The Lie That Bound Us.

Chapter 3

I shouldn’t be standing here.

And yet, here I am—my heart racing, my hands shaking, my legs barely holding me up. The room is quiet, except for the low hum of the air conditioning and the rustling of my skirt as I shift my weight from one foot to the other.

Alaric Vaughn is here too, and Alaric Vaughn does what he does to me: he changes the air around me. The way he moves, the weight of him, the confidence that clings to him like a second skin—it’s all suffocating and intoxicating at the same time.

I told myself I’d be professional. That I’d keep my distance. That I’d remain small and unseen. But every time he’s around me, every time his eyes find mine, I feel something I’m not supposed to feel.

Desire.

Fear.

Something darker that I can’t name yet.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just look at me. Imposing, towering over me, every inch of him controlled and dangerous. And yet, somehow, I feel it—the draw, the attraction that I know I shouldn’t respond to, but somehow do.

“Why do you always look so… careful?” The words cut through the silence between us. Calm, low, and entirely too intimate for a workplace.

I swallow. “I… I like to be precise.” My voice sounds small in the space between us. Too soft.

And then he’s closer. Just enough that I can feel the heat emanating from him, the scent of him washing over me—clean, sharp, with something darker lurking beneath the surface, something that makes my heart jump and my lungs ache.

“I notice everything,” he says. The words are almost a whisper. “Every movement. Every hesitation. Every little breath you try to hide.”

My stomach twists. I should look away. I want to look away. But I can’t.

There’s a weight in his gaze, heavy and commanding. It presses against me, and I feel it in every nerve. I feel like he can see everything—my fears, my shame, my curiosity. And worse, he makes me want him to.

“Alaric…” I murmur, barely loud enough for him to hear. My voice is trembling, betraying me.

He tilts his head slightly, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Do you always speak so softly?”

I nod, because I can’t find the courage to speak otherwise.

“Do you know what happens when someone speaks softly to me?” His voice drops lower. “I listen. And when I listen, I notice. And when I notice… I don’t forget.”

My heart hammers, and I feel the heat rising in my body. I don’t understand why. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want him.

And yet… I do.

He takes another step closer, the distance between us shrinking until I can feel the warmth radiating from him. I want to step back. I want to tell him this is wrong. But my legs refuse to move. My mind refuses to fight.

“You’re… careful,” he says again. “But I think you want more. Don’t you?”

I bite my lip, unsure if he can see the truth in my eyes. Unsure if I want him to. My hands curl into fists at my sides, nails pressing into my palms, grounding me—but not enough.

“I… I don’t know,” I whisper. My own words feel feeble, but honest.

He doesn’t answer immediately. He just tilts his head, studying me like I’m fragile glass, like he could shatter me without even trying. And in that moment, I realise that I want him to.

I shouldn’t want it. I shouldn’t want him. I’m barely twenty-two. He’s… he’s everything I’m not supposed to want. Everything dangerous. Everything dark.

But I do.

His eyes are holding me in place. There is a tempest brewing within them, a tempest that is dark and potent, and I feel as though I’m on the precipice of it, about to fall into it.

"Do you feel it too?" he asks. His voice is low and husky, and it seems to vibrate with an intimacy that is both thrilling and terrifying. It seems to be happening so close to me.

I don’t respond. My throat is dry. My chest hurts. My heart is pounding too loudly in my ears.

“I feel it,” he continues, moving even closer to me. “Every time I’m near you. Every time you breathe while you’re in the same room as me. There is tension. There is desire. There is something unspoken, something waiting.”

My legs feel as though they are weakening slightly, and I have to grasp onto the edge of the desk to stay upright. And of course, he sees that. Of course, he sees everything.

“You’re… careful,” he says again, but this time it’s almost soft, almost vulnerable. “But I know you’re curious. I can see it.”

I shut my eyes for a second. I shouldn’t say it. I shouldn’t feel it. But… I do.

“Yes,” I say.

And when I look up, he’s closer. So very, very close. So close that I can feel the heat of his body, smell the acrid smell of him. The air between us crackles with something dangerous, something forbidden. And I’m helpless to move, helpless to run. Helpless to anything but stand here.

He’s leaning in slightly, just slightly, but I can feel the weight of his presence, the weight of his unspoken demand. I should move back. I should run. But I’m not moving. Can’t move.

I want him here. Want him in this. Want the tension between us, the slow, dark burn of it.

“Good,” he whispers. “You’re honest. That’s rare.”

And then he backs away from me, enough so that there is space between us again, and I’m left shuddering in the silence.

My breath is coming fast, my belly is doing flips, and I’m trying to focus, trying to ground myself, but I’m still aware of him, still aware of the tension he brings with him.

I shouldn’t want this.

And yet, I do.

I’m not sure what it is, desire or curiosity or danger or all of the above and something else that I’m not even aware of yet.

What I do know is that he is danger and he is power and he is...intensity.

What I know is that I’m already being pulled into it.

Even as I’m walking back to my desk, trying to be careful and trying to be composed, I’m aware of his gaze on me, aware of the fact that he’s watching me.

And it scares the crap out of me.

Because I’m not sure if I can escape it.

Because I don’t want to.

Because I already know, on some level, that it’s only the beginning.