THE FIRST KISS
1989 Words
— Manhattan Charity Gala – Moments After Lucien Leaves —
The ballroom hadn’t quieted.
If anything, the electricity had only grown sharper, like the air right before a storm splits the sky in half.
Krishna stood beside Eric, her skin still tingling where Lucien’s lips had grazed her hand. But it was Eric's presence—his heat, his unblinking gaze on the crowd—that grounded her.
Until she heard it.
A familiar laugh.
Too loud. Too fake.
Too Nancy.
She turned her head slowly, and there they were—
The Martins.
Nicholas, trying too hard to look important in an ill-fitting suit.
Sonia, clinging to his arm with a smile pulled so tight it might c***k.
And Nancy…
Nancy in red.
A dress that screamed look at me and heels that stabbed the floor with every step. She looked like a fire trying to burn the room just by entering it.
Krishna's breath caught.
“Were they in the guest list?” Krishna whispered.
“They didn’t need to be,” Eric replied. “Roaches don’t ask permission to crawl in.”
“What I’m I gonna do?” she whispered, panic starting to rise.
He didn’t answer—but his jaw clenched. Hard.
And then—
Nancy saw them.
Saw her.
She stopped mid-laugh. Her lips parted. Eyes narrowed.
Then—she smiled.
The kind of smile a wolf wears right before its jaw snaps shut.
“Oh no…” Krishna murmured.
Nancy came straight for them.
—
“Darling!” Nancy’s voice dripped with syrup. “Krishna, I didn’t know you were attending grown-up events now.”
Krishna didn’t move. “Nancy.”
Eric didn’t look at Nancy. Not yet.
Nancy, emboldened by the crowd and cameras, took it up a notch. “I almost didn’t recognize you. Black silk? Expensive. You must be… borrowing someone’s taste.”
“Walk away,” Eric said without looking up from his glass.
Nancy blinked. “I’m sorry?”
Now he turned.
And the look in his eyes?
It was cold enough to c***k the stem of his wine glass.
“I said walk away. Before I remind this entire room who sold their daughter for a contract and tried to lie about it.”
Nicholas hurried over, grabbing Nancy’s elbow. “Let’s not make a scene, sweetheart—”
Eric stepped forward.
And suddenly… the music didn't matter. The gala didn’t matter. The room didn’t matter.
“I see you brought the rest of the circus,” Eric said flatly, nodding at Sonia and Nicholas. “Surprised you could afford tickets.”
Sonia’s face twisted. “We were invited—by real businesspeople.”
“Then go be parasites elsewhere,” he said, eyes flicking to Nancy again. “And take your knockoff perfume with you. It’s choking my wife.”
Krishna’s breath caught.
My wife.
He didn’t say contract. He didn’t say pawn.
He said wife.
Nancy’s face paled under layers of makeup. She stepped closer to Krishna, voice low and venomous. “You think this little fairytale will last? You don’t belong with men like him. You’re still the girl who cleaned our toilets.”
Krishna didn’t look away.
This time… she didn’t cower.
She tilted her head and smiled.
“Funny. You’re still the girl who tried to sell herself. Guess some things don’t change.”
Nancy blinked—once, twice.
Eric actually smirked.
Then he placed his hand on Krishna’s back again, slow and sure, and led her away without another word.
— Balcony – Moments Later —
Outside, above the glittering city, Krishna leaned against the cold stone rail, heart still pounding.
Eric lit a cigarette. He didn’t offer her one.
“You held your ground,” he said after a moment.
“I didn’t do it for you,” she replied softly.
“I know,” he said, watching the smoke curl like secrets into the night. “That’s why I liked it.”
She turned to him.
For the first time, his expression had something else in it.
Not ice.
Not rage.
But… something close to respect.
— Lynchard Towers – Past Midnight —
The elevator doors opened with a soft ding, and Krishna stepped into the penthouse, the hem of her gown brushing the marble like whispers.
She hadn’t said a word since they left the gala.
Neither had he.
Not in the car.
Not in the elevator.
Not as the city blurred behind tinted glass and her heart wrestled with everything that had happened.
Now, the silence wasn’t cold—it was thick. Weighted. Tension curled around the chandeliers like smoke.
Eric walked past her, tossing his jacket over the velvet couch, unbuttoning his cuffs. Still quiet. Still dangerous.
Krishna turned, unable to stop the words from spilling—
“You knew they’d be there, didn’t you?”
He didn’t look at her. “Does it matter?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “It does. Because I was ambushed. Again.”
He paused.
Then looked up slowly. “You survived it.”
“That’s not the point.”
He stepped closer.
“Then what is the point, Krishna?”
His voice was soft now—but not gentle. Never gentle.
She clenched her fists. “You throw me into fire like I’m immune to burning.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And yet you didn’t burn. You bit back.”
He was closer now. A step away. Bare feet on black marble. Black shirt still open at the collar. Voice like a match being struck.
“You think this is praise?” she whispered, shaking her head. “You could’ve warned me. But you just watched.”
