Michael's POV
Then she shoved me, harder than I expected, and bolted down the street. For a heartbeat, I considered grabbing her, forcing her to hear me out. But I didn’t move.
Instead, I watched. Watched the way her hair flew behind her. The way her legs carried her with desperate speed. The way fear made her beautiful, alive.
She thought she was running away. But every step brought her back—to my building, my street, my cameras. My world.
I let her go, the ghost of her shoulder’s impact still tingling against my chest. My fingers flexed with restraint. Not tonight. Not yet.
But soon.
Because I wasn’t the enemy. I was the only one who saw the danger circling her. And when Yannick’s mask slipped—when she finally realized it wasn’t me but him watching her in her most vulnerable moment
