HIS CHAOS, MY HEART

The Pull

Ava told herself that the restlessness would fade.

It didn’t.

Morning came wrapped in pale light and the hum of the city waking below her window, but her body remained taut, alert, as if something unfinished hovered just beyond reach. She moved through her routine on autopilot—shower, coffee, clothes—yet every small sensation felt heightened. Water tracing her skin lingered too long. Fabric brushing her thighs felt like a question.

She hated that her thoughts kept circling back to a man she didn’t know.

Kai.

The name had weight. It pressed against her memory with the same insistence as his gaze had the night before. She replayed the bar in fragments: the way he’d stood like he owned the room, the heat in his voice, the certainty in his eyes. He hadn’t touched her. Not once.

And yet she felt as though he had.

At work, Ava tried to bury herself in order—spreadsheets, deadlines, emails stacked neatly into sense. Control, she reminded herself. Control was safety. But every time her phone vibrated, a spark of anticipation flared, ridiculous and unwanted. She hadn’t given him her number. She hadn’t invited anything.

Still, when lunchtime came and she stepped outside for air, she felt it again—that subtle shift, that prickle along her spine that warned her she was no longer alone.

“Running already?”

His voice slid into her like a memory she hadn’t finished reliving.

Ava stopped short.

Kai leaned against the brick wall beside the café, one boot propped behind him, hands loose in his pockets. Daylight didn’t soften him. If anything, it sharpened his edges—dark hair falling into his eyes, jaw shadowed with stubble, posture relaxed in a way that suggested danger rather than ease.

“How did you—” She cut herself off, lips pressing together.

He tilted his head, studying her. “You don’t like unfinished conversations, Ava.”

Her pulse jumped at the way he said her name again, low and unrushed. “You don’t get to follow me.”

“I didn’t,” he said calmly. “I waited.”

That should have unsettled her more than it did.

“You should leave,” she said, even as her body betrayed her—shoulders squared, breath shallow, senses focused entirely on him.

“Tell me you don’t want me here.”

The challenge was quiet. Dangerous.

Ava met his gaze. Up close, his eyes were darker than she’d noticed before, almost unreadable. There was restraint there—coiled, deliberate. It made her throat dry.

“I don’t,” she said.

Kai stepped closer.

Not invading. Just enough that she could feel the warmth of him, the faint scent of leather and something clean beneath it. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t need to.

“Lie better,” he murmured.

The space between them crackled, charged with things unsaid. Ava felt painfully aware of her body—of the way her skin hummed, of the slow, traitorous pull low in her belly. She clenched her fists at her sides.

“You think you know me,” she said.

“I think,” he replied, voice dropping, “that you spend a lot of time pretending you don’t want things.”

Her breath caught.

“That’s not—”

He lifted a hand then, not touching, just hovering near her wrist. The restraint in the gesture was unmistakable, deliberate. It made her heart race harder than contact would have.

“You left last night,” he said, “but you didn’t forget.”

Ava swallowed. She hated that he could see it. Hated that she didn’t want him to stop.

“Why me?” she asked, the question slipping out before she could guard it.

For the first time, his expression shifted—something darker, more honest passing through his eyes. “Because you don’t run toward the fire,” he said quietly. “You pretend you’re not cold.”

The words landed too close to the truth.

Ava took a step back, breaking the spell. “This is a mistake.”

“Maybe,” Kai agreed. “But you’ll think about it.”

She turned and walked away, her legs unsteady, her mind a storm of sensation and denial. She didn’t look back.

She didn’t have to.

That night, alone again, Ava stood in front of her mirror longer than usual. She barely recognized the woman staring back—cheeks flushed, eyes too bright, lips parted as if expecting something. She pressed a hand to the glass, breathing slowly, grounding herself.

Control.

But when she closed her eyes, it wasn’t order she felt.

It was the echo of his presence.

The promise of chaos.

And the frightening realization that part of her wanted to step into it.