Married by fate, Loved by fire

CHAPTER TWO.

The next morning came almost too quickly, the dark circles beneath my eyes making me feel as exhausted as I looked. The steady whir of the washing machine in the laundry room beside my bed was almost deafening.

Dragging myself up, I stumbled through my early morning routine—jogging through the nearly empty streets, letting the cold wind wake my senses, showering off the sweat and tension, and preparing myself for the day ahead. Each work shift passed in a blur, my mind almost operating on its own, my body moving out of habit. By the time the last shift of the day was winding down, I felt like I could collapse into a chair and not move again until morning.

But then, in the corner of the locker room, a sudden chill ran through my spine I turned around and found him staring at me a little bit intensely

He was there. The same man from the coffee shop yesterday. And somehow, he looked even more alluring. My pulse caught in my throat, a combination of disbelief, attraction, and something I couldn’t quite name.

He moved closer and his scent hit me first—a fresh lavender mixed faintly with alcohol, an intoxicating combination that made my stomach twist in both dread and desire. His half-buttoned shirt revealed just enough skin to make my breath hitch. Every small detail—his hair falling perfectly into his eyes, the tension in his shoulders—was impossibly magnetic.

Our eyes met, and the world seemed to shrink until it was just the two of us.

But something was off. His face was flushed, veins standing out at his temple, and he looked… unwell. As if he were fighting something inside him that I couldn’t see.

Instinctively, I reached out to touch his forehead.

And then he grabbed my wrist. Strong. Firm. Unyielding.

I look back at him surprised—had he recognized me too?

He paused, his gaze locking onto mine with a strange intensity. Then, almost too suddenly, he pulled me close. That’s when I noticed—he was standing. Yesterday… wasn’t he in a wheelchair? My mind scrambled to make sense of it, but the questions caught in my throat.

Before I could speak, he cupped the back of my head, and his lips were on mine.

Every rational thought in me screamed to stop, to pull away, to run—but I couldn’t. Something about him, about this moment, made me utterly powerless.

He sensed my hesitation and deepened the kiss, his tongue gently coaxing mine. I felt my hands clutch at his shirt, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. The air between us was thick, charged with a tension that made my skin tingle.

In a sudden, almost shocking movement, he swept me into his arms. My stomach flipped as he kicked the door open, the lock clicking behind us with a sound that made my heart race. My mind was spinning—was this real, or some messed up dream?

He laid me on the bed with surprising gentleness, though the intent in his eyes left no doubt. Part of me wanted to run, to escape before things went too far. But another part—an equally strong, inexplicable part—wanted to stay, to see where this moment would end up.

He moved closer, deliberate and unhurried, like a predator circling its prey. A strong scent of lavender and desire radiated from him. His hands roamed with purpose, exploring, tracing lines across my body that made me shiver. Then, abruptly, he stopped, his eyes narrowing as if reading the confusion and longing in mine.

“You took my first kiss,” he said, his voice low and rough. “You’ll take responsibility for that, won’t you?”

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. There was something dangerous in that statement, something daring and impossible to resist. My mind raced with warnings and curiosity, with fear and an undeniable pull toward him.

I wanted to speak, to deny, to ask questions—why was he in a wheelchair yesterday? Why was he here now, like this? But the words never formed. My body, my heart, my mind—they all seemed to have surrendered to him, at least for this moment.