CHAPTER 18

The Breaking Point

Naarah was restless.

Sleep had become an impossible task ever since Peter had cornered her the night before, whispering words that still echoed in her head.

"You don't want to play this game with me, Naarah."

But wasn't she already playing?

And worse—wasn't she already losing?

She tossed onto her side, her fingers gripping the sheets as she glared at the moonlight streaming through her window.

This wasn't fair.

Peter was supposed to be the one struggling. Not her.

She had started this game, thinking she could turn the tables—make him suffer the way he had teased her relentlessly since their first kiss.

Instead, she was the one lying awake at night, unable to think of anything but him.

It was infuriating.

And even more so—terrifying.

Because she wasn't just drawn to Peter.

She was falling for him.

And there was no stopping it.

---

The Next Morning – At Work

Walking into the office, Naarah was determined to act normal.

To pretend last night never happened.

To pretend Peter's words hadn't shattered her composure.

She could do this.

She had to do this.

But the moment she stepped into the building, she felt it.

The weight of his gaze.

It was instant, like an electric charge in the air, making her spine straighten and her pulse spike.

Slowly, she turned toward him.

Peter was already watching her.

He was dressed in his usual dark suit, crisp and perfect, his hands casually in his pockets.

But his eyes—his eyes—were different.

They weren't teasing like before.

They were hungry.

And that terrified her more than anything.

Because the worst part?

She wasn't sure if she wanted to run—

Or if she wanted him to catch her.

---

Inside Peter's Office

She wasn't sure how she had ended up here.

One minute, she had been at her desk, pretending she could ignore him.

The next—

Peter had summoned her.

Now, she stood in his office, her fingers curled tightly against her sides as he watched her from behind his desk.

For once, he wasn't sitting.

He was leaning against the desk instead, arms crossed, looking at her with an intensity that made her feel bare.

Exposed.

"Is there something you wanted to say to me?" he asked finally.

Naarah swallowed. "No. Why?"

A slow smirk touched his lips. "You've been avoiding me."

She lifted her chin. "I have not."

"Really?" He pushed off the desk, walking toward her with that slow, deliberate grace that always made her stomach tighten.

Naarah forced herself to hold her ground.

"You're imagining things," she said, voice steadier than she expected.

Peter hummed, stopping just a breath away.

"Am I?"

He reached out, and before she could react, his fingers brushed against her wrist.

A light touch.

Barely there.

And yet, it sent a jolt straight through her.

"You've been running," he murmured. "But let me ask you something, sweetheart—"

His grip tightened, pulling her closer, just enough for her to feel his breath against her skin.

"Are you running from me… or from yourself?"

Naarah's breath hitched.

Her heart was hammering, a frantic rhythm she couldn't control.

"Let me go," she whispered, but even she didn't believe the words.

Peter leaned in, his lips just above her ear.

"Say it like you mean it."

She couldn't.

Because the truth was—

She didn't want him to let her go.

And when Peter pulled back, his knowing smirk told her that he knew it too.

---

That Evening – A Storm Brewing

It was raining by the time she stepped out of the building.

Heavy drops poured from the sky, drenching the city in silver.

She didn't have an umbrella.

But she didn't care.

She needed the rain.

She needed something to clear her head.

But as she stepped onto the pavement, she barely took two steps before a black car pulled up beside her.

The window rolled down.

Peter.

"Get in."

His voice was smooth, calm—but there was an edge to it.

Naarah hesitated. "I can walk."

Peter arched a brow. "In this?" He gestured to the downpour.

She lifted her chin. "It's just rain."

Peter sighed, as if she were being difficult on purpose. "Naarah—"

"I don't need you to take care of me, Peter."

Something flickered in his gaze.

He stepped out of the car.

The rain poured over him instantly, soaking through his expensive suit.

But he didn't care.

He walked toward her, stopping just inches away.

"You do need me," he said.

Naarah's breath caught.

"Stop pretending you don't."

The rain was loud, pounding against the pavement.

But it was nothing compared to the thunder between them.

"You're always running," Peter murmured. "Always fighting me."

Naarah clenched her fists. "Maybe I have to."

"Why?"

"Because I can't afford to fall for you!" she snapped.

Silence.

A dangerous silence.

Peter exhaled, long and slow.

Then—

He smiled.

A slow, dangerous smile.

"You already have."

Before she could react, he reached out—

And kissed her.

Hard.

Fierce.

Like he had waited for this.

Like he had craved this.

And the worst part?

Naarah kissed him back.

Because no matter how much she ran—

She couldn't run from this.

From him.

From them.

And as Peter's fingers tangled in her rain-soaked hair, deepening the kiss—

She realized she didn't want to.