The First Mistake
1017 Words
POV: Ameera
---
I was only supposed to deliver the file.
One folder. Drop it on the desk. Leave. Simple.
But when the west wing opened for the first time that week, and Miss Agnes shoved the folder into my hands with a glare that made my spine lock, curiosity sparked like a flame in my chest.
“No distractions. No detours. No nonsense,” she said, watching me too closely.
I nodded, clutching the folder like it was a bomb.
Then she turned and walked away.
That was my first mistake.
---
The west wing wasn’t like the rest of the mansion.
It was quieter. Dimmer. Colder in a way that wasn’t about temperature.
The carpet absorbed every footstep. The air smelled faintly of spice and steel. The ceilings stretched taller, the doors darker, the silence heavier.
There were no staff here. No noise. No movement. No warmth.
Only a single, slightly open door at the far end of the hall.
His study.
I hesitated outside it, heart racing, folder trembling in my grip.
One quick peek. That’s all I wanted. Just one look at the man behind the madness. The reason the entire staff walked like ghosts in their own skin.
That was my second mistake.
---
The room was dimly lit and smelled like whiskey, old books, and secrets.
Everything was dark wood and black leather. A single, untouched glass of scotch sat on the edge of the desk. The blinds were half-shut, casting shadows like prison bars across the shelves.
I shouldn’t have stepped in.
But I did.
Because something inside me — maybe foolishness, maybe desperation — wanted to understand the man who made my heart race and my stomach twist with nothing more than a passing glance.
I stepped toward the desk.
The folder slipped from my fingers and landed with a soft thud. My eyes moved to a sleek pen, gleaming against the wood.
Before I could stop myself, I reached out and touched it.
Cold. Heavy. Perfect.
Just like him.
And that was the third mistake.
Because the door shut behind me.
Not loudly.
Just a soft, controlled click.
But loud enough to freeze the blood in my veins.
I turned slowly—my breath catching in my throat.
He was there.
Killian Vance.
Leaning against the now-closed door in his tailored black suit, arms crossed, jaw clenched like he was swallowing lightning.
“You shouldn’t be in here.”
His voice was deep and unreadable — the kind that wasn’t raised, because it didn’t need to be.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
His eyes dropped to the pen in my hand. I let go of it immediately like it had burned me.
“I—I thought the file was supposed to be left on your desk,” I stammered. “Miss Agnes—she told me to—”
“You were told to deliver it. Not to touch anything.” His gaze didn’t waver. “And definitely not to snoop.”
“I wasn’t snooping,” I whispered.
One brow lifted — just slightly.
The silence pressed harder.
I hated how small I felt under his stare. Like he could see right through me. Not just what I was doing — but why.
“You lie with your eyes,” he said. “They dart when you panic. Just like they are now.”
My jaw clenched. “Maybe that’s because you’re scary.”
He stepped forward, slowly, like a wolf approaching a rabbit that wandered too far from its den.
“I’m not scary, Miss Ameera,” he said, voice lowering. “I’m precise.”
I took a shaky step back, and my hip bumped the edge of his desk.
Killian stopped just inches away — so close I could see the gold flecks in his grey eyes. So close I could smell the faint scent of cedarwood and something sharper. Something dangerously male.
“You think I don’t see it?” he said. “The way you look at me when you think I’m not watching?”
I swallowed hard. “I don’t—I’m not—”
“Your eyes follow me.” His tone was calm. Controlled. Deadly. “You pretend not to flinch when I walk past. You hold your breath when I speak.”
My cheeks burned.
“You don’t scare me,” I whispered, though the tremble in my voice betrayed the lie.
He leaned closer.
“So prove it.”
The air between us snapped like tension on a live wire. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Could only feel the weight of his stare and the thundering of my own heartbeat.
His hand reached past me—my breath caught—but he only picked up the folder I dropped.
He straightened, turning away.
Dismissed.
Just like that.
“Next time you touch something that doesn’t belong to you,” he said over his shoulder, “I’ll make sure the punishment fits.”
He walked out, leaving the door wide open.
And me?
I sank into the nearest chair.
Breathless. Shaking. Confused.
And a little too warm.
---
That night, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the bruise-colored sky outside my window, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
Had he… flirted?
No. That wasn’t flirting.
That was control. Precision. Warning.
And yet…
My body still hadn’t come down from the adrenaline. My lips tingled with the ghost of a touch that never happened.
He hadn’t laid a hand on me.
But somehow, Killian Vance had touched me more deeply than anyone ever had.
---
Above me, in the master suite I would never dare enter, he stood at the balcony, watching the lights below.
“She’s curious,” he said aloud.
A slow smirk touched his lips as he brought the glass to his mouth.
“And curiosity always gets her into trouble.”
****************
No comment😏
Hope you guys liked this
Don't forget to leave a comment 😝
I take corrections — incase you have any 🌚
- Writer
