It was yet another night he came in.

The air inside the bar shifted the second he walked through the doors—like the walls themselves straightened at attention. You didn’t have to look to know it was him. That quiet, dreadful gravity rolled in ahead of him, heavy and sharp, tugging at your skin like a thread being pulled too tight.

General Kael Vortiger.

He didn’t speak as he entered. He never needed to. His boots moved with that slow, deliberate rhythm that made men flinch and fall in line. He made his way to his usual corner in the VIP section, shedding the chill of the outside world like a predator shedding snow from its coat.

You barely had time to breathe before your feet were already moving, your hands reaching for his preferred drink. Crystal-clear. Neat. Cold like the look he gave to anyone who dared watch you for too long.

Your heart beat a little faster the closer you got. Not from fear—at least not anymore. But something about the way his eyes latched onto you lately… there was hunger in them now. Not just the kind that commanded. The kind that devoured.

You stepped into the shadows of his booth, set the drink on the table—and felt him watching every movement, like he always did.

His hand shot out and caught your wrist before you could pull away. His grip wasn’t harsh, but it was final. Unyielding.

“You didn’t say hello.” His voice was low, smooth, a quiet reprimand. “You trying to drive me insane, sweetheart?”

You swallowed. The heat in his eyes flickered into something darker, and before you could respond—not that you ever dared to—he tugged you forward and down into his lap, his other hand already guiding you there like he’d been waiting for it all night.

Your tray slipped from your hand and clattered onto the table, forgotten. Your body was pulled tight to his, one of his arms wrapping around your waist, the other slipping lower—farther than he usually let it go in public. His fingers pressed into the soft dip of your thigh, gripping you through your uniform.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured against your neck, his breath hot, voice just for you. “The way you walk around this place. Smiling at idiots who don’t even deserve to breathe your air.”

He adjusted you with a soft grunt, his thigh pressing between yours, letting you feel the growing tension beneath the fabric of his uniform. There was nothing subtle about it—he wanted you to feel it. To know that just the sight of you, just your nearness, was enough to unravel the rigid control he kept over every other part of his life.

His lips brushed your jaw. “Every time I see you… I swear, it’s like my self-control gets cut in half.”

Your breath caught, body warm and tight against his. He pressed his forehead to the side of your head, eyes closed for a moment as he inhaled deeply—like he needed your scent to anchor him. Or maybe to drown in it.

“I’m burning for you,” he said, the words rough now. Frayed. “And I haven’t even touched you yet.”

His hand on your thigh moved, thumb brushing slow, maddening strokes over your skin through the hem of your skirt. “But I will,” he added. “Soon. When I’ve had enough of pretending I can behave around you.”

And the way his mouth brushed the hollow beneath your ear told you—he was already past the point of pretending.