The air between them trembled with unsaid words.
Isabella's heart beat slower than usual—calm, calculated, but not untouched. Victor's fingers, warm against her cheek, paused. Testing. Waiting.
He should have pulled back.
But he didn't.
Instead, he stepped even closer, eliminating the distance like it had never existed. His gaze swept across her features—not with the hunger of a man intoxicated by beauty, but with the gravity of someone caught in a war he didn't want to win.
"You drive me insane," he whispered.
Isabella didn't blink.
"You're quiet when I want answers. Cold when I offer warmth. And still…" He exhaled as if confessing a crime. "I can't stop wanting to be near you."
She didn't move.
She didn't speak.
But she didn't walk away either.
And in that sliver of stillness, he made the mistake.
He kissed her.
It wasn't gentle.
It wasn't rough.
It was too real—too sudden.
A collision of curiosity and frustration. Of questions neither of them dared to ask.
Her lips were soft, unmoving beneath his. And for a heartbeat, just one, he thought maybe—maybe—she'd respond.
But then her hand pressed firmly against his chest.
He stepped back instantly, eyes wide, breath caught.
"I'm sorry," he said, the words sharp with regret. "I—I shouldn't have—"
A slap would have been easier to handle than her silence.
Her expression didn't scream or rage.
She just… looked at him. Flat. Cold. Like something had broken.
"I don't give what I don't mean," she said at last.
Victor swallowed hard. "It wasn't meant to disrespect you. I—"
"You think effort gives you access?" Her voice wasn't loud, but it was lethal. "You think because you took me to dinners, walked with me, smiled the right way, I owe you… this?"
His stomach dropped.
"No," he said quietly. "I just… felt something. And I thought you did too."
"You thought wrong."
She turned, walking toward the glass doors.
Victor didn't chase her. Not this time.
Not because he didn't want to.
But because he realized he had finally touched something he shouldn't have—and it wasn't her lips.
It was her boundary.
And in that moment, Victor Blackwood—the man who ruled boardrooms and shattered empires—felt like a boy who had broken something irreplaceable.