.” Malphas’s tone was no longer just firm; it was glacial and absolute. In his strong muscular arms under his suit, Lily-Grace listened with wide, innocent eyes, completely oblivious to the gravity of her father’s command. “Not your management, not your security, not anyone outside this rooftop. Just you.”

To Rory, it did not feel like a request for privacy; it felt like a decree handed down from a man who did not believe in coincidences or leaks. It was an absolute order she felt she had no choice but to obey.

She nodded quickly, trying to maintain her professional veneer. “Of course. I have already signed the NDA before coming here today.”

Malphas did not look convinced by the mention of paperwork. He pinned her with a heavy, unblinking gaze for two solid, agonizing seconds, as if weighing her soul against his secrets. “We have much more to discuss,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that dark, suggestive register again. “Perhaps next time.”

She stood frozen, her eyes fixed on the empty space where he had just been. His parting words hung in the air like a heavy, invisible weight, leaving her completely stunned.

“What the hell did he mean by that?” she whispered to the empty room, her mind struggling to process the sheer, arrogant certainty in his voice.

She placed a quick call to Mikey, who was already staged and waiting in the basement parking lot.

Flanked by two of her own bodyguards, she moved through the hotel’s service corridors with a brisk, urgent pace to avoid any more fans or paps.

The rhythmic clicking of her red heels against the concrete felt like a countdown, putting distance between herself and the rooftop—and more importantly, between herself and the man who had just dismantled her composure with nothing more than a look.