The one she couldn't kill

Chapter Two — Enemies

“You know what?” she whispered, her voice softer now, but no less certain. “I am offering myself. There’s something about you… something dangerous. And I think you can handle my fire.”

Anthony didn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingered on her face, searching, measuring—not for weakness, but for truth. When he finally moved, it was slow, deliberate. He leaned closer, his breath brushing the curve of her ear.

“I assure you,” he murmured, voice low and intimate, “I can handle anything you throw at me.”

The words settled between them like a spark landing on dry ground.

His hands found her waist—not gripping, not claiming, just resting there, warm and steady. It was an invitation, not a command. A silent question.

Poppy didn’t step back.

Instead, she leaned forward, closing the distance with a quiet confidence that made something flicker in his eyes. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The city hummed far below, distant and irrelevant, as if the world itself had chosen to give them space.

Their tension didn’t break—it unraveled.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Like something fragile, or dangerous.

Anthony’s fingers traced the line of her side, testing boundaries the way she had tested his security minutes before. Every movement was intentional, restrained—but beneath it, there was heat, unmistakable and rising.

“You have no idea what you’re getting into,” he warned, though his tone had softened, lost its edge.

Poppy’s lips curved, her eyes steady on his.

“I’m used to rough.”

A quiet laugh escaped him—genuine this time, surprised in a way that felt almost foreign to him.

“I don’t think you are,” he replied, his voice dipping lower, “not like this.”

But he didn’t pull away.

Neither did she.

The space between them disappeared in a breath. What followed wasn’t rushed or reckless—it was a slow surrender to something neither had planned for. Words faded into softer exchanges, into murmurs that blurred into the quiet rhythm of shared presence. The sharpness between them dulled, not into weakness, but into something deeper—curiosity, recognition, a strange kind of trust neither of them should have given.

When Anthony drew her closer, it wasn’t to overpower her. It was instinctive. Like he needed to be certain she was real, that this moment wasn’t some elaborate illusion.

And Poppy let him.

For once, she wasn’t calculating exits or counting threats. She wasn’t a weapon or a shadow slipping through locked doors. She was simply there—unarmed, exposed in a way far more dangerous than any mission.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured at one point, his forehead brushing hers.

“You have no idea,” she answered softly.

The night stretched around them, folding time into something fluid and meaningless. The lights of New York blurred behind the glass walls, distant and flickering, as if the entire city existed only to frame this moment.

For Anthony, it wasn’t just desire—it was disorientation. He wasn’t used to being seen without defenses, without reputation standing between him and another person. And yet she stood there, knowing exactly what he was, and didn’t flinch.

For Poppy, it was something even more unsettling.

She wasn’t supposed to hesitate.

She wasn’t supposed to feel.

And yet here she was, choosing to stay.

Choosing him.

“Stay,” Anthony said at last, the word quiet but steady, carrying more weight than any command.

She looked at him for a long second.

Then she nodded.

And she did.

When dawn finally slipped through the glass, pale light spilling across the room, Anthony reached for her instinctively.

But the space beside him was empty.

The air was cooler. Still.

Only the faint trace of her perfume lingered—a ghost of the night before.

On the nightstand, a folded note waited.

Anthony picked it up, his expression unreadable as he unfolded it.

"Hey, handsome... This was the best night of my life. I have never felt anything like this before. It was a true pleasure meeting you. Please, be careful... They might send someone else behind you. So, STAY ALIVE, would you??? See you around! PS: My name is Poppy... But keep this to yourself."

He read it once.

Then again.

A slow smile formed—not the sharp, calculated one he wore like armor, but something quieter. Real.

For the first time in years, death didn’t feel like something chasing him.

It felt like something waiting.

And for once… he wasn’t in a hurry to meet it.