William POV

I stepped into the room, the heavy door slamming shut behind me with a clang that echoed off sterile walls. The air was cold, clinical, and the only light came from a single bulb swaying slightly above the metal table. William sat there, wrists cuffed, utterly composed—as if he were hosting me in his own parlour instead of a high-security MI6 facility.

He didn’t look up when I entered, and I didn’t speak. For a full minute, silence stretched between us, thick with history and tension. Only the hum of the overhead light dared to break it.

I circled him slowly, every step deliberate, like a predator sizing up prey. “You wanted to be caught,” I finally said. “Why?”

His lips curled, faintly amused. “I was bored. And I missed you.”

My palms slammed onto the table. The sound echoed. He didn’t flinch.

“You killed two people last week.”

“They were unpleasant,” he said lightly. “You wouldn’t have liked them.”

I leaned closer, my voice sharp. “You’re pushing me.”

“Am I?” he replied, tilting his head. “Or are you just angry you can’t decide if you want me behind bars or in your bed?”

The silence that followed was deafening. My breath came faster, tighter. I hated him for knowing me so well.

My voice dropped, low and threatening. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? You think you can manipulate me into giving you what you want?”

He leaned forward, close enough that his breath warmed my skin. “What if I already have?”

Before I could think, I grabbed his jaw, rough, unrelenting. “You play a long game, William.”

“So do you.”

The next moment snapped like a wire pulled too tight. I crashed my mouth against his, the kiss fierce, punishing. The cuffs rattled as he jerked forward. He made a sound—half-laugh, half-moan—that only stoked the fire.

When I pulled back, our foreheads stayed pressed together, breaths mingling.

“You’re a criminal,” I said.

“You’re a hypocrite,” he murmured.

And still, neither of us moved to stop.