Chapter 5
1706 Words
Luke just stood there, frozen, staring at the spot where Heather had been moments before. His chest tightened, and he ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the whirlwind of emotions crashing over him. He hadn’t felt like this before—not for anyone. Not for a fan. Not for someone who should have been off-limits. But Heather… she was different. She wasn’t chasing him for fame or attention; she was just herself. And that night—God, that night—they had crossed a line he didn’t even know he wanted to cross.
He kept replaying it in his head, every look, every touch. He had never felt such a raw, consuming connection. It wasn’t just physical. She had a way of looking at him, like she could see straight into the parts of him he usually kept hidden. And now, standing alone in his room, the adrenaline fading, Luke tried to tell himself it had been a mistake.
He tugged at his shirt, tugged at his jacket, each movement feeling heavier than the last. “She has a boyfriend,” he muttered under his breath, though the words sounded hollow even to him. “It was one night. Just a night.”
But the truth gnawed at him. Every fiber of his being wanted to reach for her, to pull her back into his arms. He tried to drown the thought in practicality, in excuses, but the longing was stubborn.
Meanwhile, back on the stairs, Heather’s hand pressed to her chest, fingers trembling slightly as if she could physically hold her racing heartbeat in place. She swore she could still feel his hands on her, his warmth. It should have been nothing more than a fleeting mistake, but her mind wouldn’t let it be simple.
“What was I thinking?” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. Her eyes drifted to the living room below, then back up the stairs, as if searching for answers where none existed. She thought about her boyfriend, about the life she had carefully built. She had lied, told herself it was just a night of weakness—but deep down, she knew it had been more.
Working in his father’s home had made everything worse. Being close to Luke, seeing him every day, feeling the pull between them—it had been impossible to ignore. And now, with the memory of that night pressing against her chest, Heather realized how complicated things had become.
She leaned against the railing, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to feel this way. And yet, even as she chastised herself, there was a part of her that couldn’t stop thinking about him, couldn’t stop remembering.
Luke downstairs tugged at his cuff, still trying to convince himself he was in control. But the more he tried to rationalize, the more he realized he wasn’t. Not tonight. Not after her.
Later that evening, Luke sat at the long dining table, the clink of cutlery the only sound filling the room. The house felt colder at night, quieter in a way that made his thoughts louder. His father sat across from him, posture straight, eyes sharp, already calculating his next move. Money, power, control—that was all his father ever thought about.
Luke focused on his plate, cutting into the meat and chewing slowly, barely tasting it.
“How have you been?” his father asked, his voice calm but probing.
Luke didn’t bother looking up. “Fair.”
His father nodded, as if that single word told him everything he needed to know. There was a brief silence, but Luke knew better than to believe the conversation would end there. It never did.
“Did you think about what I told you?” his father asked casually, though his tone carried weight.
Luke frowned, genuinely confused. His mind had been elsewhere all day, tangled in thoughts he didn’t want to admit to himself. “What did you tell me?”
His father’s jaw tightened slightly. “About Maria.”
Luke froze. The name alone was enough to sour his appetite. Maria—the daughter of the President of Korea. A perfect match on paper. A nightmare in real life. He had met her once, and that had been more than enough.
“Father,” Luke said, finally lifting his head, “I already told you. I’m a celebrity. I have a career. Fans. I can’t get married now.” He paused, then added, “And I’m still in my twenties.”
His father’s expression darkened instantly, the calm mask slipping. “You seem to forget what you owe this family.”
Luke’s fingers curled around his fork. “I didn’t ask for an arranged marriage. I didn’t ask to be used as a business deal.”
The room felt heavier, the air thick with unspoken history. His father leaned back slightly, eyes cold. “The only reason I allowed you this freedom,” he said slowly, “was because your mother was still alive.”
That did it.
Luke pushed his chair back and finally locked eyes with him, anger burning in his chest. “Don’t bring her into this.”
“For the first time,” his father replied sharply, “you’re forgetting your place.”
Luke’s voice was steady, but his heart was pounding. “My answer is final.”
For a moment, his father said nothing. Then he smiled—a small, dangerous smile Luke knew all too well.
“Do what I say,” his father said calmly, “or I end your career. No tours. No contracts. No public image left to protect.”
The threat landed hard. Luke exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face. He hated that this still worked, that no matter how famous he became, his father could still pull the strings.
“I’ll…” Luke hesitated, the words tasting bitter. “I’ll think about it.”
His father nodded, satisfied, already certain he’d won.
But as Luke stood and left the table, his mind wasn’t on Maria. It wasn’t on politics or power.
It was on Heather—and the way everything in his life was starting to collide.
Luke’s father stood up and left for his room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. The air in the dining room felt heavy, thick with unspoken words. Luke sat frozen for a moment, staring blankly at the untouched food in front of him. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the frustration and anger that had been building all evening. His father… always the same, always demanding, always trying to control his life.
Finally, he pushed back his chair and made his way toward the kitchen, hoping a glass of water would calm his mind. But as he stepped in, his heart skipped a beat. There she was. Heather.
She was at the sink, her hands submerged in soapy water, scrubbing dishes with a focus that made it look effortless. The soft hum of the faucet and the clink of plates seemed louder in the quiet house, yet all Luke could see was her. She wore that casual outfit he remembered—the shorts, the simple top—and somehow, even in such a mundane moment, she drew his attention like a magnet.
He stopped a few steps away, unsure whether to call out or just watch. There was something about her that made the world feel off balance. She wasn’t performing for him, she wasn’t smiling to charm or impress. She was just… there, existing, and it was enough to unsettle him completely.
Heather, unaware of him standing behind her, wiped a sudsy hand on a dish towel. Her brow was slightly furrowed, her lips pressed together in concentration. Luke felt a pull in his chest, a strange mix of longing and frustration. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words stuck in his throat.
Heather felt it before she saw him—the heat, the weight of his stare pressing against her back like hands skimming her skin. She turned, and there he was: Luke, his dark eyes burning into hers, jaw tight with something raw, something hungry.She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to look away, to step past him—but his fingers closed around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks.
She didn’t turn this time.
His voice was low, rough, scraping against her nerves like gravel.
Luke:
If you have a boyfriend…”His grip tightened, just enough to sting. **“…why drive me f*cking crazy? Why do you keep—
keep*—appearing in my mind?”**
She whirled to face him, her pulse hammering. *
Heather: We. Were. Both. *Drunk.* It meant *nothing*—”
Luke: Bullshit.
Before she could blink, he had her pinned against the fridge, his body caging hers, the cold metal biting into her back. His hand—rough, possessive—curved around her throat, not squeezing, just *holding*, his thumb tracing the frantic jump of her pulse. His other hand gripped her hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.
Luke: Say that again,”** he growled, his breath hot against her lips. **“Look me in the eyes and tell me it meant *nothing*.”**
This wasn’t the Luke the world knew—not the shy, soft-spoken celebrity who blushed at compliments. No, this was something else. Something *feral*.
She swallowed, her chest rising and falling too fast. **“Let. Go.”**
He laughed, dark and ragged. **“I’ve never felt like this before,”** he admitted, lips brushing the shell of her ear as his tongue flicked out, slow, deliberate, tasting her skin. **“Never f****d someone like an *animal* the way I did you.”** His teeth grazed her earlobe, making her gasp. **“Never had my c*ck *shake* inside someone—”**
Heather: Luke—*”**
Luke: No one’s ever made me *weak*,”** he whispered, his free hand sliding down her thigh, hiking her leg up around his waist
- Writer
