Feelings?
731 Words
Alara’s POV
The morning after didn’t greet me with sunlight. It greeted me with silence.
Heavy, intimate silence.
Ace Wolfe’s arm was still slung across my waist, possessive even in sleep. His breath was warm against my neck, steady, calm — a sharp contrast to the chaos unraveling in my chest.
I stayed still, afraid to move. Afraid to admit how much I liked the weight of him around me. Afraid to admit how dangerously close I was to forgetting everything this arrangement was supposed to be.
Just a contract.
Just survival.
Nothing more.
But last night… it hadn’t felt like business.
He shifted slightly, pulling me tighter.
His hand slid against my bare waist, fingers brushing skin in a way that felt less like an accident and more like a claim.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I reached for it carefully, trying not to wake him — only to realize he was already awake.
His voice, low and husky, slid against my spine.
“Who is it?”
I glanced back. His storm-grey eyes were open, locked on mine. Calm. Unreadable. Dangerous.
“My sister,” I murmured. “She stayed the night with our mother.”
He said nothing.
I answered the call, sat up slightly, and asked how things were. My sister told me our mother had slept through the night, no relapses. I thanked her and promised to visit once I returned.
When I hung up, Ace was already out of bed, standing by the tall window that framed the endless ocean. He was shirtless, his body carved like he was sculpted for war. Every line of him screamed power, precision, restraint.
“Is everything alright?” he asked, not looking at me.
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“I’ve arranged brunch on the yacht,” he said, eyes still on the water. “Be ready in an hour.”
His tone was neutral. Professional. Like nothing had happened between us.
I wanted to laugh — or scream. Or both.
“Is that it?” I asked, slipping from the bed. “Back to orders now?”
His jaw ticked. “We had an understanding, Alara.”
“No, we had a contract. But you made it something else.”
“I didn’t force anything.”
“I never said you did.”
The air stretched tight.
Finally, he turned, those cold eyes meeting mine with brutal clarity. “Don’t mistake last night for weakness. I wanted you. But that doesn’t change the terms.”
I swallowed hard. “You don’t need to remind me what I am to you.”
“Good.” He turned again. “Because I don’t intend to.”
I left him standing there and closed the bathroom door behind me with a click.
⸻
The yacht was a floating palace, gleaming white against sapphire waters. Clarke looked radiant in a wrap dress and sunglasses the size of small saucers, sipping something expensive and chilled. Matt, in all his awkward charm, tried flirting with the crew. He had Clarke rolling her eyes — and not entirely in annoyance.
Ace sat across from me, silent, brooding. Every time our eyes met, something unsaid sparked between us. But neither of us lit the match.
After lunch, I wandered down to the lower deck. I needed air. Or distance. Or clarity.
Instead, I got him.
He followed without a sound.
“I said something wrong?” I asked, not turning.
“No.”
“You’ve been quiet.”
“So have you.”
I faced him. “That’s how you want to play this? Pretend nothing happened?”
“I don’t pretend, Alara. I simply move forward.”
He moved closer, slow, deliberate.
“You’re not like other women,” he said softly.
“And that’s supposed to be flattering?”
“No,” he murmured. “It’s inconvenient.”
My chest tightened. “Then let’s end it here.”
He paused. “You want out?”
“No,” I said. “But I don’t want to be handled like a liability either.”
His expression shifted — something darker flickered in his eyes. “You’re not a liability. You’re a temptation I can’t afford.”
Then he turned to leave — again — but not before saying, “We fly back tomorrow. Be ready.”
And just like that, he was gone.
- Writer
