Chapter 13
869 Words
Chapter Twelve — His Office, His Lies
The hallway outside Matteo’s office was quiet. Too quiet.
The kind of silence that screamed secrets.
Ariana stood outside the carved mahogany door, her hand hovering over the brass handle. She could hear the low murmur of his voice longing for her warmth and comfort while calling her name with that same silky calm he used to ask for a glass of scotch.
She didn’t knock.
She pushed the door open, slowly, steadily. Like she belonged there.
Like she didn’t care about the consequences of her actions walking into the study like a Queen, shoulders high and back straight with her aura overflowing matching head on with Matteo’s
Matteo looked up from behind his desk, a storm flickering in his dark eyes the moment he saw her. His suit jacket was draped over the back of his chair, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Veins strained along his forearms, the tension in him a quiet war.
“Do you ever knock?” he asked, voice rough but controlled.
“Do you ever tell the truth?” she shot back.
He paused. Just for a second. Then he leaned back in his chair and studied her, the way a predator sizes up prey. Except this wasn’t hunger. Not just that. It was resistance. It was a fight inside him, and she was tired of being collateral damage in a war he wouldn’t admit he was losing.
“I’m not here for a fight, Matteo.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
She stepped closer. The scent of leather and amber surrounded her. His office always smelled like him—masculine, powerful, familiar.
“I want to know why,” she said, stopping just short of his desk. “Why you won’t accept it.”
His fingers tapped once, twice on the wood before stilling.
Why? Because if I admit it, I’ll burn this world down just to have you.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ariana’s jaw tightened. “Don’t lie to me. Not you. You trained me to smell lies from across a room.”
Silence again. This one heavier. Unforgiving.
“You feel something. You have for years,” she said, eyes locked on his. “But you keep acting like nothing happened. Like I imagined it all. So tell me, is that what you want me to believe? That I made it up? That the way you looked at me that night was just pity?”
He stood slowly, each movement calculated. “Stop talking about that night I told you it was a mistake and that night will always be a mistake.”
“No.” She crossed her arms. That night was the first real moment we’ve had in a long time. And you didn’t stop it. I did.”
“I shouldn’t have touched you.”
“But you did.”
He cursed under his breath and turned away, hands gripping the edge of the window frame. Rain trickled down the glass. His reflection was nothing like the man behind it—he looked calm. He was anything but.
She’s mine. She’s mine and I can’t touch her.
“I’m already taken,” Ariana said quietly. “Someone else isn’t afraid to want me.”
That snapped his control.
He turned, fast, fury slashing through his composure. “You mean that pathetic excuse of a man”
Her breath caught. Not at his question—but at the way he said it.
Like a death sentence.
“You’re mine only,” he growled, stepping toward her. “And anyone who tries to take you from me will die.”
Her back hit the desk, the carved edge biting into her spine. He was inches from her now, body vibrating with restraint. His hands didn’t touch her, but she could feel them anyway—hovering like a ghost over her waist, her throat, her lips.
“So I’m just some toy,” she whispered, chin tilted up, “you feel will always stay where you asked it to?”
The words slapped something raw inside him. His gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes. For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.
Then he kissed her.
Hard. Desperate. Like it was the first and last time he’d ever be allowed to.
Ariana froze. Her heart stuttered, knees trembling—but then she gripped his shirt and kissed him back. All the ache she’d buried erupted in that kiss. The longing. The fury. The years she’d spent wondering if she’d ever feel his mouth on hers.
But she broke it.
Shoved him back, breathless, eyes wide and wet.
“No,” she said, voice shaking. “You don’t get to kiss me when it suits you. You don’t get to pretend I don’t exist until someone else shows interest.”
Matteo stared at her, his chest heaving like he’d been shot.
“You want me?” she said, stepping back toward the door. “Prove it. Before it’s too late.”
Then she was gone, leaving behind only silence, heat—and a man finally drowning in the feelings he thought he could control.
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