Chapter Two: The Heat between words
1012 Words
The shoot wrapped, but Ace lingered.
Mira had left with the rest of the crew, her parting glance sharp with questions Fernanda didn’t have the patience—or the answers—to unpack. Now it was just the two of them, the studio dim except for a single overhead light.
Fernanda busied herself with her camera, pretending not to notice the way he leaned against the wall, watching her like she was something worth hunting.
“You could leave now,” she said without looking up.
“I could,” he agreed. “But I’m not going to.”
Her hands stilled. “And why’s that?”
“Because we’re not finished.”
She turned to face him, crossing her arms to keep from fidgeting. “We’ve got enough shots.”
“I’m not talking about the photos.”
The air tightened. She hated how much space he seemed to take up without moving an inch. “Then what are you talking about?”
His eyes gleamed in the low light. “You.”
A shiver ran through her, uninvited and unwanted. “You don’t know me.”
“I know enough,” he said, pushing off the wall and taking that same slow, measured step toward her as he had earlier. “I know you’re not the type to be rattled easily… and yet I’ve seen you lose your focus twice in one day.”
She swallowed. “You’re not special enough to do that.”
His grin was all teeth. “Keep telling yourself that, little Omega.”
Her instincts flared—part warning, part something darker. “Stop calling me that.”
“I could,” he murmured, stopping just shy of her personal space. “But then I’d be lying. And I told you before—I only lie when it matters.”
She stared up at him, heart hammering. “And does this matter?”
Instead of answering, he reached out—not to touch her, but to take the camera from her hands. His fingers brushed hers, deliberate, and the brief contact sent heat rushing up her spine.
“You should be careful with me,” he said softly, setting the camera down on the table behind her.
“Why?” she whispered.
He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “Because once I start wanting something… I don’t stop.”
Her pulse roared in her ears. She wanted to push him back, to tell him to leave, to do anything but stand there frozen in the magnetic pull of his presence.
Instead, she asked, “And what do you want, Ace?”
He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. “Right now? You.”
Her breath caught—and that was when the sound of footsteps echoed from the hall. Someone else was coming.
Ace’s smile turned sharp. “We’ll finish this later.”
By the time the door opened, he was already gone.
Fernanda told herself she didn’t care that he’d walked out without saying goodbye.
That she wasn’t still watching the door, half-expecting him to step back in like he owned the place.
But even as she tried to focus on packing up the studio, her thoughts kept circling the same questions.
Why lie about being Omega?
Why show up here, to her, of all people?
She slung her camera bag over her shoulder and locked up, the night air biting against her skin. The city hummed around her—traffic, voices, the distant wail of a siren—but it all felt muted, like the world was holding its breath.
Halfway to her car, she felt it.
That prickling at the back of her neck.
The weight of eyes on her.
She stopped, scanning the street. Nothing. Just shadows stretching long under the streetlights.
You’re imagining it, she told herself, quickening her pace.
Her phone buzzed. She glanced down at the screen and froze.
Unknown number: You forgot to ask me what I’m really after.
Her breath hitched.
She typed back before she could think better of it. You forgot to tell me why you lied.
The reply came almost instantly.
Unknown number: I didn’t lie. I just let you believe what you wanted.
Her pulse skipped. She wanted to throw the phone into her bag and ignore it. She wanted to block the number.
Instead, she typed, And what am I supposed to believe now?
There was a long pause. Then—
Unknown number: Believe that I’ll see you again before you’re ready.
The screen went dark in her hand.
A car passed, headlights sweeping over her, and when she looked back toward the far corner of the street, she thought—just for a second—that she saw a tall shadow standing there.
And then it was gone.
Fernanda hurried the last few steps to her car, unlocking it with shaking hands. She slid inside and slammed the door, locking it with a hard click.
Her breath fogged the glass as she gripped the steering wheel, telling herself not to look around again. Not to give him the satisfaction—if he was even still there.
But curiosity was a cruel thing.
She glanced toward the sidewalk.
Empty.
She exhaled a shaky laugh, started the engine, and pulled into the street.
It wasn’t until she reached the first red light that she saw it—tucked under her windshield wiper, flapping faintly in the breeze.
She swore under her breath, pulling it inside.
It was a single strip of black-and-white photo booth paper. Three frames.
Frame one: her, looking through her camera lens earlier that day.
Frame two: Ace, watching her from the shadows, the hint of a smirk on his lips.
Frame three: a close-up of his mouth, just the curve of his smile, with four words scrawled in black ink over it—
Not finished with you.
The light turned green, but Fernanda didn’t move. Her fingers tightened on the strip until it crumpled.
Somewhere in the city, she knew Ace was smiling.
- Writer
