part 3 : the possessive moment

It wasn't a kiss.

It was a claim.

The kind that didn't ask. The kind that warned.

Fiona hadn't expected him there. Not in her space. The bookstore was tucked away in an old alley, a place of peace, a ritual. It smelled like time—like ink, dust, and forgotten stories. She came here to be invisible.

But now, every corner was filled with him.

He stepped out from behind the shelves like a shadow with a heartbeat. Black coat. Dark eyes. That same quiet fury he always carried, coiled beneath his skin like a weapon waiting to strike. She froze.

"You've been avoiding me," he said, voice low. Dangerous in its calm.

"I've been busy."

"With who?"

He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. His eyes, locked on hers, asked questions and gave threats all at once.

She moved to step past him, but he blocked her path. His hand shot out—fast, precise—curling around her jaw. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make her stop.

"Look at me," he said.

Fiona's breath hitched.

"You think you can walk around in that dress, all soft smiles and silence, and I won't notice?" he whispered, his face close. Too close. "You think I'm like the rest of them?"

"I didn't come here for this."

"No?" He tilted her chin higher, eyes burning into hers. "Then why do you keep finding places you know I'll follow?"

Her pulse pounded. Her hands trembled at her sides.

"You don't belong to anyone," she snapped, though her voice cracked in the middle.

"I never said you did." He leaned in, lips brushing hers but never pressing down. "But I saw you first. I chose you first."

"And what, you think that makes me yours?"

His smile was sharp. "No. This does."

Then he kissed her.

Hard. Fierce. Possessive. Like he wanted to erase every name she'd ever said before his. Like he didn't care if she hated him for it, as long as she felt it.

Fiona's back hit the bookshelf. Her fingers curled into his coat. The world fell away in the heat and chaos of it.

And deep down, beneath the tension, the anger, the fear—was want.

But when he pulled back, his hand still holding her in place, his eyes weren't soft.

"You can run again if you want," he said. "But next time, I'll come for you harder."

He turned and walked out, leaving her breathless.

Shaken.

And terrified that she'd let him do it again.