Chapter Nine: The Touch That Burns
220 Words
Ivy
It was nearly 10 p.m. when I returned to drop off the last of the reports. The office floor was dark, quiet. I assumed he’d gone home.
I was wrong.
Lucian stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, sleeves rolled, tie loosened, the city lights painting him in shadow and flame.
“You work late,” I said softly.
He didn’t turn.
“So do you.”
I placed the folder on his desk, trying not to look at him. But he moved closer, his presence impossible to ignore.
When our fingers brushed just briefly, I flinched.
Not from fear. From how alive I suddenly felt.
He didn’t move. Didn’t apologize. He just looked at me, like he could read the chaos behind my silence.
“You’re playing with fire,” I whispered.
“No,” he said, voice low. “I am fire.”
The space between us tightened. Tension hummed through the air like electricity before a storm.
I should have stepped back. Should have reminded him—and myself—this was business.
But I didn’t.
And neither did he.
He let me leave, eventually. Said nothing else. Just let me carry the weight of everything unspoken.
But that one, accidental touch?
It followed me all the way home.
And I knew…
Next time, it wouldn’t be accidental.
- Writer
