THE EDGE OF CONTROL.

---

Chapter 45 – The Edge of Control

Vincent's fingers lingered against Zane's wrist—too brief, too fleeting—but the heat of his touch burned long after he pulled away.

Zane swallowed, forcing himself to breathe normally. "You're really not gonna tell me what's going on, are you?"

Vincent's jaw tightened. "You don't need to know."

Zane scoffed, his patience running thin. "Bullshit." He stepped closer, his voice dropping lower. "You think I don't notice when you're hiding something? You think I don't see it every time you look at me like—"

"Like what?" Vincent cut in, his tone sharper than steel.

Zane exhaled, shaking his head. "Like you're already planning how to push me away."

Vincent's eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Because I am."

Zane let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "You're a real bastard, you know that?"

Vincent didn't argue.

Didn't move.

Just stood there, watching, waiting—like he was bracing himself for the inevitable.

Zane's chest ached.

Because for all the ways Vincent tried to keep him at arm's length, it was painfully obvious—he didn't want to.

And that?

That was the cruelest part of all.

Zane took a slow breath, his voice quieter now. "Tell me what you're so afraid of."

Vincent's lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something—needed to—but then?

Then, he stepped back.

Creating distance.

A wall.

Zane's stomach twisted.

Vincent didn't answer.

Didn't have to.

Because Zane already knew.

Vincent wasn't afraid of losing control.

He was afraid of what would happen when he finally did.

And that?

That was something Zane wasn't sure he could fix.

But hell—he was going to try.

Vincent exhaled slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Walk away, Zane."

Zane's heart pounded, but he forced a smirk. "You keep telling me that, but you're still here."

Vincent's jaw clenched, muscles tensing like he was fighting himself. "That's the problem."

Zane's amusement faded. He could play games all day, push Vincent to his limits, but this? This was different. The way Vincent looked at him—like every second in his presence was a battle he was losing—made something sharp and unfamiliar settle in Zane's chest.

For once, Zane didn't have a teasing remark.

Didn't have a comeback.

Just silence.

Heavy. Unforgiving.

Vincent's gaze softened—just for a second, just long enough for Zane to catch a glimpse of something raw beneath the surface.

Regret.

Longing.

And something dangerously close to surrender.

Then, just as quickly as it appeared, Vincent crushed it.

His expression hardened. His posture stiffened. And when he spoke, his voice was cold.

"This thing between us? It can't happen."

Zane's fists clenched at his sides. "Why? Because you're scared?"

Vincent's lips pressed into a thin line. "Because I can't afford to be weak."

Zane stepped forward, closing the distance Vincent had tried to put between them. "You think wanting me makes you weak?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. "You think pushing me away is going to change anything?"

Vincent didn't move. Didn't speak.

But his breathing was heavier now.

Zane's pulse raced. He was done waiting. Done playing by Vincent's rules.

"If you really don't want this, tell me to leave."

Silence.

Zane waited.

Daring him.

Begging him.

But Vincent didn't say a damn word.

Didn't tell him to go.

Didn't step away.

Zane's breath hitched.

Because in that moment, he knew—

Vincent wanted him.

Wanted this.

But he was too damn stubborn to admit it.

Zane smirked, but there was no amusement in it. "That's what I thought."

Then, without another word, he turned toward the door.

He didn't want to walk away.

Didn't want to leave Vincent standing there, drowning in his own fear.

But if Vincent wanted this, really wanted this—

Then he'd have to be the one to make the next move.

Because Zane?

He wasn't chasing him anymore.

---