He tilted his head slightly, studying her like something he couldn’t decide whether to keep or destroy.
“You want honesty?” he said.
“Always.”
He stepped into her space, and his voice dropped.
“Because part of me wanted to see what you'd do.”
She swallowed. “Why?”
“To know if you’re worth protecting.”
That stopped her.
Because for a moment—just one—she saw something behind his eyes that looked like grief. Or maybe recognition.
Something almost human.
And that scared her more than the rest.
“Did I pass your test, Mr. Lynchard?” she said, bitterly.
He stared at her for a long time.
Then said, almost to himself—
“You passed something.”
🕷️ — Moments Later – Bedroom — 🕷️
She shut the door behind her, heart still thudding.
Her gown pooled at her feet. Her hands were still shaking, even after she peeled off the necklace Brigid had fastened with trembling fingers earlier that evening.
She moved to the mirror.
The girl in the reflection didn’t look scared anymore.
Still pale. Still thin.
But not fragile.
Not after that.
And in that silence, her phone—a sleek new one Eric had left for her without a word—buzzed on the dresser.
Text from Unknown Number:
Nice performance tonight, little mouse. But wolves bite back.
— L
Her stomach dropped.
Lucien.
How did he get this number?
She deleted the text.
But the damage was done.
She wasn’t just a pawn in Eric’s empire now.
She was a target.
— Lynchard Towers – Midnight Rain —
The storm hit sometime after 2AM.
The kind of storm Manhattan rarely felt—wind that clawed at windows, thunder like distant war drums. It drenched the skyline in streaks of silver and sent ghostly shadows dancing across the walls of the penthouse.
Krishna couldn’t sleep.
She lay curled in the massive bed, wearing one of the silk robes Brigid had left folded for her. The sheets were too soft. The air too quiet. Her thoughts too loud.
Lucien’s text still echoed in her head.
Little mouse.
Wolves bite back.
She hated how it made her feel—like prey caught between two predators. She hated how she didn’t even know what side Eric was on.
Then—there it was.
A knock.
Firm. Measured.
Her heart skipped.
She rose slowly and padded to the door barefoot, hesitating for a moment before opening it.
He was standing there.
Eric, dressed in black silk pajama pants and a loose long-sleeve shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, damp from the rain he’d stepped out into moments ago to take a phone call.
His hair was tousled. A drop of water slid from his temple down his neck.
He didn’t speak.
Neither did she.
Instead, he walked past her, into her room like he’d done it a thousand times. His presence filled the space, sucked the air from it.
She closed the door behind him.
Finally, he spoke.
“You deleted the message.”
Krishna froze. “You saw it?”
Eric turned to face her, hands in his pockets. “I see everything that comes to that phone.”
Her lips parted. “So you gave it to me just to monitor me?”
“I gave it to you to protect you,” he said coldly. “From my enemies. From your family. From yourself.”
She swallowed. “You think I’m weak.”
“No,” he replied. “I think you still believe kindness will save you.”
Her spine stiffened. “And you think cruelty will?”
“I think control will,” he said simply.
She stared at him, trembling now—not in fear, but frustration.
“You live in this glass tower thinking control is power, but you’re still hiding.”
His jaw tensed. “From what?”
“From feeling anything.”
The silence cracked.
His breath hitched for just a second.
Then, in two long strides, he was in front of her.
Too close.
She backed against the edge of the bed, but he didn’t touch her.
“You think you’ve figured me out?” he asked softly.
“No,” she breathed. “But I see the way you look at me. Like I’m dangerous. Or like I’m something you want to destroy before you care too much.”
His hands moved—lightning fast—and caged her against the headboard. Not touching. Not quite.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“You think I care?”
Her lips quivered. “I think you wish you didn’t.”
And that was it.
The dam broke.
In a blur, his mouth crashed into hers.
It wasn’t soft.
It was possession and punishment, fire and frost all at once. His hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her waist like he didn’t know whether to hold her close or push her away.
Krishna gasped into the kiss—and he devoured the sound.
She didn’t pull away.
She kissed him back.
And that was the most dangerous part.
Because for a moment…
The world didn’t matter.
Lucien didn’t exist.
The contract didn’t bind.
Only this.
Him.
Her.
The silence they’d both tried to bury bursting into heat and hands and something neither of them could name.
But then—
He pulled back.
Breathing hard. Eyes wild.
She reached for him.
He stepped away.
The air snapped between them.
Eric turned his back to her, fists clenched. “That shouldn’t have happened.”
Krishna stared, lips still parted, heart thundering. “But it did.”
He faced her again—mask back on.
“This changes nothing,” he said.
She stepped forward. “Doesn’t it?”
A flicker of something crossed his face. Something that looked like war. Then:
“Go to bed.”
Her voice broke. “Eric—”
“Now.”
He walked out, slamming the door behind him.
And Krishna?
She touched her lips.
Still burning.
Still his.
But she knew now…
She wasn’t the only one getting pulled into this storm.
So was he.
And the kiss?
That was the beginning of the end.
- Writer
