DAPHNE
For a moment, I forget how to breathe. The air between us shifts, charged, thick and unsteady. Of all the things I expected him to say, that wasn't one of them. Not here. Not now.
"What?" I whisper, my heart stumbling in my chest. Maybe my ears are playing tricks on me. Maybe I heard him wrong.
But he doesn't repeat himself.
Instead, he steps closer, slow and deliberate, and suddenly the space between us feels too small to hold whatever is threatening to ignite between us. His scent, his warmth, the weight of his gaze, it all presses in on me.
Without breaking eye contact, he lifts his hand to his face and removes his mask, setting it aside on the desk with a soft clink. I'm seeing all of him, the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the fullness of his lips, the storm behind his gre
