Face to face

Augustine's face turned a strange shade, his expression unreadable, his darkened eyes holding a dangerous gleam. He stared at Sara with a look so threatening, so venomous, it felt like a silent promise of destruction.

"What are you doing in my house?"

His voice thundered through the vast penthouse, the sound bouncing off the marble walls like a storm breaking loose. He took a step forward—deliberate, menacing—as if he intended to grab her and toss her out onto the streets like nothing more than an uninvited trespasser.

Sara flinched.

His previous threats rang in her ears, making her chest tighten painfully, her pulse hammering like it might shatter her ribs. 'It's him!' her mind ringed warning bells.

She stumbled back, her breath uneven, her fists clenching at her sides. Then—her heel hit something soft. The plush sofa behind her. That was it. There was nowhere left to retreat.

Augustine's presence loomed closer, his hand reaching toward her, and instinct kicked in before reason.

Her hand swung up.

A sharp crack sliced through the air as her palm met his cheek. "No!" she said out loud as if stopping him from touching him this time around. 

His head snapped to the side from the impact, his entire body swaying slightly with the force of it.

For a moment, nothing moved.

Sara's own skin tingled from the slap, but something else startled her even more—the heat of his skin. It had burned. Like an unnatural warmth radiating from him, searing her palm as if she had touched fire.

She gasped, her eyes widening.

'What did I just do?'

Horror flooded her veins. She slapped shut her mouth with her hands.

This was the second time she had been caught on his property, Now she had used violence too. She was done for. 

Augustine slowly lifted his hand to his cheek, his fingers brushing over the reddened skin. His dark lashes flickered as his eyes widened, his expression shifting into something far more dangerous. His gaze snapped back to her, something unhinged flickering behind his irises—like she had just flipped every wrong switch in his body at once.

Their eyes locked.

Sara's breath stilled. What was he going to do?

A sudden heat rose to her eyes, thin streams of warm tears forming at the edges. She barely noticed them.

"Let me explain—" she burst out, her voice desperate. "I can explain." 

'Please listen to me! Please just this time!'

But it was too late.

Augustine's body swayed.

His stance faltered—his foot staggered forward, and in the next breath, his entire weight collapsed into her.

Sara gasped as the momentum slammed them both backward onto the sofa, tumbling down in a tangled mess of limbs.

A sharp thud. A breathless silence.

Her body stiffened beneath his as the realization hit her.

She had just fallen onto the couch with the one man who could ruin her life.

Like a mountain crushing down on her. No—a volcanic mountain.

Augustine's weight pressed against her like molten fire, searing hot, his body an immovable force. She struggled, pushing against him, but it was useless. His head rested against her neck, his breath—burning—sent goosebumps racing over her skin.

What just happened?

She didn't know.

Heart hammering, she lifted her head with great effort, her neck straining under his weight. His skin was flush against hers, his heat wrapping around her like a fever she couldn't escape.

"Did he have a mental breakdown after I hit him?"

Her hands dug into his chest, desperately trying to push him off—or at least slip out from under him.

Frustrated, she reached up, cupping his head in her hands, trying to lift it. Her gaze brushed past his long eyelashes, his impossibly perfect face. Unrealistic, she thought.

'What's the point of having such a face when your mouth is that nasty?' she hissed inwardly, but her eyes refused to leave him.

Then something shifted.

A strange feeling gripped her chest.

Familiar. Too familiar.

Her brows furrowed. Where have I seen him before? A buried memory, a déjà vu that sent a strange chill down her spine.

Her mind was racing, but before she could grasp the thought—

His eyes fluttered open.

A sharp gasp caught in her throat, her pulse skipping violently.

Panic surged, and before she even thought about it, she let his head fall back onto her shoulder and clamped her hands over his eyes—as if somehow, if he couldn't see her, he would never wake up.

This time, he didn't wake.

After a long, exhausting struggle, Sara finally managed to wriggle out from under him, gasping as she stood, disheveled and shaken. Her chest heaved as she turned to look at the collapsed figure sprawled on the plush carpet.

"This should be fine, right? I mean… if I just leave him like this?"

She bit her lip, desperate to flee, but something made her hesitate. His face—**the slight furrow of his brows, the faint wince on his lips—**it didn't look peaceful. It looked like pain.

And then he gasped—ragged, desperate, like a man struggling for air.

A sharp jolt of anxiety punched through her.

Her fists clenched at her sides. What do I do? What the hell do I do? She didn't even know who he was. Was he really the owner of this place? Clearly, no one else lived here—especially not Blue.

And then it hit her.

A misunderstanding. A colossal misunderstanding.

Sara's breath caught as she replayed Sher's instructions in her head. "

"You are here to deliver these right?"

Wait.

'Didn't Josline mention a woman's name? Sofia something?'

Her heart lurched. Her gaze snapped to the files she had absentmindedly brought along—the ones the delivery man had handed her—and the moment she saw the details, her hands flew to her mouth in horror.

"He thought I was the delivery person?!"

"Shit. I need to get out of here!"

Sara muttered a curse under her breath, snatched her bag, and bolted for the door, desperate to leave the mess behind.

Her heart pounded violently against her ribs as she rushed toward the elevator, panting, shaken, her breath uneven. The moment the doors slid open, she stumbled inside, pressing the button with trembling fingers.

By the time she reached the first floor, her nerves were frayed.

The woman who had greeted her earlier was still standing by the reception, her soft smile unchanged. But Sara, in her **disheveled state—hair a mess, clothes wrinkled, face flushed—**had failed to notice the curious glances people were now throwing her way.

She must look like she had just crawled out of some sordid situation.

"Did you deliver the items, miss?" the woman asked, stepping closer.

Sara nodded hastily. "Thank you so much," she said. the receptionist smiled politely and, turned around to return to her duties.

Sara should've left. She should've run. But her conscience clawed at her, guilt settling deep in her stomach.

She hesitated. Then—"Actually—"

The woman turned back, curious.

"That man in the penthouse!" Sara blurted out.

The receptionist's expression stiffened slightly. "Yes? What about him?"

"I think he needs a doctor!"

The woman's face paled instantly. "Huh?"

Sara swallowed, forcing herself to explain. "When I got there, he was on the ground, unconscious. Could you call a doctor for him? Or maybe an ambulance?"

The receptionist let out a soft gasp. That wasn't a good sign.

Sara took a step back. "I trust you'll handle it," she said, spinning on her heel, ready to flee. But just as she reached for the exit—

A firm grip locked around her arm.

"Miss!" The woman's voice was sharp, almost urgent. "We cannot enter his residence without permission. Please stay while we call for emergency services!"

Sara froze. "Why me?" she demanded.

"You were granted exclusive access. We cannot go in. So, please, ma'am, stay until the medics arrive."

The receptionist hurriedly spoke into her earpiece, issuing rapid instructions.

Sara's pulse skyrocketed. This couldn't be happening.

She wrenched her arm free, her voice rising in distress. "I'm not welcome there either! He'll cut me up if he sees me around again!"

The receptionist turned to her then, meeting her dead in the eyes.

"Do you know who he is?" she asked, her voice eerily calm. "If anything happens to him, you will be the prime suspect. Not everyone can go in or out of his residence."

Sara's stomach dropped.

Hah… what kind of situation is this?!

Her palms grew clammy. Would they seriously think she killed him? All she did was slap him!

"Can't you call his family?" she tried, grasping at any possible escape. "I'm sure you have their contact. I'll stay until they arrive."

"We'll look into that," the woman said, still eerily composed. "But for now, please wait inside. The doctors are on their way."

And before Sara could protest again, she was being escorted back toward the elevator.