MAFIA QUEEN

CHAPTER 8- Love, maybe

Steam still clung to Luke’s skin as he stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped loosely around his waist. The room was quiet, the early light pushing through the curtains in pale strips. Gwen was still curled on top of the comforter, one hand tucked beneath her cheek like she’d fallen asleep mid-thought.

He stopped in the doorway and just… looked at her.

It wasn’t dramatic. No thunder, no music. Just a long, low sigh he couldn’t quite control. The kind of breath someone lets out when they’re trying to convince themselves they don’t feel something.

Luke crossed the room and stood in front of the mirror, pulling the towel over his hair to dry it. His reflection stared back at him, tired and unreadable. But his eyes didn’t stay there for long — they kept flicking past his own face, to the girl behind him in the glass.

Gwen’s lashes fluttered in her sleep, catching the light. It shouldn’t have mattered. It was just the way anyone sleeps, peaceful and unaware. But somehow, seeing her like that made something twist in his chest.

Annoying. Persistent.

He tried to focus on his reflection, on the drops of water tracing down his shoulders, on everything except her — but it didn’t work.

His gaze drifted back to the mirror, to that glimpse of Gwen breathing softly, completely still, completely out of reach.

It would be easier if she woke up.

It would be easier if she stayed asleep.

Easier if he didn’t care at all.

Luke dropped the towel to the dresser and raked his fingers through his hair, not even noticing that he was staring again — not directly at her, just enough to catch her reflection. Luke moved fast, grabbing his clothes and ducking back into the bathroom. It wasn’t because he needed privacy — it was because if he stayed in that room, even one minute longer, his thoughts were going to get away from him again and he might lose contr.ol.

He shut the door with a soft click and leaned against it for a second, breathing out.

Get dressed. Focus. Anything but her.

He pulled on his shirt in quick, jerky motions, pretending to check his phone, pretending to fix his sleeve, pretending he had a reason to stand there staring at the tiled wall. He kept inventing small tasks just to redirect his mind, but none of it actually worked.

Because the truth was simple and stupid: he was her boss.

She was late today. Again.

He should have been annoyed — and he was — but it wasn’t for professional reasons anymore.

The only reason he hired her in the first place was because he was interested. A spark, nothing big. Just curiosity.

Now it was something else. Something heavier.

He stopped pretending to adjust anything and looked at himself in the mirror. His reflection stared back with that familiar expression — tired around the eyes, mouth set in a straight line. That cold look people always commented on before they really knew him.

But he knew what was behind it.

He just didn’t want to admit it.

A week. Only a week, and every time they were in the same space, every time she talked to him with that calm voice like she wasn’t aware of anything happening under the surface, he felt it grow a little more.

Not some dramatic lightning bolt. Just… constant.

Present.

It actually hurt, in a way he didn’t understand and didn’t want to deal with.

He gripped the edge of the counter and closed his eyes for a second, forcing himself to breathe normally.

He couldn’t be the guy who stood in front of a mirror thinking about someone who didn’t even know what kind of mess she’d walked into. He had work to do. Responsibilities. A whole list of reasons to ignore this.

And yet, there he was, doing nothing except thinking about the way her presence made every other part of his life feel off-balance.

He opened his eyes again.

Same cold stare. Same sharp jaw. Same person.

Except now?

He cared. Way too much.

Luke stepped out of the bathroom, fully dressed — no suits, no polished shoes, none of the usual expensive, controlled version of himself. Just a hoodie and sweatpants. Comfortable. Unprotected in a way he didn’t intend to show.

He stopped halfway across the room when he saw Gwen start to stir.

Instantly, he dropped the soft look that had almost formed on his face. The cold expression slid into place, practiced and sharp, like flipping a switch.

Gwen blinked a few times, turning toward the side of the bed where Luke stood. Confusion crept across her features, slow and visible.

Luke:

“Did you enjoy my bed?”

His voice was steady, low, trying for irritation. It wasn’t even close to what he actually felt. Every cell in his body was telling him to sit beside her, bring her close, say something he could never take back.

Gwen sat up fast, spine straight, eyes wide now. She looked around the room like she needed proof — the dark wood furniture, the curtains she definitely didn’t own, the faint scent of his cologne.

Then it hit her.

This was his room.

She had walked in last night — tired, stressed, not thinking straight — and stayed.

Gwen:

“Sir, I’m sorry for coming late today. It won’t happen again.”

Her voice was small, controlled, eyes down, hands gripping the blanket. She didn’t stand — almost like she knew she wasn’t supposed to move without his permission. Or maybe she just didn’t trust her legs not to shake.

Luke hated that formal tone from her. “Sir.” Like he was just her boss. Like that’s all he was allowed to be.

Luke:

“It’s fine. Mistakes happen.”

Gwen’s head lifted, confusion replacing panic.

She’d expected anger. Lecture. Something sharp.

Instead he sounded… calm. Too calm.

Luke kept his eyes on her, expression blank, hands shoved casually in his hoodie pocket, but his mind was a mess — heat, restraint, frustration, and something that was starting to feel dangerously close to longing.

She didn’t need to know any of that.

Not yet.

Luke moved toward Gwen, slow but deliberate, each step measured like he’d already decided something and wasn’t backing out. He stopped right in front of her, close enough that she had no choice but to look up at him.

Luke:

“Please… stand.”

The word please sounded strange in his voice — soft, almost unfamiliar. Gwen blinked, thrown off. Luke never sounded like that. He never needed anyone to do anything; usually he just told them.

She pushed herself up, but the mattress dipped and she lost her balance for a second. Her hand slipped. Before she could catch herself, Luke reached out.

His fingers wrapped around her wrist — firm, steady — and he pulled her back up without hesitation. One hand slid instinctively to her waist to keep her from falling again, the touch brief but enough to freeze them both in place.

His eyes met hers, and there was no cold expression now. Just that unreadable intensity he tried so hard to control.

Luke:

“My name is Luke. Kim Luke. Don’t be so formal with me… with ‘sir.’”

His voice sounded low, not commanding, not angry — just honest. Too honest.

Gwen stared at him like he’d just said something impossible. A week ago he barely looked at her unless it was for work. Now he was standing there holding her like he didn’t want to let go.

Gwen:

“…Okay… Luke~”

The second she said his name without the formality, something shifted between them — subtle, but real. Her voice trying to play it cool, his jaw tightening slightly like he was trying not to react.

Her saying his name wasn’t a big deal to anyone else.

But to him?

It landed like a promise he wasn’t prepared for.