CHAPTER 28:TANGLED HEARTS

Nathan pushed open the door of his penthouse, his arm wrapped around Stephanie's waist as she staggered beside him. She reeked of tequila, vanilla perfume, and the kind of heartbreak that clung to a woman's breath.

She kicked off her heels the second they stepped inside, nearly toppling over in the process.

"Careful," Nathan muttered, catching her with a steady hand.

"I'm not fragile," she snapped, slurring slightly. "Don't touch me like I am."

Nathan arched a brow. "Noted."

Stephanie yanked herself from his hold and stumbled forward, nearly crashing into the velvet-backed armchair in the living room. She spun around to face him, hands on her hips, fire flashing behind her glossy, half-lidded eyes.

"You think you can just show up like some knight in your… stupid tailored suit and rescue me?"

Nathan's lips quirked into a smirk. "Well, clearly you needed rescuing."

She gasped. "I did not—" she paused, stumbling over her own words. "Okay, maybe I did. But that doesn't mean I wanted it to be you."

His smile vanished, replaced by something darker. He stepped closer, voice low. "You called me, Stephanie."

"I was drunk!"

"But you called me."

Silence pulsed between them, thick and heavy.

She looked away, chewing her bottom lip, then let out a frustrated groan. "You don't get it, do you? I've been angry. I've been hurting. Ever since I met you, it's like I've been falling—falling into something I don't understand."

Nathan folded his arms. "And you think I haven't?"

Her gaze snapped back to him. "Then why? Why did you humiliate me in front of the world? Why did you use that actress to spark a scandal like that? Was it some twisted PR stunt?"

He inhaled sharply. "It wasn't real."

Stephanie blinked. "Excuse me?"

Nathan stepped closer, expression tight. "It was a move. A calculated one. To distract the board. To keep their eyes off the real play. I never touched her, never kissed her, never wanted her."

"Then why—"

"Because they were watching you," he interrupted. "And I needed them to stop."

Her breath caught.

"I needed to protect what's mine," he said more quietly, his voice edged with something that sounded dangerously close to… desperation.

Her eyes flared. "So I'm… what? A pawn in your grand strategy?"

"You're not a pawn," he said tightly. "But you were a target. And I wasn't going to let them come after you."

Stephanie's anger simmered in her chest, torn between fury and something softer. Her lashes fluttered. "You think that justifies it? You humiliated me, Nathan."

"I know," he said. "And I regret it."

A beat of silence passed. Then she took a slow step forward, tilting her head up to meet his gaze.

"You drive me insane," she murmured.

His lips twitched again. "You've mentioned that before."

"And yet…" She trailed a finger up the lapel of his jacket, her drunken boldness flaring. "I can't seem to hate you."

Nathan's breath hitched.

She rose on her toes and whispered, "That's the real problem, isn't it?"

And then she kissed him.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't questioning. It was heat and confusion and every unspoken word they hadn't dared to say. Her hands curled into his jacket. He responded instantly—his mouth crushed against hers, desperate and demanding.

Their breath tangled. Her fingers slid up into his hair. He pulled her closer, groaning against her lips, his hand gripping her waist like he was holding onto the last piece of sanity he had.

But then, suddenly, he broke the kiss.

Stephanie blinked, dazed. "Why'd you stop?"

He took a breath, forehead resting against hers. "Because you're drunk. And you need rest."

She frowned, swaying slightly. "I don't want rest."

"I know," he said with a wry smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "But you'll thank me in the morning."

She pouted, but before she could protest again, he scooped her up in his arms—her gasp caught somewhere between surprise and a laugh.

"You're impossible," she muttered.

"And you're heavier than you look," he teased.

"Excuse me?"

"I said you're perfect," he replied smoothly, carrying her up the stairs.

Stephanie snorted. "Liar."

But her head nestled against his shoulder anyway, and by the time he reached the top of the stairs, her eyes were half-closed.

Nathan pushed open the guest room door and guided her to the edge of the bed, steadying her before walking toward the en suite.

"I'll run you a bath," he said over his shoulder.

"I can do it myself," she mumbled, trying to unzip her dress and failing miserably.

He chuckled under his breath, then disappeared into the bathroom. Moments later, the sound of running water filled the room.

Stephanie looked around sleepily, then down at the soft bedding. Everything in this house—his home—felt too Nathan. Clean, elegant, yet distant. But that kiss… it had been anything but distant.

When Nathan returned, sleeves rolled up and jaw slightly tense, he found her still sitting on the bed.

"Bath's ready," he said softly.

She looked up at him. "Nathan…"

He paused.

"I don't hate you," she whispered.

A pause. Then he nodded once, that unreadable expression back on his face. "I know."

And with that, he turned and walked back down the stairs, leaving her with her heart pounding and her thoughts a complete storm.