Chapter Twelve
1151 Words
Ryan's POV
She kissed him.
Right there, in the middle of his living room—with his shirt brushing against her thighs, her hair damp from the shower, and his words still lingering in the air—Aanya Sinha kissed him.
Not a soft brush of the lips.
Not a shy, stolen peck.
No.
She had leaned up on her toes, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and pressed her mouth to his like it was the only way to silence the storm between them.
And then… she walked away.
Like it meant nothing.
Like she hadn’t just shattered the fragile wall he had spent years building around his heart.
Ryan hadn’t moved for several seconds after. He stood there, rooted, stunned into stillness. The echo of her touch still tingled on his lips. And for the first time in years, he didn’t know what the hell to do next.
Because this wasn’t part of the plan.
He’d spent three days finding excuses to come to the university.
He’d made Gabe reorganize his meetings just to be there during her orientation. Hell, he’d memorized her schedule from the admin desk files—files he owned—and yet, nothing prepared him for this moment.
The mafia king, the CEO of Williamson & Co., the man who made people tremble with a single look... was left breathless by a girl in his shirt who didn’t even understand what she’d just done.
“Damn it,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
He turned toward the hallway, the place where she had disappeared moments ago, heart racing in a rhythm he hadn’t felt since his teenage years. And before he could even process anything else—he heard her footsteps again.
But this time, they weren’t slow or hesitant.
They were hurried. Frantic.
She was running.
And she was fully dressed now—hair in a loose ponytail, shoes on, bag clutched tightly to her side.
“Aanya!” he called out.
She didn’t stop.
He walked after her, but she reached the door before he could catch her.
She fumbled with the lock, muttering, “I have to go—I’m going to be late—my class—”
“You’re not leaving like this.”
“I already did,” she said without turning around, voice clipped, flustered. “Whatever that was—it was a mistake. Forget it.”
He reached for her wrist.
She froze.
“You think I can forget that?” he said, voice low, dangerous. “You kissed me, Aanya.”
Silence.
“Don’t remind me,” she whispered.
That made his jaw clench. “Running won’t fix it.”
“I’m not running.”
“You’re fleeing.”
“I need to go.”
“Fine,” he said, releasing her wrist but stepping ahead. “I’ll drop you.”
“What? No! I’ll take the subway—”
“Aanya.”
That single warning in his tone stopped her cold.
His eyes met hers. A slow, burning gaze that spoke volumes. One that said he wasn’t asking.
With an irritated sigh and a lot of stubbornness, she gave in. He opened the door for her and followed her to the elevator in silence.
But inside?
Inside, he was unraveling.
Aanya's POV
What the hell had she done?
What. The. Actual. Hell.
One second she was arguing about paying for a dress.
The next, he was standing in front of her with that sinful smile, brushing her hair back, whispering sweet poison into her ear...
And she kissed him.
She had kissed him.
Why? She had no idea.
Was it attraction? Probably.
The way his voice dipped when he spoke to her, the way his eyes softened only for her, the way his presence sucked the oxygen from the room—yeah, it had all done something irreversible to her brain.
But this?
Kissing Ryan Williamson?
She must’ve lost her damn mind.
And now he was driving her to university in his sleek black car, and she didn’t know whether to scream, apologize, or open the door and roll out onto the freeway.
He hadn’t said a word since they entered the car.
Neither had she.
The silence was not comforting.
It was crackling, buzzing, like static in the air before lightning struck.
She stared out the window.
He glanced at her once or twice, but said nothing.
Finally, unable to take it anymore, she blurted, “It didn’t mean anything.”
He said nothing.
“I was just overwhelmed,” she added, voice tightening. “It was a heat-of-the-moment thing.”
Still nothing.
“Ryan?”
He finally turned his head.
One brow arched. “You think I care whether it meant something or not?”
She blinked.
“What...?”
“I’m not the one trying to justify it to myself. That’s you.”
Her mouth opened—then closed again.
Because deep down, she knew he was right.
She was justifying it.
But not because she regretted it.
No.
Because she didn’t want to admit how much it meant.
Because that kiss had shaken her in a way that no one else ever had. Because his lips had felt too perfect, and her heart had skipped more than one beat, and his hand had lingered just enough to make her crave more.
Because for a terrifying moment—she had wanted him to kiss her back.
She clenched her fists in her lap.
“You should forget it happened,” she mumbled.
“I won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it was the first time you stopped running.”
Her breath hitched.
The car pulled up to the university gates, and before she could reply, Ryan stepped out and walked around to open her door. Like a proper gentleman.
Except he wasn’t one.
He was a storm in disguise.
A ruthless, arrogant, mafia king wearing the mask of a CEO—and somehow, beneath all that danger and dominance, he made her feel safe.
That was the real problem.
Because safety felt a lot like falling.
And she had no parachute.
As she stepped out of the car, his hand brushed her lower back—guiding her, possessive yet gentle—and it sent a jolt of heat up her spine.
Students milled around the entrance, and Aanya felt their eyes dart toward the sleek car and the man beside her. Curious. Intrigued. Jealous.
She pulled away quickly, muttering, “You don’t have to pick me up.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
She glanced at him.
He smirked. “But now that you’ve said it—I just might.”
And with that, he turned and walked back to the car.
Leaving her at the gates...
With her heartbeat still tangled in the memory of a kiss that was anything but meaningless.
- Writer
