vengeance

Do nothing

Upon her insistence to take her to her mother's house he agreed.Ryan stood in the doorway, his lean frame silhouetted against the soft glow of the hallway lights.

"Wear something more," he drawled, his voice low and husky. Charlotte's response was immediate and venomous. "Mr. Murder, shut up!" she snapped, her eyes flashing with annoyance as she continued to gather her belongings.

Ryan's lips curled into a wry smile. "Mrs. Murder, it's cold as heck outside," he pointed out, his tone laced with amusement. But Charlotte refused to listen, her fingers moving with a determined swiftness as she stuffed her things into a bag.

With a soft sigh, Ryan pushed off from the doorframe and strode into the room. He yanked open the closet door and pulled out a soft, chunky sweater. "Here," he said, his voice firm but gentle as he draped the sweater over Charlotte's shoulders. She shrugged him off, but Ryan was relentless.

Before she could protest, he pushed her gently onto the bed and knelt down, his hands grasping for her feet. Charlotte's eyes widened as he slid her socks on, his touch surprisingly gentle. "You're like a baby sometimes," he murmured, his voice tinged with a mixture of exasperation and affection. Charlotte's face burned with indignation, but Ryan just chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

The car ride was oppressive, the silence between them thick with unspoken tension. When they finally arrived at her mother's house, Charlotte's eyes lit up with hope. But as her mother caught sight of Ryan standing beside her, her expression crumpled, and tears welled up in her eyes. Without a word, she turned and shut the door, leaving Charlotte devastated.

Charlotte collapsed to the ground, her fists pounding against the door as she begged, "Mom, please... Mom, I only have you." Her voice cracked with emotion, and her body shook with sobs. Ryan watched the scene unfold with an unreadable expression, his eyes fixed intently on Charlotte's anguished face.

When she finally stumbled to her feet, her eyes blazing with anger, Ryan raised an eyebrow. "Now we can go?" he asked, his tone detached. But before he could react, Charlotte's palm connected with his cheek, the sound of the slap echoing through the silence.

Ryan's eyes widened in shock as he pinned her against the door, his face inches from hers. "Don't blame me for the half-story you know, you little—" He bit back the words, his jaw clenched in frustration, and turned his face away, his chest heaving with suppressed emotion. Charlotte pushed against him, her hands balled into fists, but Ryan's grip remained firm.

The doorstep confrontation was abruptly interrupted by a flurry of camera flashes and shouted questions as paparazzi swarmed the scene. Microphones were thrust into their faces, and Ryan's expression darkened. "So, Mr. Ryan, how is your marriage going? Are there inconveniences to marrying your victim's daughter?" one reporter asked, their voice shrill and insistent.

Ryan's fists clenched at his sides as he struggled to maintain his composure. "No comment," he growled, trying to sidestep the reporters. But they persisted, their questions and camera clicks creating a cacophony of noise. "Mr. Ryan!" "Hello, viewers, we're having Murder Ryan on air today!"

As the chaos escalated, Ryan's instincts kicked in, and he swiftly positioned himself between Charlotte and the reporters, his eyes flashing with warning. When one paparazzo dared to step closer to Charlotte, Ryan's voice dropped to a menacing growl. "Touch her, and you're gone."

The air seemed to vibrate with tension as Ryan's words hung in the air. Without hesitation, he grasped Charlotte's arm and pulled her toward his car, shielding her from the frenzy. They pushed through the crowd, the reporters shouting questions and snapping photos as they went. Once they were safely inside the car, Ryan sped away, leaving the paparazzi and their chaotic world behind. The silence in the car was a welcome respite, but the tension between them was palpable.

As they reached a safe distance from the paparazzi, Charlotte's gaze fell upon Ryan's hands, which were visibly shaking. She spoke up, her voice laced with accusation. "You deserve this." Ryan's head dropped, his eyes fixed on the floor. "You're right, I do... because you've never had someone else's blame put on you and gotten betrayed."

His words were laced with a deep-seated pain, and Charlotte's curiosity was piqued. "Speak clearly, whatever it is," she demanded, her annoyance growing. Ryan's gaze drifted away, his jaw clenched. "That's the problem. Even if I do, you'd call me a liar because you have proof."

Charlotte's face twisted in disgust. "You murder!" she spat, the word hanging in the air like a challenge. Ryan's eyes flickered, and he began to speak, his voice low and hesitant. "Brian—"

Charlotte's attention snapped back to him, her eyes locking onto his. "Brian what?" she pressed, her voice insistent. But Ryan's lips sealed shut, and he remained silent, his eyes veiled once more. The unfinished sentence hung in the air, leaving Charlotte wondering what secrets lay hidden behind his guarded expression.

As they entered the house, Ryan walked away silently. His mother came out and asked Charlotte if everything was fine. Charlotte reassured her it was. Then his mother invited Charlotte to talk with her, saying she was bored. Charlotte agreed, but her mind kept thinking about Ryan's unfinished sentence, "Brian—".

Charlotte couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that lingered from the events of the day. Despite her better judgment, she felt a pang of sympathy for Ryan. Her kind nature got the better of her, and she decided to make him a cup of coffee. She knocked on his door, and his deep voice bid her enter.

As she stepped inside, she found Ryan lounging in his chair, dressed in comfortable clothes that seemed to accentuate his relaxed demeanor. She handed him the steaming cup, her eyes avoiding his. Ryan's fingers brushed against hers as he took the cup, sending a subtle spark through her.

"Sit down," he said, his voice low and inviting, nodding toward the chair beside him. Charlotte agreed, but her initial hesitation showed in the distance she put between them. However, she found herself wanting to be closer, so he dragged her chair nearer, the movement causing her breath to catch in her throat.

Ryan took a sip of the coffee, his eyes narrowing slightly. "The coffee is good, but... I wish it was a little sweeter," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of disappointment. Charlotte's eyes met his, and she remembered telling his mom that he didn't like sweets. "But I asked your mom; she said you don't like sweets," she said, confusion etched on her face.

Ryan's gaze locked onto hers, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Now I do... Can you take a sip?" Charlotte's eyes widened in surprise. She couldn't understand what he was trying to do, but something about his request felt intimate. "Why?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Please?" Ryan's voice was low and persuasive. Charlotte hesitated for a moment before taking a small sip from the cup. Ryan's eyes never left hers as he took a sip from the exact spot she had touched with her lips. "Much sweeter," he said, his voice low and husky.

Charlotte's face flushed a deep shade of red as the realization dawned on her. She felt a flutter in her chest, and her heart raced with a mix of embarrassment and something else she couldn't quite define.

- Fairest lips, that touched the cup with mine,In sweet communion, hearts did entwine.A sip of sweetness, beyond mere taste,In thine eyes, my love doth find its place-