Clara didn't go far.
She told herself she would.
She told herself she needed air.
Distance.
Time to think.
But her feet slowed.
Then stopped.
Right outside his door.
Her hand hovered over the handle.
Because she knew.
If she walked away now…
she might still have control.
But if she went back—
Everything would change.
A breath.
Slow.
Unsteady.
Then—
she pushed the door open.
And stepped inside.
Silence.
The woman was gone.
Of course she was.
Like she had never been there.
Like that moment—
that tension—
that jealousy—
had only existed for Clara.
But he was still there.
Exactly where she left him.
Watching her.
Like he knew.
Like he had been waiting.
"You came back."
Not surprised.
Not questioning.
Certain.
Clara closed the door behind her.
Slowly.
"I forgot something."
A lie.
Weak.
Obvious.
His gaze darkened slightly.
"Did you?"
He didn't move.
Didn't come closer.
And somehow—
that made it worse.
Because now—
she was the one stepping forward.
One step.
Then another.
Until the distance between them disappeared again.
And this time—
it wasn't him pulling her in.
It was her.
"I don't like games," she said.
Her voice steadier now.
Stronger.
Trying to take something back.
Anything.
A pause.
Then—
a slow, deliberate smile.
"Then you shouldn't have come back."
The words hit harder than they should.
Because they were true.
And they both knew it.
Clara swallowed.
But didn't step away.
"Who was she?"
The question slipped out.
Sharp.
Uncontrolled.
And the moment it did—
she regretted it.
Because that was it.
That was the proof.
He tilted his head slightly.
Studying her.
"Does it matter?"
Silence.
Clara held his gaze.
Even when it became too much.
"Yes."
One word.
And that was all he needed.
That faint smirk returned.
"There it is."
Her chest tightened.
"That feeling you don't want to admit."
He finally moved.
One step closer.
Then another.
Slow.
Deliberate.
"Jealousy looks good on you."
Her breath caught.
"I'm not—"
"You are."
Soft.
Certain.
He stopped right in front of her.
Close enough again.
Too close.
"You felt it the moment she touched me."
A pause.
His voice dropping lower.
"And you hated it."
Clara's pulse spiked.
Because he was right.
And that—
was the problem.
"I barely know you," she said.
Trying.
Still trying.
"And yet…"
He leaned slightly closer.
"…you came back."
Her body reacted again.
Instantly.
That same pull.
Stronger now.
Because this time—
she understood it.
And didn't stop it.
His hand lifted.
Slow.
Not touching her.
Just hovering again.
Right where her heartbeat was strongest.
"You feel that?"
Her breath trembled.
"Every time you're near me…"
A pause.
"It gets harder for you to leave."
Her fingers tightened.
Because he wasn't guessing.
He was describing exactly what was happening.
And that made it worse.
"You think this is control?" she whispered.
Finally pushing back.
Finally trying to break it.
His eyes held hers.
"No."
A pause.
"This is choice."
Silence.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
"Yours."
And that—
was the most manipulative part of all.
Because suddenly—
it didn't feel like he was pulling her.
It felt like she was stepping forward on her own.
Again.
Always.
Clara exhaled slowly.
Trying to steady herself.
Trying to think.
But her body was already ahead.
Already leaning closer.
Already caught.
"You're dangerous," she said.
A faint smile.
"I know."
Another step.
Now there was nothing left between them.
No space.
No distance.
Just tension.
And something else.
Something deeper.
Something neither of them was pretending to ignore anymore.
"And you're still here," he added quietly.
Her breath broke.
Because that was it.
That was the truth.
She hadn't been trapped.
She hadn't been forced.
She had chosen this.
Every step.
And somehow—
that made it impossible to walk away.
His voice dropped to almost nothing.
"Say it."
Her heart pounded.
"Say you don't want this…"
A pause.
Closer.
"…and I'll let you go."
Silence.
Everything inside her screamed.
This was her chance.
Her exit.
Her control.
All she had to do…
Was say the words.
But they didn't come.
Because deep down—
She didn't want to leave.
And he knew it.
Of course he knew it.
That slow, satisfied look returned.
Because once again—
She chose to stay.
And this time—
There was no doubt about it.